Page 6 of Mistletoe and Mayday
I turn back slowly, placing both hands on the counter. “Let me introduce myself properly. Sebastian Lockhart, CEO of Lockhart International Hotels.”
His eyes widen.
“I’m planning to surprise my girlfriend with a proposal tonight,” I continue, lowering my voice. “She’s staying in room 423, and I’ve arranged for a private chef and musicians, but they need access to set up.” I pull out my ID and two hundred dollars, sliding them across the counter. “I understand your hesitation. Discretion is precisely why I value this property.”
James studies my credentials, then glances at his computer screen.
“I’d consider it a personal favor,” I add, “one that Lockhart International would remember when we review potential acquisition targets in the region.”
The key card appears within thirty seconds.
“Thank you for understanding the...importance of the occasion.” I slip the card into my pocket, alongside the ring box. “I trust this interaction will remain between us.”
He nods vigorously. “Absolutely, Mr. Lockhart. And congratulations in advance.”
The elevator car creaks as it ascends. Third floor. The ancient mechanism groans. Fourth floor. The doors part with a reluctant wheeze.
I step into a hallway that smells of stale carpet and cheap cleaning products. My Italian leather shoes sink into the worn burgundy runner with each step. 419... 421... 423.
I adjust my tie one last time, muscle memory taking overwhen conscious thought fails. The proposal speech I’ve rehearsed a hundred times plays through my mind—carefully crafted words about destiny and forever, about two families united. About love.
The key card slides into the reader. A soft beep, a green light.
My hand rests on the handle. One deep breath. This is the moment—the perfect proposal she deserves. The future our families have planned. The marriage that will?—
The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing from the single bedside lamp. My eyes adjust, taking in the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes.
My body freezes mid-step. The air leaves my lungs in a silent rush.
Rebecca straddles a man on the bed, her back to me, her body moving in a rhythm that’s painfully familiar. Her blonde hair cascades down her bare shoulders as she rocks forward. The man beneath her—lean and tanned—grips her hips, his face flushed with pleasure, eyes widening as he spots me in the doorway.
My heart slams against my ribs, each beat drowning out all other sounds. Rebecca turns.
“Sebastian. Fuck.”
Her voice reaches me as if through water, distant and distorted. My body goes cold, every sensation dulled as if I’m watching this unfold from outside myself. The room tilts.
Rebecca clutches a sheet to her chest, as if modesty matters now. Her hand trembles—a detail that might have sparked pity if I weren’t drowning in shock and betrayal.
It’s strange how the mind fixates on small details with excruciating clarity. Like how she’s wearing the sapphireearrings I gave her for our anniversary. Or how the man behind her is wearing my favorite cologne—and nothing else.
The ring box in my pocket transforms from a promise into a mockery. My chest constricts as if the air has been sucked from the room. The sensation of something shattering inside me is so tangible I half-expect to hear the sound of breaking glass.
How perfectly fitting for this perfectly ruined night.
Three
SEBASTIAN
The funny thing about betrayal is how quiet it is. No dramatic music. No world-shattering boom. Just a soft rustling of sheets and stammered excuses, while my perfectly planned proposal turns to ash.
“Sebastian!” Rebecca clutches the sheets higher. The man behind her fumbles for his shirt. My brain catalogs the useless detail. It’s my favorite brand of shirt.
Of course it is.
My fingers trace the outline of the ring box in my pocket. Such a small thing to carry such weight. The diamond inside costs more than most people make in a lifetime. Now it’s burning through the fabric, branding me with my own foolishness.
“I can explain—” Rebecca’s voice cracks. Her perfect blonde hair is messed up, makeup smeared. The Christmas lights from outside paint patterns across her face, transforming her into someone I don’t recognize.
