2026-04-17 15:37:29
Author Efe BoydHow are you enjoying this novel so far? Don't forget to drop a review
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Lodging in the presidential suit
The gold-leafed elevator ascended in a pressurized silence so profound it felt heavy. Behind the polished doors, the mechanism hummed with the precision of a Swiss watch—a physical reminder that they were leaving the world of common men and noisy lobbies behind. Mr. Lewis stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his posture rigid. To the world, he was the Patriarch of the Lewis family, a man who had navigated three decades of corporate warfare to keep his hotel empire afloat. But standing next to Jake, he felt a strange, nagging prickle of unease at the base of his neck. He stole a glance at Jake through the reflection in the elevator’s mirrored panels. The young man looked like a jarring anomaly. His clothes were unbranded, slightly worn at the seams, and carried the dust of the streets. Yet, the way he leaned against the handrail—relaxed, almost bored—suggested a level of confidence that couldn't be faked. It was the posture of a man who had been born into rooms like
Showing dominance
The grand lobby of the Spring Hotel was a monument to old money and quiet arrogance. Under the glow of six-tier crystal chandeliers, the elite of the city stood like statues in a museum of the wealthy. But today, the silence was not one of prestige; it was the silence of a vacuum.Jake stood at the center of it all. To any casual observer, his attire still screamed "outsider," but his posture—shoulders relaxed, chin slightly tilted, eyes tracking every movement with predatory precision—screamed "owner." He watched the exchange between Thomas and Melvin with the detached interest of a scientist observing a chemical reaction that was destined to explode.He hadn't expected Thomas to be this ruthless. To dismantle his own blood, his own heir, in front of a man he had only just met? It was a power move that transcended simple discipline. Thomas was signaling to Jake that the "arrangement"—the hidden gears of their mutual interest—was worth more than Melvin’s entire existence."But fathe
You can never be like your brother
The exodus was silent and frantic.The socialites, the city’s self-appointed royalty who usually fought for every second of the spotlight, didn't wait to be told twice. There was no lingering to whisper behind manicured hands or trade gossip about the blood on the marble floor. They saw the look in Thomas Lewis’s eyes—a cold, predatory stillness—and they fled. Within seconds, the grand lobby of the St. Regis, usually a hive of networking and vanity, was hollowed out. The only sounds left were the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock and the ragged, wet breathing of the unconscious floor manager lying near the elevators.The silence that remained was heavy, pregnant with the weight of secrets that could burn the city to the ground. Jake stood in the center of it all, his hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans. To any passerby, he looked like a delivery boy who had taken a wrong turn into a palace. But the air around him didn't ripple with the anxiety of a commoner; it
Thomas Lewis
Melvin lunged with the grace of a desperate man. There was no technique in the movement, only the raw, ugly impulse of a bully who had run out of words. He moved like a falling building—heavy, predictable, and fueled by a lifetime of never being challenged. To the socialites watching from the sidelines, it was a terrifying display of Lewis's power. To Jake, it was a sad, slow-motion catastrophe. Jake didn't scramble. He didn't even widen his stance. He moved with a precision that didn't belong to a man in rags, a fluid grace that suggested his grease-stained clothes were merely a costume for something much more dangerous. As Melvin’s clawed hand—manicured and soft—swung toward his throat, Jake simply stepped back half an inch.It was the smallest possible movement, a ghostly retreat that left Melvin swinging at shadows. The momentum carried the billionaire forward, his fingers clutching only empty air as his balance betrayed him. In that split second, the power dynamic in the ro
Frustration
The Grand Hyatt lobby was a cathedral of glass, marble, and whispered secrets. It was a place where a single nod from the right person could save a company, and a frown could ruin a life. But tonight, the air was heavy with something far more volatile than business: pure, unadulterated humiliation. Melvin Lewis didn't even bother to look down at the manager. Sterling was still on the floor, his hands trembling as he tried to push himself up. To Melvin, the man was less than an insect; he was merely a piece of equipment that had malfunctioned.With a slow, agonizing deliberation that drew every eye in the lobby, Melvin reached into the breast pocket of his tailored charcoal suit. He pulled out a silk handkerchief, embroidered with the subtle silver 'L' of the Lewis family crest. He began to wipe the hand he had used to strike Sterling. He moved his fingers slowly, scrubbing the skin as if he had just touched something oily, diseased, and utterly unpleasant. His eyes never left Jake.
New wealthy comer
The air in the Grand Imperial’s lobby felt as though it had turned to liquid lead.Sterling, the floor manager who had spent the last ten minutes sneering at Jake as if he were a stain on the marble, was now frozen. His mouth hung open, wide enough for a fly to buzz in, and his eyes were glued to the card gripped between Jake’s fingers.It wasn't just a credit card. It was a masterpiece of black titanium and 24-karat gold leaf, embossed with a dragon motif that seemed to writhe under the lobby’s chandeliers. This was the Sovereign Zenith Card. It was a legend in the banking world—a card that wasn't issued by application, but by invitation only to the top 0.001% of the global elite.Gulp.The sound of Sterling’s nervous swallow was deafening in the sudden silence. His knees, previously locked in a stance of arrogance, began to knock together. A cold, prickling sweat broke out across his scalp, trickling down his neck and soaking into his expensive, starch-stiffened collar.The socialit
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