The receptionist’s manicured fingers froze mid-air, hovering rigidly above the keyboard.
The silence in the lobby morphed from quiet judgment into something utterly suffocating. The name hung in the chilled air, heavier than the storm outside.
Adrian Vance.
The sole proprietor of Halcyon Hospitality. The man who owned the very marble floor they were presently standing upon.
Mr. Talbot’s impeccable, cruel smirk vanished as if it had been violently struck from his face.
“Check the secure registry,” the manager hissed, his voice entirely stripped of its former arrogance. “The owner’s block. Now.”
The clerk’s hands visibly trembled as he typed. A soft, electronic chime rang out from the terminal. He stared at the monitor, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply.
“Sir,” the clerk choked out, his eyes wide with unadulterated terror. “The penthouse… it is reserved under a private hold. For E. Vance.”
Before Mr. Talbot could even attempt to formulate an apology, the heavy glass doors of the lobby parted with a sudden, authoritative rush of wind.
Striding purposefully through the entrance was a man clad in a tailored midnight-blue suit. He didn’t glance at the amber chandeliers, the gaping patrons, or the paralyzed general manager. His piercing gaze locked instantly onto the frail, dripping figure standing by the counter.
“Dad.”
The single syllable shattered the stillness.
Adrian Vance crossed the expanse of the lobby, entirely indifferent to the puddle of rainwater soaking into his bespoke leather shoes, and wrapped his arms around the old man in a fierce, protective embrace.
“When my driver couldn’t find you at the station, I tore the district apart,” Adrian murmured, stepping back to gently inspect Elijah’s exhausted features.
“I lost my bag, Adrian,” Elijah whispered, the tension finally leaving his stooped shoulders. “And my phone.”
“None of that matters now.” Adrian offered a warm, reassuring smile.
Then, he slowly pivoted.
The warmth in his eyes completely evaporated, replaced by an unforgiving, arctic glare as he locked onto Mr. Talbot.
“Mr. Vance, we—we had absolutely no idea—” the manager stammered, shrinking backward.
“Clear out your desks,” Adrian commanded softly, his tone brokering no argument. “Both of you.”
Placing a gentle hand on his father’s back, Adrian guided him toward the private elevators, leaving the breathless, humiliated silence of the lobby far behind them.