12

Isabella Leonardo:

My stomach churned. It was Sunday night, and all I wanted was to melt into my bed and forget the world. But no—another shift at that damn hotel. Still better than being a burden.

“Ugh… my head is killing me,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my forehead as I forced myself into the stiff hotel uniform.

“Here. Painkiller.”

A voice cut in—cool, casual. I turned to see a girl leaning against the cabinet like she owned the place, holding out a tablet.

I blinked, hesitated… then took it.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anytime, pookie.”

She grinned, smacked my arm lightly, and strolled off like nothing happened.

I blinked after her, a little stunned. Who even says "pookie"? But I guess it made me smile a bit. Just a bit.

By the time I clocked in, the lobby was already buzzing with late check-ins and impatient businessmen flashing black cards like they were weapons. I got sent straight to the bar—lucky me.

I tied my apron tighter and stepped behind the counter, forcing a polite smile I didn’t feel.

The bar had that fake luxury smell—overpriced liquor and floral-scented cleaner. I grabbed a cloth and started wiping the counter, trying to stay invisible.

“Hey, sweetheart!”

A thick voice called out, already slurred. I looked up to see a man in an expensive suit, gold watch flashing as he waved me over.

I kept my voice steady. “What can I get you, sir?”

He leaned forward, his cologne punching the air between us. “Something strong. Like you.”

I forced a smile. "Coming right up."

As I mixed the drink, he kept talking, mostly to himself. Something about investments, something about his wife who “doesn’t understand ambition.” I nodded at the right parts, slid the drink over, and tried to leave.

“Wait—what’s your name?” he asked, eyes dragging over my uniform like it was made of glass.

“I’d rather not say,” I replied coolly.

He laughed. “Playing hard to get? You hotel girls are all the same—sweet until you want something.”

I said nothing. Just walked away.

Later, I saw him talking to another waitress. He didn’t even remember me. That’s how it is here—names don’t matter. Just faces, service, and silence.

By the time my shift ended, it was past 2 a.m. My legs were on fire, my eyes dry and gritty. I dragged myself toward the workers’ quarters—a narrow hallway behind the laundry area that led to a row of small, boxy rooms.

---

The bed was barely softer than the floor, but I dropped onto it like it was heaven. I didn’t even care that I still had my socks on.

---

I woke up groggy, the kind of tired that clung to my bones. The pale light from the single bulb above made everything feel colder than it was.

Across the room, the girl from last night was brushing her teeth at the small shared sink. Her curly ponytail bobbed slightly with each movement. I hadn’t even realized we shared a room.

She glanced at me in the mirror, toothbrush still in her mouth. “You snore.”

I sat up, blinking. “What?”

She spit, rinsed, and turned to face me. “I said you snore. Not in an annoying way, though. Kinda cute.”

I groaned and rubbed my face. “Great. Just what I need added to my reputation.”

She laughed. “Relax. We all do.”

I stood, stretching my sore limbs. “Hey… I never asked your name.”

She wiped her hands on her towel. “Naomi. But you can call me Ami. Everyone does.”

“Ami,” I repeated. “Thanks for the painkillers last night.”

She shrugged. “No problem. Anything to help a fellow hotel prisoner.”

That made me laugh a little, unexpectedly. “Feels like jail sometimes.”

“Only with worse uniforms,” she said, scrunching her nose.

We got ready side by side. It wasn’t much—a quick cold shower, fixing our hair in the foggy mirror, pulling on the standard black uniforms. But it felt easier, less heavy, with someone else there.

“Let’s go,” Ami said, grabbing her name tag from the desk. “If we’re late again, the manager’s going to throw another fit.”

“I’m not in the mood for her yelling,” I said, following her out the door.

“Then stick with me, Isabella,” Ami said with a wink. “I know how to hide in plain sight.”

So this morning, instead of working as a waitress in the bar, I found myself stationed at the reception desk. Apparently, the schedule had switched, and Ami was working with me. I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when I saw her behind the counter.

“Well, this is a twist,” I muttered. “Guess we’re stuck together today.”

Ami flashed a grin, unbothered. “Two days in, two days out. We’ve got this.”

The lobby was quiet for now, but it was only a matter of time before the rush started. As I adjusted to the routine, the usual mix of guests came in, checking in and out, most of them too wrapped up in their own world to notice the staff. Still, there were always those few who couldn’t resist a comment.

“So, guess who’s staying here today,” Ami said, leaning in with that look on her face—the one that meant she had something juicy to share.

I gave her a glance but didn’t respond right away. “Who?”

“Mr. Bellamy in 204. He’s one of those high-profile CEOs. Always gets his room ‘just right,’ and I’m talking about more than the pillows. He likes to flirt with the staff—especially the new ones.”

“Charming,” I muttered under my breath. “Just what I need.”

Ami chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. Just smile and nod.”

Before I could respond, a businessman in a suit walked up to the counter. I smiled professionally, ready to do my job. Ami slipped into her role as well, greeting the next guest with practiced ease. The day went by in a blur, with check-ins, check-outs, and a few overly-friendly guests who thought a smile meant more than a greeting.

And that was how my two days in and out ended. Don’t ask me about how I felt. By the time I made it back to my room, I was exhausted—physically and mentally.

The first thing I did was hop into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the exhaustion. Once I was done, I collapsed onto my bed, my body grateful for the chance to just relax. My mind, however, was still racing, replaying the day’s encounters, the strange guests, and the weird tension at the front desk.

I stared at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing on my mind.

A soft knock on the door broke through the silence.

“Isabella?” It was Christopher’s voice. I groaned internally but didn’t move. He opened the door slowly, peeking his head in. “You okay in here?”

I exhaled, still staring up. “It was a long day. Work was... stressful.”

He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “I can imagine. Hotel work is different from what I’m used to.” His gaze lingered for a moment. “You ever thought about leaving this behind? Joining the family business?”

I chuckled, the thought absurd. “I don’t think I could handle it. No offense, but working for your company sounds like a nightmare.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I can be persuasive.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Christopher always had a way of pushing buttons, but I was used to it.

He moved closer, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “You look tense. You want me to help you relax?”

My first instinct was to push him away, but there was something in his expression—something that softened the usual cocky arrogance. I hesitated for a moment before speaking, still unsure.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But just for a minute.”

His hands were warm as they gently pressed against my shoulders, kneading the tension that had built up there. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the underlying tension in the room. But his touch, though light, was different than I expected.

I told myself I shouldn't let it feel good, but the pressure of his hands on my muscles was soothing.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his voice low. “You’ve earned it.”

I almost believed him. But my mind was still fighting. This was wrong. He was my stepbrother—too close, too complicated. I should stop this.

I shifted, trying to regain control of the situation. “Christopher, this is... This is stupid.”

But even as I said the words, a part of me wasn’t as certain as I wanted to be. His hands continued their work, now tracing down my back. I bit my lip, the conflict inside me deepening.

“Stop, you know we shouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaky. But I couldn’t deny the way my body responded to him. It was a strange pull, something I didn’t know how to fight.

He paused for a moment, and I felt his breath against my neck as he leaned in slightly. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

I sat up quickly, pushing myself away from him, my breath quickening. “We can't, Christopher. We just can't.”

The silence between us was thick, charged with unspoken things. I stood up, trying to regain my composure. “You should go.”

“No, I want to stay…” he kissed my neck and I moaned softly.

“I fucking love you…”