Chapter 252: She’s Exhausted
The opulent gleam of the Hotel lobby, a testament to wealth with its endless marble expanses and the soft caress of golden light, was utterly lost on Levi. His world had shrunk to a single, burning point of focus: the penthouse suite perched atop this monument to luxury, the temporary domain of Ken Stuart.
Each polished surface, each hushed conversation, each admiring glance from the staff was an irrelevant distraction. His purpose was singular, driven by a raw, untamed fury that churned in his gut.
He moved with a predator’s intent, his long strides eating up the distance to the elevators. The concerned glances of the concierge, the subtle hesitations of the front desk staff – none of it registered. He was beyond polite formalities, beyond the constraints of social decorum. His hand, steady despite the tremor of his rage, produced the top-floor keycard override, a silent testament to his usual role, now twisted for a far more personal mission. He slid it into the reader, the soft click echoing in the otherwise silent space, a prelude to the confrontation he craved.
The elevator ascended smoothly, a gilded cage carrying him toward the answers he desperately sought. He was done with the agonizing limbo of speculation, the gnawing uncertainty that had become a constant companion. He had to know the truth, the raw, unfiltered reality of the connection between Ken Stuart and Lyse.
The chime of the elevator announcing his arrival on the penthouse level was a stark punctuation mark to his internal turmoil. The doors whispered open, revealing a hushed, narrow hallway, the plush carpet muffling any sound. Standing sentinel before the suite’s imposing double doors was Bella, Ken Stuart’s ever-present manager. Her petite frame was clad in a severe black pantsuit, her arms crossed defensively, her face a mask of professional disapproval.
"Mr. Van Doren, I am sorry, but Mr. Stuart is not taking unannounced guests," she stated, her voice crisp and unwavering, stepping forward as if to physically bar his passage. "You can have your people—"
"I am not here for an appointment," Levi cut her off, his voice dangerously low and even, each word carrying the weight of his simmering anger. "I am here for answers."
Bella remained steadfast, her sharp eyes locking with his. "Then call your publicist. Because I am telling you now, this isn’t happening." Her resolve was palpable, a loyal guardian protecting her client’s privacy.
But fate, or perhaps Ken Stuart himself, intervened. Behind Bella, the heavy double doors creaked open.
Ken Stuart stood in the doorway, an unexpected tableau of casual disarray. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves carelessly rolled up his forearms, and his dark hair was tousled, as if he had indeed just emerged from a passionate encounter or the chaotic energy of a demanding photoshoot.
"Bella," Ken said, his voice a low, steady drawl that somehow managed to cut through the tension. "It’s fine. Let the man in."