Chapter 1

To celebrate my mother's sixtieth birthday, I made a point of booking the best private room at my own restaurant.

But the moment I pushed open the door to the room, a woman decked out in designer labels chased us right back out.

"Where did this hick crawl in from? You think the Lampton Hotel is a place for people like you?"

I steadied my mother, who nearly fell, and stared at the woman coldly.

"We booked this room well in advance. What gives you the right to—"

"The right?"

Before I could finish, the woman pulled out a wad of cash and threw it in my face.

"The right of being richer than you!"

I forced down my anger and turned to confront the lobby manager hiding off to the side.

"The Lampton Hotel has always put its guests first. Since when is there a rule about clearing a room and throwing customers out on a whim?"

The woman lifted her chin arrogantly, her face full of contempt.

"I'll be honest with you—the owner of this hotel, Kent Swanson, is my boyfriend."

"Here, my word is the rule. Understand?"

When I heard that name, I froze for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh.

"Oh, I understand all right. But… starting today, this hotel no longer belongs to the Swansons!"

…

Ruth Pruitt tilted her head and looked me up and down, her laugh grating.

"Not very old, but plenty mouthy."

She turned to Manager Whitney beside her, crossed her arms, and jerked her chin up.

"Manager Whitney, what are you standing around for? Throw this lunatic out already!"

Manager Whitney rubbed his hands together, nodding and bowing with a fawning smile.

"Ms. Pruitt, don't you worry, I'll handle it right away."

I planted myself in front of my mother and stared him down coldly.

"Manager Whitney, I'd advise you to check the VIP order records in the reservation system first."

"I booked this room a month ago and paid in full. There's a complete order record in the system."

Manager Whitney hesitated, then instinctively glanced over toward Ruth.

Ruth gave a cold snort and rolled her eyes.

Seeing that, Manager Whitney immediately pulled out his tablet, tapped at it a few times, and let out a scoffing laugh.

"Ma'am, I've checked, and there is no record of any booking under your name in the system at all."

He flipped the tablet around and waved the screen at me.

"The Lampton Hotel is the top establishment in Harborview, not some roadside greasy spoon."

"And it's certainly not a place you can sneak into for a free meal."

I had just watched him hit delete on the back end with my own eyes, so I couldn't help sneering, and I warned him sharply.

"You altered the records right in front of me. You think I didn't see it?"

"By corporate regulations, that kind of conduct is a serious violation—grounds for a full investigation and dismissal."

Manager Whitney paused, then burst out laughing.

"A country hick in bargain-bin clothes, and you're lecturing me about corporate regulations?"

"Let me tell you something. Mr. Swanson is the corporation, and Ms. Pruitt is Mr. Swanson's whole sky."

"In this hotel, once Ms. Pruitt has spoken, even corporate regulations have to step aside."

Ruth looked thoroughly pleased and shot me a taunting smile.

My mother, seeing how badly things were going, went pale with worry.

She had no idea this hotel was mine; she only thought I was an ordinary office worker.

Spending fifty thousand on a single meal was already like cutting the flesh off her bones.

And I didn't dare tell her the truth.

She'd worked hard her whole life and her health was poor. If she knew I was running a business this large, she'd lie awake every night.

So she just assumed I was a hard-up office worker who had scraped together a little money to give her a decent birthday.

If we got thrown out, that fifty thousand would all go down the drain.

She hurriedly dug out a reservation slip, still warm from her body, from the old cloth bag she kept close.

With trembling hands, she held the slip out to Manager Whitney, her tone as humble as could be.

"Sir, we really did pay. The date matches, too. Look, there's a stamp right here."

"We won't fight this young lady for it. Any little table will do—just enough to fulfill my daughter's wish to honor me."

"We'll be quick, we promise we won't make a sound, we'll eat and leave, please don't throw us out."

Manager Whitney glanced down at the crumpled slip and curled his lip.

"Old woman, you think a scrap of junk paper counts as a reservation slip?"

He snatched the paper out of my mother's hand, ripped it to shreds with a few quick tears, and tossed them into the air.

"Forging hotel receipts—I could have you charged with fraud, you know that?"

My mother froze, scraps of paper caught in her graying hair, her lips trembling, but she didn't dare make a sound.

As I watched her bend down and try to piece the fragments back together, my eyes went red in an instant.

Just then, Manager Whitney picked up his walkie-talkie and barked into the mouthpiece.

"Security team, send four men up here, and bring your gear."

"Someone's making trouble on the second floor. Clear the area now."