Chapter 9
Lila
I storm through the streets, the crumpled letter burning in my grip. The Kingsley Hotel looms ahead, sleek, modern, polished to perfection. Just like him. Just like the life he built after he walked away.
Now he thinks he can waltz back in, throw some money at me, and take the last thing I have left?
I let out a sharp, humourless laugh. No, not today.
I push through the revolving doors with a bit too much force.
His offer was an insult. He was an insult.
The air-conditioning blasts against my heated skin, but it does nothing to cool the fury curling hot and tight inside me. The Kingsley’s lobby is too pristine. White marble floors, warm golden lighting, the faint murmur of business deals and expensive champagne being poured.
I shouldn’t be here. I should be back at the shop, finishing the bouquets for Sophie’s gala.
Fifteen years. The memory hits before I can stop it.
The first time.
We’d been together for a year. A whole year of Ben being patient, being careful, being a gentleman. Never pushing, always waiting and I loved him for it.
His body above mine, his hand tangled in my hair, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “Are you sure?”
I was breathless, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. “Yes.”
That was all it took.
His mouth met mine, hesitant at first, then deepening, a slow, nervous kind of urgency. His hands skimmed my skin. Not confident, not practiced, just careful. Trembling fingers tracing the curve of my waist, like he was scared of getting it wrong.
We were both shaking.
Tangled in sheets, breathless and unsure, figuring it out together. Heat, nerves, and something deeper. Something we didn’t have the words for yet.
At that moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was only us.
Above us, my origami cranes swayed in slow, weightless circles, suspended from the mobile overhead.
Caught in the soft current of air, their folded wings cast shifting shadows across the bed, moving with every shaky breath I took.
I watched them drift, my chest rising and falling in time with their lazy dance.
I remember the way his breath evened out as we lay there, the heat of his body pressed against mine, his fingers trailing absent-mindedly over my bare shoulder.
I was sore in a way that made me blush, but I felt safe.
Wrapped up in him, warm, drowsy, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me closer, his lips brushing the top of my head. “You okay?”
I nodded against him, my voice a murmur. “Mmm.”
The room was quiet, only the soft hum of the night filtering through the open window. The world outside still didn’t matter. Not yet.
Then his phone buzzed.
A sharp vibration against the nightstand.
Ben groaned, shifting against me. His arm flexed around my waist like he didn’t want to move.
“Leave it,” I murmured, pressing closer, tightening my hold on him.
His hesitation lasted a beat, maybe two. Then, with a heavy sigh, he reached for the phone.
I caught his wrist, fingers curling around it, guiding it back down to the mattress. “Ben.”
His eyes met mine in the dim light, searching, uncertain.
“Just ignore it,” I whispered. “Stay with me.”
Something flickered in his gaze.
He exhaled slowly, then switched the phone off, tucking it under the pillow.
His arms wound around me again, pulling me flush against him, his lips pressing against my forehead.
“Always,” he murmured and for the last time, I let myself believe him.
The memory clings to me like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Always.
A promise that shattered the moment reality came knocking. Sophie had offered to come with me, she said to meet me here, but she’s late and I don’t have the patience for late. Every second only fuels the fire clawing deeper in my chest.
Screw it.
I march straight to the reception desk. The woman behind the counter barely glances up from her screen before pasting on a professional smile.
“Hello, I need to see Ben Ashcroft,” I say, cutting straight through the polite hum of the room.
Her brows lift slightly. “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t give out guest details.”
I exhale through my nose, barely holding on to my patience. “I know he’s staying here.”
“I’m afraid I can’t confirm or deny that.”
“Look,” I grit out, pressing my palms flat against the counter. “I just need to—”
“Lila!”
I spin just as Sophie rushes in, breathless, her bag nearly slipping off her shoulder. “Sorry, sorry! Traffic was insane.” She stops short, scanning my face before glancing at the receptionist, immediately sensing the stand-off. “Is everything okay?”
“She won’t let me up,” I mutter, throwing a glare toward the woman behind the desk.
Sophie straightens, smoothing a hand over her blouse as she flashes a warm, practiced smile, the kind that wins over boardrooms and, more importantly, hotel staff.
“I think there’s been a little mix-up,” she says smoothly, her tone friendly but firm. “Mr Ashcroft is expecting us.”
The receptionist hesitates, lips pressing into a thin line.
Sophie leans in slightly, her voice dropping to something conspiratorial. “Come on, Lisa,” she says, her smile widening. “Mr Kingsley wouldn’t be too happy if he knew you were making his girlfriend wait in the lobby.”
Lisa lets out a slow breath, her fingers tapping against the keyboard.
“I don’t suppose you’re asking me this as a guest?” Lisa mutters, already reaching for the spare key card.
Sophie grins. “I’m asking you as someone who will personally make sure you get the best shifts next week.”
Lisa sighs, but there’s no real fight in it. With a small shake of her head, she pulls a card from the drawer and slides it across the counter. “Penthouse suite.”
I snatch it before she can change her mind.
“You’re the best, Lisa,” Sophie says, winking. “I owe you one.”
Lisa rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest. The moment we step toward the lift, I press the button for the top floor, gripping the key card tight.
Sophie smirks. “Don’t worry about Lisa. She’s always been a bit of a battle-axe, but you just have to know how to chip away at her.”
The doors slide shut with a soft chime, and the lift hums to life, rising smoothly.
It slows slightly, taking its time between floors, the soft whirring of machinery filling the space. I shift my weight, glancing at Sophie. “Is it supposed to be this slow?”
Sophie clears her throat, suddenly very focused on the floor numbers lighting up above the doors. “Uh, yeah… it’s, uh, stopped before.”
Something about the way she says it makes me pause. Her face tinges slightly pink, her lips pressing together like she’s holding something back.
I narrow my eyes. “Sophie.”
“What?”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
I arch a brow, glancing between her and the slow-moving lift. “It would be a nightmare if this thing stopped.”
Sophie lets out a quiet cough, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Depends on who you’re stuck with.”
That’s when it clicks.
“Oh my god.” I whirl on her, mouth dropping open. “You and Marcus—” I gesture vaguely around the lift.
Sophie crosses her arms, trying for nonchalance, but the way she bites back a smirk betrays her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sophie!”
She shrugs, her smirk growing. “What? It has its benefits.”
I shake my head, fighting a reluctant grin, “I will never be able to stand in this lift normally again.”
She chuckles, winking. “That’s what Marcus said too.”
As I glance at her, something tugs at my chest, something warm, something bittersweet.
She’s happy. Truly, effortlessly happy.
It’s written in the way she smiles, the way her eyes light up when she talks about Marcus.
She has someone who adores her, who looks at her like she hung the stars, who would probably set the world on fire if she asked.
Creating a Foundation to help with Parkinson’s in honour of her father and she lets herself have it.
I swallow hard, forcing my gaze forward as the lift finally reaches the top floor.
I am happy for her, I truly am. But a small, selfish part of me, quiet and unwelcome, reminds me:
She has what I once wanted.
What I used to dream about when I was seventeen and reckless and so stupidly in love with Ben that I thought nothing else in the world mattered.
Now I’m standing in a five-star hotel, preparing to fight for my family’s business and livelihood. Sophie nudges me with her elbow, bringing me back. “You okay?”
I blink, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Just… trying my best not to commit a crime in the next ten minutes.”
Sophie hums, tapping her fingers against the lift railing. “That’s fair. Just… maybe don’t break anything in there?”
I frown. “What, like the furniture?”
“No, the antique duck.”
I blink. “The what?”
Sophie sighs, like she’s already exhausted by this conversation. “Marcus has this weird, weird attachment to an antique ceramic duck in the penthouse suite. Hand-painted. Imported from France. I don’t know. Apparently, it’s ‘a conversation piece.’”
I stare at her. “And you allow this?”
She deadpans, “Do you think I have any control over that man?”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh, despite the fire still burning in my chest. “I stormed in here ready to verbally eviscerate Ben, and now I’m just picturing some ridiculous bird judging me from the corner of the room.”
Sophie smirks. “It does have very judgmental eyes.”
I groan, rubbing my temples. “Okay, noted. No duck murder.”
Sophie shifts beside me as the lift doors slide open. “Want backup?” Her tone is still light, but there’s now a hint of seriousness beneath it.
I hesitate for half a second, just long enough for the idea to tempt me, but then I shake my head. “No. I need to do this myself.”
She watches me carefully, then nods. “Alright. But if you don’t come back down in an hour, I’m sending a search party. Or a clean-up crew, depending on how this goes.”
“If I commit a crime, I trust you to make it look like an accident.”
“Obviously.” She smirks, stepping back into the lift. “Good luck.”
I exhale sharply as I head down the hallway, my fingers tightening around the key card. The weight in my chest creeps back in.
After all this time, I’m finally facing him on my terms. My pulse stutters, my grip faltering.
What if—?
No.
I straighten my spine, shoving the hesitation down.
I cannot let him win.