Charismatic Shoemaker Lloyd

Chapter 6

Warmth clung to Benton’s coat as the glass doors slid shut behind him.

The hotel lobby gleamed—quiet, controlled, watchful. Conversations dipped and resumed in measured tones. No one stared outright, but he felt it. The shift. The attention. The unspoken question of why someone like him had been escorted in instead of thrown out.

Then a laugh cut through the air.

Sharp. Disbelieving.

Margaret Tyson turned from the reception desk, her expression twisting as her gaze locked onto Benton. For a heartbeat, she simply stared—taking in his presence, the way security had parted for him, the fact that he was inside.

Something ugly flared behind her eyes.

“So,” she said slowly, voice carrying. “They let you in.”

She stepped closer, heels striking marble like punctuation marks. Her gaze dropped deliberately to his clothes, then lifted again—measuring, judging, deciding.

“Nobody in their right mind would give you an Amex card,” Margaret said coldly. “So there are only two explanations. Either someone wants to watch you humiliate yourself… or you stole it.”

Her voice wasn’t loud at first. It didn’t need to be.

Benton stood still beneath the hotel’s golden lights, the warmth from inside stopping just short of the glass doors behind him. Snow clung to the edges of the marble steps. His breath fogged once, then steadied.

Margaret stepped closer.

“Since you’ve forgotten,” she continued, raising her voice just enough to draw attention, “let me remind you who you are.”

She circled him slowly, heels clicking against stone, deliberate and theatrical. When she stopped, she pushed one foot forward, the tip of her polished shoe stopping inches from his chest.

“Do you remember this?” she asked sweetly. “On your knees. Rag in hand. Polishing my shoes like the street dog you are.”

Benton’s jaw tightened.

Margaret smiled. She loved that. Loved seeing restraint mistaken for weakness.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a few crisp bills, waving them lazily in front of his face.

“You’ve been chased out of our mansion,” she announced loudly, making sure the nearby guests heard. “But I’m not cruel. Not for old times’ sake.”

She dropped the bills at his feet.

“Go on,” she said. “Clean my shoes. I’ll even buy you food from this restaurant. You can use your sleeve—since you don’t seem to have your brush. Think of it as charity.”

A ripple of gasps passed through the onlookers.

Margaret straightened, chin lifted. “Street dogs don’t have pride. He’ll pick it up.”

She added more bills, turning briefly to the guards with a charming smile. “If he’s done quickly, maybe he can polish yours too. That’s all he’s ever been good at.”

The guards shifted. One of them glanced at the money.

Benton didn’t move.

Margaret’s smile thinned.

“I was willing to be generous,” she said sharply. “But now you’re embarrassing me.”

Her nostrils flared. “Throw him out.”

The guards stepped forward, hands brushing Benton’s sleeves.

“Move,” one growled. “Unless you want a broken rib.”

“Stop.”

The word cut through the crowd like a blade.

The head of security hurried forward, breath uneven, eyes darting between Benton and Margaret.

“I was instructed to personally welcome Mr. Benton,” he said quickly. “I didn’t expect—”

“To see him dressed like trash?” Margaret snapped. “Don’t insult me with titles. This thing leeches off my family.”

She turned toward Benton, voice dripping with wounded pride. “If you don’t remove him right now, you’ll lose an important client.”

The guards tightened their grip.

“Enough.”

The head of security’s voice dropped, cold and final.

The guards froze.

Before Margaret could react, he turned sharply. “Escort her out.”

Silence slammed down.

Margaret’s face twisted. “Excuse me?”

“I said escort her out.”

Her voice rose, shrill with disbelief. “Do you know who I am? I have a reservation. I’m a platinum member. I will destroy this place.”

She shot Benton a venomous look. “Don’t think this changes anything. Whatever lies you fed them, you’re still nothing.”

The head of security didn’t even look at her.

“Old Charles of the Lloyd family is in the Diamond Suite,” he said evenly. “Along with the manager. You’re disrupting a private meeting.”

He paused.

“And risking offending people far more valuable than your membership.”

The words hit.

Margaret went still.

Around them, the air felt heavier.

“If this hotel can afford to throw me out,” she whispered, “then—”

“Escort her,” the head of security repeated, already turning away.

The guards grabbed her arms. This time, there was no hesitation.

“You’ll regret this!” Margaret screamed as she was dragged away. “Benton, you’re still the same piece of filth we scraped off our shoes!”

The doors closed behind her.

The noise faded.

Benton stood where he was, heart steady, something unfamiliar settling into his chest.

The head of security turned and bowed—deep. Precise.

“You needn’t be surprised, sir,” he said quietly. “Old Charles is waiting. Please allow me to escort you inside.”

Benton didn’t answer immediately.

As he stepped forward, warmth spilling over him from the open doors, one thought crossed his mind—sharp, unsettling, undeniable.

They don’t know who I am.

But they’re already afraid to offend me.

And somewhere in the city, the people who ruined his life were about to realize—

He was no longer standing where they left him.