Fired My Fiance, Claimed My Empire

Greyson, the hotel's General Manager. We were supposed to be building an emp

staff. She deliberately scalded my hand with hot coffee,

with the city's mayor,

omed for the entire staff to hear. "Th

d just ordered me to kneel bef

pped my

to the Kerr hotel empire and said, "Greyson

pte

ress to the hotel empire, would go undercover as "Ella Casey," a concierge trainee. I would learn the business from the ground up, und

e so much else

ed sense of obligation to a manipulative socialite more than he valued my dignity,

a hive of activity, a constant symphony of requests, complaints, and rapid-fire solutions. I was just ano

iced in the mirror, my voice carefully d

"To truly lead, Ella," he'd said, his voice raspy with age but sharp with wisdom, "you must firs

n that felt so real then. "A year, just one year, and you'll have the kind of insight no one else at your level eve

ver ago, that fee

nd, like glass cracking under immense pressure, sliced through the a

bob, gleamed like polished gold. Her dress was an impossibly tight, shimmering sheath of sapphire silk, clinging to every cur

en S

ch step was a statement, each glance a challenge. She reached the main reception desk, her

p, surprisingly loud in the suddenly sil

to maintain her composure. "Ms. Short, Mr. Hold

the appointment. Tell him Imogen is here and she expects him, now." She tappe

. I can try to reach him, Ms. Short, but he specifi

bilities to me? Do you know who I am? Do you know what I mean to Greyson?" Her vo

meone he felt a profound obligation to. He' d painted her as fragile, misunderstood, a victim of

. My training demanded it. My identity demanded it. But inside, a slow, cold anger

g slightly, "we have hotel policies. Mr. Holden is in a crucial meeting with th

ies? Your 'policies' don't apply to me. I need a suite. The penthouse. And I need it arranged

ionist explained, her voice barely a whisper now. "We have a

ish lobby, drawing stares and whispers from nearby guests. "I want my penthouse. Or do I need to remind Greyson exactly who secured

er eyes wide with fear. My muscles tensed, my body screaming to intervene, to remind this woman of decorum, of respect, of ba

onist to me. Her eyes, cold and sharp, raked over my simple concierge uniform. "Do you have noth

sion carefully neutral. "I'm a concierge t

you just graduated from high school. Go fetch me a coffee. A triple-shot, extra-hot, non-fat, no-foam latte. And make it quick. My

n a cage. Fetch me a coffee. I, Ella Kerr, heiress to the Kerr empire, being ordered around by this

urricane raging inside me. I forced a small, polite smile onto my face, th

mposed. Let's see how long that lasts." She gestured vaguely at my uniform. "Honestly, Greyson needs to raise

, his face pale with anxiety. He shot me a desperate, pleading look. "Ella is new. We're still training her. I a

ee if Greyson's new hires can even follow basic instructions." She leaned in conspiratorially, though her voice carried clearly across the

es darting between Imogen and me. "No, no, Ms. Short, of course not. Ella, please, just.

ryone around her miserable. And Greyson, my fiancé, was enabling it. He had described her

s relationship with this woman? And more importantly, why was he allowing her to terrorize his

ce. I would play the trainee, fetch the coffee, endure the humiliation. But I would do it with eyes wide open, watching every move, noting e