Charismatic Shoemaker Lloyd

Chapter 7

Margaret stood in the snow like an insult carved into flesh.

The cold gnawed at her ankles, creeping beneath the hem of her coat, but it was nothing compared to the heat burning through her chest. The glass doors of the Pendergast glowed behind her, warm and indifferent, reflecting chandeliers and wealth she had been denied.

The word alone made her teeth clench.

She gripped her platinum membership card so tightly her fingers ached. It should have been enough. It had always been enough. Doors opened when she arrived. Smiles followed. Apologies came prepackaged.

Not tonight.

The security guards stood a few steps away, their expressions neutral, their eyes pointedly not on her. That—more than being thrown out—felt like the real humiliation.

Margaret slammed her heel against the marble.

Her phone was already in her hand.

“Harris,” she snapped the moment the call connected, voice sharp enough to cut. “I won’t accept this. That lowlife is inside while I’m standing out here like a beggar.”

“What?” Harris sounded distracted. “Who are you talking about?”

“That bastard. Benton.” Her voice shook, fury spilling through the cracks. “He’s sitting in the VIP suites, being treated like royalty. While they threw me out.”

There was a pause.

Then multiple voices erupted on the line.

“What?”

“How is that possible?”

Avery’s voice cut through, measured but skeptical. “Mother, are you sure? You tend to… exaggerate when it comes to Benton.”

Margaret let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Exaggerate? I reminded him of his place, and the head of security came running for him. Didn’t even look at my card before ordering me out.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “I told them we’d terminate our membership. Tell your father to fix this. Now.”

Silence followed.

Then Tyson’s voice came through, calm but edged. “You’re saying Pendergast threw you out?”

“Yes!” Margaret snapped. “That security head is courting another elite. Probably trying to climb by humiliating us.”

Another pause.

“Come home,” Tyson said finally.

Margaret blinked. “What?”

“Come home,” he repeated, slower this time. “We’ll handle it properly.”

The call ended.

Margaret stared at her phone for a long moment, then straightened her shoulders as a few passersby slowed, curiosity flickering across their faces. She refused to give them the satisfaction.

Inside her car, the rage finally broke loose. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, breath ragged, humiliation burning hotter than the cold.

The Tyson mansion was quiet when she arrived too quiet.

Avery met her in the foyer, concern sharp in her eyes. “Mother, how could you let that happen?” she asked quickly. “Didn’t you tell them Harris is close to the Pendergast heir?”

“Our reservation was for four,” Avery added. “They can’t just—”

“Enough,” Harris snapped, pacing. “We’re not blowing our position because of that street rat. He doesn’t belong there.”

Margaret’s anger cooled slightly. That was better. Her family backing her.

“Then we go together,” she said coldly. “Let’s see if they’ll throw all of us out.”

Tyson emerged from his study, jacket already on, expression unreadable. “We’ll return,” he said. “Quietly.”

They arrived at the Pendergast as a unit.

Tyson didn’t raise his voice.

“This is Tyson,” he said at the entrance. “Let us in.”

The guard didn’t blink. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

Tyson’s smile thinned. “Explain.”

“The manager’s orders.”

Tyson gestured toward Harris. “My son is friends with the heir. Are you sure this is wise?”

“The instructions were explicit,” the guard replied evenly. “Premium suites are reserved. Any disturbance will result in permanent removal.”

Tyson froze.

He didn’t need the name spoken.

Lloyd.

The word pressed against his thoughts, heavy and unwelcome. He knew the stories. The reach. The way families vanished from certain circles after being “remembered.”

Avery stepped forward. “But we have a reservation.”

“I understand,” the guard said calmly. “Then I suggest you leave quietly.”

Margaret opened her mouth.

Tyson stopped her with a look.

“Enough,” he said sharply. “We’re leaving.”

Her eyes widened. “After what they did to me?”

“The Lloyd family is inside,” Tyson hissed under his breath. “And if you keep pushing, they’ll remember you.”

That silenced her.

The word remember landed like a threat.

They turned away.

As they drove, Harris stared out the window, jaw tight. “Why would they let Benton in?”

Avery scrolled through her tablet, eyes narrowing. “They didn’t let him in.”

She looked up slowly.

“They cleared the entire floor.”

Harris’s breath caught. “That kind of treatment… that’s not random.”

Tyson said nothing, but his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

Somewhere inside that hotel, a balance had shifted.

And for the first time in years, Tyson felt something unfamiliar crawl up his spine.

Unease.

Not because of what he knew,

But because of what he didn’t.