Chapter 1 - The Setup in Suite 402
The digital clock on the bedside table read precisely 9:14 AM when Mrs. Victoria Carter strolled out of Suite 402, her tiny white Pomeranian tucked under her designer arm like a luxury accessory. I watched them disappear down the carpeted corridor from my supply cart parked ten feet away, breathing a small sigh of relief. Cleaning the VIP suites was always nerve-wracking, especially when guests left behind thousands of dollars worth of jewelry, electronics, and designer luggage lying around. But as a thirty-two-year-old single mother working sixty hours a week to keep the electricity on for my twin daughters, Lily and Chloe, I didn't care about their wealth. I only cared about finishing my shift, picking my girls up from daycare before the late fee kicked in, and keeping my head down.
I pushed my heavy metal cart across the threshold, slipping my yellow rubber gloves on with a practiced snap. The room smelled faintly of expensive French perfume and eucalyptus room spray. True to form, the Carters had left the suite in a state of chaotic elegance. Silk blouses draped over the velvet armchair, empty champagne flutes sat beside the mini-bar, and the kingsize bed was rumpled with high-thread-count sheets spilling onto the floor. I immediately set to work, stripping the bed, emptying the stainless-steel trash cans, and wiping down the mahogany surfaces with disinfectant.
It was routine. Mundane. Safe. Until I reached the bedside table on the far side of the master king bed.
May you like
Resting right on the corner, completely exposed next to a leather-bound journal and a gold-plated room key, was a velvet ring box. It wasn't hidden. It wasn't tucked away inside a drawer or buried beneath a pillow. It was deliberately centered on the polished wood surface, catching the morning sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I paused, my rag hovering inches away. In our line of work, leaving valuables out in the open was a housekeeping nightmare. Protocol dictated that we were never to touch unattended items of high value unless they were thrown out in the trash. If something was left out, we were supposed to report it immediately to the floor supervisor or leave it strictly alone so the guest wouldn't panic.
I frowned, deciding it was best to simply wipe around it and leave the expensive jewelry box untouched. Little did I know, that single moment of hesitation was the exact trigger of a trap that had been carefully laid out for me hours before I even clocked in that morning.
