Betsey stepped inside. The room was transformed.

The bloody towels were gone. The crystal vase was back on the table. A set of expensive leather luggage was stacked neatly by the door.

Celestino Franklin stood by the window.

He was no longer the wounded animal on the sofa. He was wearing a fresh, crisp white shirt, tucked into dark trousers. He held a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

He turned slowly. His face was clean shaven, radiating power and wealth. But the eyes were the same. Storm gray. Amused. Dangerous.

"You didn't jump out the window," she said. The words left her mouth before she could stop them. She was bold despite herself.

"I own the window," he replied smoothly. He took a sip of his drink.

He walked toward her. The limp was barely visible now, just a slight hesitation in his stride. He stopped a foot away, invading her personal space.

He reached for the chair next to him. His ruined suit jacket was draped over it.

He picked it up and tossed it to her.

Betsey caught it reflexively.

"Disposal," he ordered. "And... thank you."

The "thank you" was a whisper, intimate and low.

Betsey clutched the jacket to her chest. It was heavy. And it smelled of him.

That scent. Sandalwood and Scotch.

Her brain stuttered. It was the same scent from her dream. She dismissed it again, more forcefully this time. A coincidence. A popular, expensive cologne. Nothing more.

She looked at him sharply. Her eyes searched his face. The man in Vienna had been a shadow, bearded and rough. This man was polished, a prince of finance. It was impossible.

Celestino watched her reaction. He was gauging her. He saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes.

He decided to push.

"Call me Celestino."

Betsey stiffened. "I can't, sir. It's against protocol."

"I am the protocol here," he said. "Say it."

His voice was a command. It triggered a shiver that ran down her spine.

"Celestino," she breathed out.

The name tasted familiar on her tongue. It felt right.

He smiled. It was a satisfied, predatory smile. "Good. Now, pour me another drink."

He turned and walked back to the window, dismissing her like a servant. But the air between them was electric. He treated her like a butler, but he had looked at her like something more.

Betsey moved to the bar. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the bottle of scotch. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was trapped in a cage with a very large, very intelligent predator.

Betsey finished her shift in the suite in a daze. She moved around him, cleaning things that were already clean, trying to escape the weight of his gaze. Every time she turned, he was watching her.

She finally escaped. She walked down the hallway, clutching the laundry bag that contained his ruined jacket.

Lars intercepted her near the elevators.

"Mr. Franklin is satisfied," Lars said. His tone was neutral. "You keep the position."

He handed her a thick white envelope. "A tip. For your... discretion."

Betsey felt insulted. It felt like hush money. But she took it. It was part of the role. A butler would take the money.

She got into the service elevator. As soon as the doors closed, she opened the laundry bag.

She buried her face in the jacket.

The scent was undeniable. It evoked a feeling, a dangerous warmth she refused to name. Vienna. The Blue Danube Bar.

She closed her eyes, flashing back to the man's hands on her hips.

"Impossible," she whispered to the empty elevator. He was a mercenary, a ghost. This was a billionaire. She was letting the anniversary, the lack of sleep, get to her.

The elevator opened on the basement level.

Dani was waiting for her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her foot tapping.

"Well?" Dani demanded. "Did he fire you?"

Betsey straightened her spine. She clutched the laundry bag tighter. "No. He requested I return tomorrow."

Dani's face turned a shade of purple that was almost impressive.

"You little rat," Dani spat. "You think you can charm him? You think you're special?"

Dani stepped closer, cornering Betsey against the wall. "I don't know what you did or said to him, but I saw you get his personal attention. That doesn't happen."

Betsey's heart stopped. She thought of the elevator, the quiet threat.

"And?" Betsey asked. Her voice was steady, but her palms were sweating.

"And I'm watching you," Dani hissed. "You got lucky today. But everyone's luck runs out."

"Maybe the system is old, Ms. Perez," Betsey suggested innocently.

Dani grabbed Betsey's arm. Her nails dug into the flesh. "I'm watching you, Madden. One slip up. One mistake. And you are out on the street."

Betsey looked down at Dani's hand. A flash of anger surged through her. She pulled her arm away. She did it a fraction too forcefully.

Dani stumbled back, surprised by the strength in the movement. She nearly tripped over her own feet.

Betsey didn't apologize. She walked away, tossing the laundry bag into the chute.

She needs to get out of here. She needed to go home and regroup.

But she knew she would be back tomorrow. She was the moth, and Celestino Franklin was the flame.

The next morning, the lobby of The Elysium was buzzing. Betsey was on her knees, polishing the brass railing of the grand staircase. Her arm ached. She had spent the night researching Celestino Franklin. His public profile was clean. Philanthropist. Investor. Boring.

It didn't match the man with the gunshot wound.

"Madden!"

Dani's voice cut through the air. She approached with a clipboard, looking smug.

"Silver duty," Dani ordered. "The banquet silverware in the main vault. It all needs to be re-polished. By hand. Now."

It was a punishment. Silver duty was a tedious, isolating task meant for junior staff. Dani was trying to break her.

Betsey sighed. She stood up slowly. "Yes, Ms. Perez."

She gathered her polishing kit.

The VIP elevator dinged.

The lobby went quiet. Heads turned.

Celestino Franklin walked out. He was flanked by Lars and two bodyguards. He wore a navy suit that fit him like a second skin. He looked impeccable.

He spotted Betsey immediately. She tried to blend into the pillar, holding her box of supplies like a shield.

He saw Dani pointing aggressively at the hallway leading to the vaults. He saw the box in Betsey's hand.

Celestino stopped. He altered his path. He walked straight toward them.

The lobby held its breath. The King was moving.

Dani preens, smoothing her skirt, thinking he was coming to greet her.

Celestino walked right past Dani. He stopped in front of Betsey.

"Betsey," he said. "Walk with me."

Dani's jaw dropped. "Sir... she is on duty. She has to polish the..."

Celestino turned to Dani. His eyes were cold as ice.

"Did I ask you?"

Dani shrank back, terrified. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

Celestino turned back to Betsey. His expression softened, just a fraction. "I don't like how she talks to you."

He leaned in. His voice was low, for her ears only. "Say the word, and she's gone. I'll have her fired before lunch."

Betsey felt a rush of power. It was tempting. So tempting. But it would blow her cover.

She shook her head. "I can handle my own battles, Mr. Franklin."

He smiled. It was a genuine smile. "I know you can. But I don't want you to have to."

He signaled Lars with a subtle hand gesture.

Lars stepped up to Dani. "Ms. Perez, we need to discuss a noise complaint regarding your office management. We have reports of... shouting."

It was a fabrication. A lie to humiliate her publicly.

Celestino took the box of polish from Betsey's hand and set it on the floor.

"Come," he said.

He led her away toward the garden exit.

Once they were outside, in the quiet of the garden, he stopped. He took her hand. He turned it over, running his thumb over her palm.

He felt the smoothness of her skin, the carefully maintained manicure required of the hotel's top staff. But beneath it, he felt a firmness, a tension in the muscles that didn't belong to a butler.

"Now," he said, looking into her eyes. "Tell me why a woman who isn't afraid of a little blood is so afraid of her boss."