Chapter 12: A Room for Dignity

The grand lobby of SkyRock Hotel shimmered with polished marble floors and golden chandeliers that bathed the space in warm light.

For Celine, though, the glow felt hostile, a mirror reflecting her scars and humiliation.

She clung to the edges of her torn gown, her eyes downcast as she followed Bashiru to the reception desk.

“Good evening,” Bashiru said firmly. “We need a room.”

The lady behind the counter barely raised her head. Her eyes shifted from Bashiru to Celine, narrowing with a mixture of disgust and mockery. “For both of you… or for her?” she asked, her tone drenched in scorn.

“For her,” Bashiru replied curtly.

The lady smirked faintly, her painted lips curling as she tapped her nails against the desk. “I’m sorry, sir, our rooms are filled up.”

With that, she looked away, flipping a register open, pretending to be busy.

Bashiru’s face hardened. He turned sharply toward Celine, then back to the lady. His blood boiled.

“You mean to tell me,” he barked, his voice echoing through the lobby, “that this is how you treat your customers here? You judge them by their appearance, by whether they walk in wearing gold chains, diamond rings, flashy clothes, or with bodyguards and fancy cars? Tell me, is that how your hotel operates?”

The receptionist shifted uneasily but refused to meet his eyes.

Bashiru slammed his hand on the counter, the sound cracking like thunder. “Answer me! Can you yourself even afford a room here should you pose as a customer?”

His finger pointed directly at her face. “Eh? I’m asking you!”

The second receptionist, visibly shaken, tapped her colleague nervously and whispered, “Do you want to lose your job? Just attend to them.”

But the first one scoffed, lifting her chin with arrogance. Her eyes darted once more to Celine, full of disdain.

“Please, Bashiru,” Celine whispered, tugging at his arm, her voice trembling. “Let’s go to another hotel. It’s not worth the trouble.”

But Bashiru was beyond calming. His shoulders squared, his stance rooted like a tree refusing to be moved.

“I want to see your manager!” he thundered. “Call him now!”

The air in the lobby grew tense. Guests glanced up from their drinks and conversations, drawn to the drama unfolding at the reception.

Whispers swirled, eyes darted, phones almost rising to capture the scene.

Just then, a man in a sleek black suit emerged from a side office, his stride quick, his expression stern. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Before the receptionist could open her mouth, Bashiru stepped forward, his voice cutting like a blade. “Are you the manager?”

“Yes,” the man said cautiously. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The problem,” Bashiru began, his voice resonant, “is that your receptionist here treats customers with contempt. She looked at us like filth, decided on her own that this lady beside me doesn’t deserve a room. And then she lied, she said your rooms are filled up. Is that the kind of service your five-star hotel offers? Is that the reputation you’re building for SkyRock?”

The manager’s gaze flickered nervously between Bashiru and Celine. His lips parted, ready to dismiss them just as the receptionist had. But then his eyes darted around the lobby.

He saw the crowd watching, the murmurs rising, the danger of scandal hanging in the air. One video, one photo, and their brand could crumble online.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Turning sharply to the receptionist, he snapped, “Apologize to them. Now. And attend to the lady immediately.”

The woman froze, her face draining of color. For a moment, her pride fought to resist, but the weight of her superior’s command crushed her arrogance.

She muttered an apology through clenched teeth and began typing on her computer.

Celine stood there quietly, her hands trembling, her cheeks burning with both relief and shame.

Moments later, a key card was slid across the counter. Bashiru took it without a word, leading Celine away from the growing stares.

For the first time in days, Celine felt a glimmer of dignity restored. Someone had stood for her, not because of her name, not because of what she had, but simply because she was human.

Yet beneath that fragile relief, suspicion lingered. Men had rescued her before, only to betray her later.

Could she trust this one?

Inside the quiet of the room, the weight of the evening pressed down on her. The soft bed, the cool air from the AC, the faint fragrance of lavender, all felt surreal after the dirt, the fear, and the shame of the streets.

She turned slowly to Bashiru, her voice fragile but earnest. “Thank you… for what you did back there. Even without knowing who I am.”

Bashiru nodded, his expression calm but unreadable. “Freshen up. Rest. You need it. I’ll be leaving now, but tomorrow morning, I’ll be here. Then we’ll talk about you… and the way forward.”

Before Celine could respond, a buzz vibrated from his pocket. He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen.

His brows furrowed briefly. “Um… I should get going now. Work calls.”

He moved toward the door, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room.

Then he paused, turning to her, a faint smile tugging his lips. “I hope you won’t run away by the time I return tomorrow morning?” His voice carried a teasing edge, softening the air.

Celine laughed lightly, the sound almost strange to her ears after so much sorrow.

She shook her head. But inside, her heart raced because she had indeed thought of running.

How did he know? she wondered.

“No. I’ll be here,” she said softly, her lips curling into a cautious smile. “By the way… I’m Celine Wright.”

Bashiru’s face lit with recognition, though he masked it quickly. He stepped back into the room, stretched out a strong hand.

“Nice to meet you, Celine.”

Then he turned and walked out, waving his hand as the door clicked shut behind him.