CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Archibald
I stepped out of the black sedan and looked up.
The Imperium Suites. Of course. Henry, the little shit, would put me in a place like this, no matter how many times I told him I just wanted something simple. In his world, the five-star hotel was probably a modest guesthouse.
I had been drifting in and out for eighteen months—brief visits before disappearing again, never staying long enough for doubt to creep in. But this time was different. This time, I was here to stay.
Yet now that I was back, the certainty I had clung to wavered. For the first time, I wasn't sure if I was ready.
My mind pulled me back to the last time I was in the city. To Sara's place. We talked. And by morning, I was gone, vanishing like a ghost.
I hadn't just left. I had thrown myself into the most dangerous job I could find, reckless in my desperation to escape. My dad tried to reason with me, but I wouldn't listen. I was too determined to outrun the pain, to convince myself that leaving was the only option. That she was better off without me.
But no matter how far I went or how much I risked, I could never really forget her. Every day, I tried to bury the memory, pushing it to the edges of my mind, but it always crept back in. And each time, I reminded myself why I had to stay away.
For her. For myself. Because no matter how much it hurt, walking away had been the only way forward.
Now, all I had to do was stay strong and resist the overwhelming urge to see her again.
The moment I stepped into the lobby, people stared. I must have looked like hell. My white shirt had seen better days—three days ago, to be exact—when it wasn't glued to my skin. The jacket slung over my shoulder reeked of rotten meat. My pants were streaked with dirt, and my combat boots looked like they'd been dragged through a swamp. Which, technically, they had. Forty hours ago.
I headed for the reception desk.
"May I help you?" The receptionist greeted me with a forced smile, her nose wrinkling.
I frowned. If she could smell me from this distance, then I really was in awful shape. I probably should have taken a shower on the company plane and swapped my clothes and boots for the fresh ones Henry had prepared. But I was dead on my feet, and the second we took off, I crashed. By the time I woke up, the plane had already landed.
I cleared my throat. "I have a reservation. Archibald Lowe."
She worked on her computer and paused to reread, flicking her gaze between me and her screen. Then she said, "May I see some IDs?"
I gave her my ID and passport, hoping more identification would ease her suspicion. I would have offered her my credit card so that she could believe me, but I didn't have it in my wallet at the moment. I never brought credit cards on any of my deployments. It was too dangerous, with thieves and smugglers constantly around. As painful as it was to admit, I understood why she found it hard to believe the name belonged to someone looking as filthy as me.
Gripping my ID and my opened passport in each hand, she tried to compare if the man standing before her was the same man in the pictures. Again, I didn’t blame her. My beard made me look like a creepy, tattooed Santa.
"Chrystal," I read her name from the pin on her chest. "If you need more confirmation, call Mr. Song and get him down here."
She blinked at me a few times after hearing that name—probably her boss or her boss's boss—and looked like she was contemplating it. Then she picked up the phone and, to my dismay, actually made the call. She whispered into the receiver, covering her mouth with her hand.
I let out a resigned sigh. I couldn’t wait to take off these filthy clothes and soak myself in a long, hot shower.
When Chrystal put down the phone, there was a different light in her gaze. "I'm sorry for the wait, Mr. Lowe. Someone will be here shortly to take you to your room." She walked around her counter and gestured toward the lounge area. I glanced over and frowned. There were too many people there. I didn’t want to torture them with my smell.
"I'll wait there," I pointed to a wall near the fountain and sauntered there without waiting for her response. Hopefully, she realized I had just saved her from further nasal damage by not standing in front of her any longer.
Within a few minutes, a man with narrow eyes and incredibly smooth skin rushed toward me, panting as he reached me.
"Mr. Lowe," he huffed and inhaled deeply to steady his breath after seeming like he ran a marathon to reach here.
"Mr. Song," I greeted him, straightening my posture.
"I'm sorry for the confusion. Chrystal is new and she—"
I cut him off, my patience thinning. "It's all right. Just take me to my room, please."
"Right." He nodded. "Please follow me, Mr. Lowe. Is there any luggage?"
"No." I only carried one heavy backpack, and there was no way I would let them handle it. It was dirty and smelled even worse than my jacket.
I followed him to the elevator and frowned again when I saw several people waiting. Oh well. I had no choice but to endure this a little longer. I felt sorry for those people. They were about to be stuck with me in a small space, likely without smell-neutralizing masks to shield their noses.
One of the elevator doors opened, and Mr. Song gestured for me to step in, so I did. To my amazement, people still entered the elevator despite me saturating the air with my unfortunate smell. We were quite a few, actually—six people, including myself.
I leaned my back against the elevator wall. Being very tall, I was at least a head taller than everyone else. I could easily see who was and wasn’t affected by me.
An old lady bowed her head and pinched her nose. Her back was facing me, so she probably thought I wouldn’t notice. Two girls giggled, whispering to each other and stealing glances over their shoulders at me occasionally. A man in a suit standing to my right stared at me intently, probably suspecting I might mug him or something.
Suddenly, Mr. Song's eagerness-to-please voice cut through the silence. He was standing near the door, and I was at the very back of the car. "We already have your suite ready, Mr. Lowe. I was told that you will stay with us for at least a month. Your personal assistant, Henry, has sent your new clothes, already dry-cleaned, and you will find them hung neatly in your wardrobe. I also need to remind you that you have an appointment with our barber tomorrow at ten in the morning, and then after that, your lawyer, Mr. Barnes, requested to have a lunch meeting with you at twelve-thirty."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. You have got to give it to Henry. He successfully convinced someone who worked in a high-level management position in an international chain hotel to be his personal assistant.
"Thank you, Mr. Song." That was all I could say.
But apparently, Mr. Song had not finished yet. "Your father, Mr. Herston Lowe, called me personally this morning." He looked very proud that he had talked directly with my dad over the phone. "He asked me to tell you to call him back the moment you're in the room."
Upon the mention of my father's name, all heads turned to me immediately. My dad used to be a well-known reporter, and until today, his name was still a household name. Disbelieving eyes swallowed me whole, and with my current state of appearance, I wished I could melt and seep into the pores in the wall and crawl directly to my room so that I wouldn't taint the great namesake my dad built over several decades.
Finally, some of these people got off on their respective floors, leaving only me, Mr. Song, and the two giggling girls. Their gazes flickered at me, then quickly looked away when I caught them staring. When the door finally opened onto my floor and I stepped out of the car with Mr. Song in tow, I faintly heard one of them saying, "What's a filthy stray like that doing in a place like this?"
I walked faster.
Mr. Song jogged around me and halted in front of one door, producing a card key out of his pocket. He opened the door.
The first thing I did when I entered the room was get the laundry bag from the wardrobe, stuff it with my jacket, and then strip the rest of my clothes. My shirt came off first, then my boots, socks, and last, my pants. All went into the bag. Wearing only my underwear, I walked over to Mr. Song, who was gaping in silence like a fish at my strip show, eyes wide at my near-naked indiscretion. "Please throw this away. Or burn them, I don't care. Thank you, Mr. Song."
Then he replied with a stuttered, "Yes, Mr. Lowe," and said something which I effectively tuned out as I headed to the bathroom, stripped away my underwear, threw it into the garbage can, and soaked myself in the shower.
A sigh of relief escaped me the moment the water cascaded over my skin. Alone again, my mind wandered. Straight to Sara.
I hadn't spoken to her since I left, and God, I missed her. I ached to see her, to hear her voice, to know if she was okay. But I had forced myself not to ask Julian, Henry, or even my parents about her. I was terrified that if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from picking up the phone and calling her, or worse... from getting on a plane and showing up at her door.
After my shower, I shaved, changed into fresh clothes, and decided to have dinner outside the hotel. A small bar nearby had the best burgers in town.
As I stepped into the elevator, I was greeted by the same giggling girls from earlier. I nodded, offering a small smile. They didn't recognize me—probably because I'd shaved. Instead of disgust, their giggles now came with blushes and timid smiles. I got that reaction often, though not as much as my younger brother, Julian. Still, the attention never failed to make me uncomfortable.
My phone buzzed. I sighed, pulled it from my coat pocket, and stared at the screen before answering.
"Yes?"
"Archie!" Henry's voice nearly ruptured my eardrum.
"Henry."
"You were supposed to call me and your dad when you landed! Didn't Mr. Song tell you?"
"I forgot." I hadn't. I just didn't want to. My missed calls list already showed many calls from Dad, Mom, and Henry.
"Are you settling in? How's the room?"
"What part of 'simple' did you not get, Henry? This hotel is not simple."
"I booked you a regular suite. That's simple." His defensive tone told me he was probably pouting on the other end.
I shook my head. "What do you want?"
"Did Mr. Song tell you about your barber appointment tomorrow?"
"I didn't ask for that."
"After four months in the field, I can only imagine the state of your hair. You probably look like you have a silver curly halo."
"My hair is straight, so no. And yes, Mr. Song informed me. About the meeting with Mr. Barnes, too."
At the mention of those names, the giggling girls went still. Recognition dawned in their eyes.
"I'll stop by before your appointment."
"Please don't." I groaned. I wasn't ready for the whirlwind that was Henry. I needed a few days for mental preparation.
"Why? We have a lot to discuss."
"No."
"Then the day after."
I knew how this would end. Henry always won. And since he was holding my credit card hostage, I sighed and grunted a reluctant, "Fine," before hanging up.
The phone rang again.
"Archie!" Dad's voice was just as loud as Henry's, but this time, I wasn't quick enough to pull the phone away.
"I forgot to call; sorry, Dad," I blurted before he could start yelling.
"Are you really planning to stay at the hotel the whole time you're here?"
I stepped out into the lobby just as he barked the question at me. I spotted Chrystal and gave her a nod. She smiled back, completely unaware that I was the same man who had assaulted her nostrils just hours ago.
"Your house is under renovation," I reminded him. "Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?"
I heard him huff on the other end.
"I'll come by for dinner in a couple of days, Dad," I promised.
"Call your mother first," Dad demanded. "Now!"
"Yes, Dad." I had learned long ago that agreeing to my parents' demands was the easiest way to keep the peace. Luckily, their demands mostly revolved around spending more time with their two grown children and occasionally petting us like babies.
As soon as the call ended, I dialed Mom's number. It took ten minutes of reassurance to convince her I was fine, all my limbs were intact, and that I'd prove it when we met. She still didn't believe me, so I switched to a video call while walking along the streets. Eventually, she relented, on the condition that we had breakfast together at the hotel tomorrow.
At the bar, I sat alone, sinking my teeth into the best burger in the country, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan as the flavors exploded on my tongue. The place was packed, and rather than sit alone at a table, I chose the bar, where I had the pleasure of the new bartender's company—a curvaceous redhead who had been trying to chat me up the entire time.
She should've taken the hint ten minutes ago and stayed away. She didn't.
Someone suddenly sat in the empty seat beside me, but I was too focused on my food to care, until a familiar voice made me jump.
"Mom told me you were back. And I had a feeling I'd find you here."
I turned to find a prettier version of my face staring back at me. Julian.
"You know I love the burgers here," I muttered, turning back to my plate.
The red-haired bartender glanced between us, eyes wide. "My God, there's two of you."
"I'll have what he's having," Julian said, flashing her a grin. She barely hesitated before rushing to the register to punch in his order.
A long pause settled between us before he finally spoke. "So... you're back."
"I'm back."
"For how long?"
"Initially, I planned to stay, but now I'm not so sure." And I didn't. But one thing was certain—I wasn't taking on dangerous jobs again. The last one had been enough of a nightmare to make me realize I valued my life a hell of a lot more than I used to.
"So, how was your deployment?" He switched topics.
"It was fine."
"We lost contact with you for two weeks. Mom was so worried her head was about to explode. We all got the short end of the stick and had to endure her wrath." He paused, his tone turning deeper, more serious. "Don't do that again."
"Okay," I said simply.
His burger and beer arrived, and we ate in silence.
Julian finished his burger, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and took a swig of his beer. Then, standing up, he casually informed the bartender, "He's paying."
But before leaving, he said, "It's Jeremy's birthday, and he invited us to his cabin café by the river tomorrow night. You should come too."
Then he added the words that made my heart skip a beat.
"Sara will be there. And she's been asking about you."