Then at Lily.
Then at Ethan’s scuffed backpack.
“You’re blocking arriving guests, sir.”
Ethan looked at the empty space behind him.
No one was there.
The lobby was quiet except for the piano and the soft hiss of the revolving doors.
He could have ended it right then.
He could have said his full name with the weight of every hotel deed behind it.
He could have called the regional president, the board attorney, the head of security, and the man who signed Patricia’s paycheck.
But Ethan Vance had not built seven hotels by reacting to insults.
He built them by listening.
He built them by waiting.
He built them by letting people reveal who they were when they thought no one powerful was watching.
So he kept his voice low.
“My daughter needs a bed,” he said. “Please check again.”
Karla rolled her eyes.
And something in Ethan went cold.
