His jaw tightened. “We’re working on it.”
Which meant they had no idea. Great.
He swiped the card and pushed the door open, then immediately pulled out his phone as it buzzed. “Ares. I need to take this. Will you be okay?”
I nodded, even thoughokayfelt like a generous description of my current state. Orion squeezed my shoulder—a brief, warm pressure that made my stomach flip—then stepped back into the hallway, already talking in low, urgent tones.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I was alone.
The suite stretched before me like something from a magazine spread. Seven hundred and eighty square feet of carefully curated luxury—muted grays, polished wood, clean lines that whispered expensive without shouting it. The casino’s chaos faded to a distant hum in the walls, replaced by a silence so complete it felt almost aggressive.
I stood frozen, taking it in.
Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, framing the mountains etched in shadow against a molten-orange sky. In a few hours, the Strip would light up like a circuit board, the whole city shimmering against the desert’s black expanse. Heavy blackout curtains hung ready to transform the space into a cocoon when the light became too much.
To my left, a wet bar gleamed—granite counters catching the light, chrome fixtures polished to mirrors, neat rows of stemware waiting to be filled. A bowl of green apples sat centered on the round dining table like an art installation. Butit was more than decorative—a compact stove and microwave nestled into the setup, making it an actual kitchenette. Practical.
Beyond, the living room contained a caramel leather sofa piled with geometric pillows, flanked by two ivory chairs arranged around a low table. Plush but not cozy. The kind of space designed for business meetings or seduction, not Netflix binges. A massive flat-screen hung on the wall, dark and expectant.
That’s when I saw them.
Three vases of flowers. One was placed on the coffee table, another on the dining table, and the last on the wet bar.
I moved closer, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
The first arrangement was all deep reds—roses, dahlias, and something exotic I couldn’t name. The card read,Welcome back. —Ares
His handwriting was exactly what I’d expect: precise, controlled, and slightly aggressive in its confidence.
The second vase held sunflowers and wildflowers, cheerful and a little chaotic.Glad you’re safe. The hotel needs you. —Leo
His handwriting was messier, with playful loops and crossed t’s that leaned into the other letters like they were gossiping.
The third was elegant—white orchids and pale pink roses arranged with deliberate artistry.Rest. —Orion.
His script flowed in elegant handwriting that probably looked the same at six years old as it did now.
My throat tightened.
On the dining table, next to Ares’s flowers, sat a brand-new laptop. Top-of-the-line, still in its box. A sticky note on top read:Replacement. Password is OlympusMarketing2026 —Management.
And clothes were spread across the sofa. So many clothes. Yoga pants, soft tees, a cashmere hoodie that probably costmore than my rent, jeans, a cocktail dress, underwear still in packaging, bras in multiple sizes because apparently they’d guessed. A note card sat on top of the pile:Pick what fits. Have the gift shop collect the rest. We didn’t know your size. —L
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
This was too much. All of it. The suite, the flowers, the laptop, the clothes. The fact that three billionaire brothers had apparently held an emergency meeting about what to do with the employee who’d sexted them and then nearly burned down their hotel, and their solution was…this.
Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Protection.
I couldn’t deal with this right now.
My legs gave out and I sank onto the caramel sofa, surrounded by gift shop clothing and the scent of three different flower arrangements. The laptop box stared at me from the table. Through the windows, the sun continued its descent, painting the mountains in shades of amber and rust.
Everything gleamed. Everything was perfect. Spacious and curated, a refuge designed for comfort yet somehow stripped of personality. Like living inside a very expensive hotel room, which I realized was exactly what it was.
I picked up the cashmere hoodie. Charcoal gray, butter-soft, with the Olympus Royale logo embroidered discreetly on the chest. I held it against my face and breathed in the scent of new fabric and expensive retail.
Then I started crying.
