My Fiancé's Mistress Grabbed My Suite, So I Reclaimed the Hotel

To celebrate my mother's sixtieth birthday, I booked the best private room in our own restaurant. But the moment I pushed open the door, a woman dressed head to toe in designer labels drove us out. "Where did these hillbillies crawl in from? You think trash like you belongs in the Lampton Hotel?" I steadied my mother, who had nearly fallen, and stared her down coldly. "We reserved this room ahead of time. What gives you the right to—"