EPISODE17:- TROUBLE AT SILVER HEIGHTS
685 Words
The morning air at Silver Heights Hotel smelled of polish and brewed coffee — the scent of routine Leo had missed.
As soon as he stepped into the grand lobby, familiar faces lit up.
“Leo!”
“Look whose back!”
“Finally!”
Smiles and pats on the shoulder greeted him as he passed the reception desk. Even Clara Wells, clipboard in hand, beamed when she saw him.
“Welcome home,” she said warmly. “The place feels balanced again.”
Leo chuckled. “Balanced? You make me sound like housekeeping therapy.”
“Something like that,” she teased. “We’ve missed your calm. Things have been… hectic lately.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Hectic?”
“You’ll see,” Clara said, her expression tightening.
Barely an hour into his shift, a commotion rose at the front doors.
A convoy of black cars had arrived, and the staff scrambled to attention as photographers outside the glass tried to snap through the tinted windows.
A high-profile guest — a-list famous, Clara whispered — had checked in. The sort who treated five-star service as a birthright.
“Her name’s Madam Varella, fashion investor from Paris,” Clara murmured. “She’s been here three days and already fired two waiters for bringing her tea half a degree too cold.”
Leo sighed. “Sounds peaceful.”
“She’s not the only one,” Clara added quietly. “It’s like every difficult person in the city decided to book rooms this week. We’ve been dealing with constant scenes since you left.”
“Guess I came back just in time,” he said, tying his apron and moving toward the lobby.
As he bent to adjust a flower vase that had toppled during the fuss, a familiar voice froze him mid-motion.
“Move, please. You’re blocking the way.”
Leo straightened.
Lucian Frost.
Impeccably dressed, smiling his effortless public smile.
And beside him—Amanda Smith, a fashion influencer known for her loud personality and louder wardrobe.
For a moment, their eyes locked. Lucian looked uncomfortable, almost caught off guard; Amanda, however, was already rolling her eyes.
“Seriously?” she said, her voice slicing through the chatter. “Why is a janitor standing this close to my man?”
Leo blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t talk back,” Amanda snapped, turning toward Clara and the startled front-desk staff. “Do you know who I am? I’ve walked Paris Fashion Week! I don’t stand next to people who smell like disinfectant!”
Guests turned to stare. Phones lifted. The lobby filled with whispers.
Lucian tried to calm her. “Amanda, please—he’s just doing his job—”
“Then he should do it away from me!” she shouted, stamping her heel on the marble floor.
The echo of it felt like a c***k in the hotels calm.
Leo’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed level. “Ma’am, I apologize if I disturbed you. Please, go ahead.”
Something in his steady tone quieted the lobby faster than management ever could.
Amanda huffed and turned away dramatically, clinging to Lucian’s arm. “Let’s just go upstairs. I need new air.”
As the couple disappeared into the elevator, the murmur of the crowd rose again — laughter, gossip, disbelief.
Clara appeared moments later, shaking her head. “That was chaos.”
Leo let out a quiet laugh. “She’s worse than Isabella Monroe.”
Clara sighed. “Worse and louder. But don’t let it get to you. You’re far beyond their noise.”
He looked at her curiously. “Far beyond?”
Clara smiled faintly. “You don’t see it yet, do you? You handle storms that break everyone else, and still you stand calm. That’s not something ordinary people do.”
Leo said nothing, but her words sank deep.
He turned his gaze to the gleaming elevator doors, their reflection catching the faint image of his tired face.
Far beyond.
Maybe Clara was right. Or maybe she just didn’t know how heavy a secret calmness could be.
- Writer
