The hum of the service elevator echoed in the silence, broken only by the clatter of cleaning supplies and the occasional buzz of employee radios. It was late afternoon — a time when most of the Bluestone Hotel's premium guests were out at meetings, spa appointments, or power lunches. But not today.
Kaylan Renee pushed her cleaning cart slowly down the 43rd-floor hallway, yawning behind her hand. She'd just finished her fourth executive suite, her lower back was screaming, and all she could think about was the peanut butter sandwich waiting in her locker.
The cart wobbled slightly as she guided it into the side hall leading to the storage closet. She wasn't supposed to be here. Her shift on this floor had ended an hour ago. But she'd offered to swap with another housekeeper who was running behind, and now, she was playing catch-up for someone else's missed checklist.
That's when Ella burst into the hallway, breathless and wild-eyed.
"Kay!" she gasped.
Kaylan nearly dropped a spray bottle. "Jesus, Ella — what?"
Ella grabbed her arm. "I need you to cover me — just one suite, one. I swear I'll owe you for the rest of my life."
"What happened?"
"My neighbor just called. It's my mom." Her voice trembled now. "She… she collapsed. They're taking her to the hospital. I gotta go."
Kaylan's heart skipped. "Oh my God. Ella, go! Why are you even still here?"
"Because Miss Richard's just handed me an urgent assignment to clean Suite 5000, and you know how strict they are with that one."
Kaylan blinked. "Wait— 5000? That's not a regular suite. Isn't that the—?"
"Penthouse," Ella nodded. "The CEO's."
"Are you serious?"
"I was on my way up when I got the call. Please, Kay. Just go. Make it quick. Strip the bed, do a general refresh, don't touch anything you don't need to. They said it was an emergency turnover."
Kaylan hesitated. "I… shouldn't even have clearance for that floor."
"You will under my badge." Ella slipped her lanyard over Kaylan's head. "Please. I'll text you as soon as I get to the hospital."
Kaylan looked into her friend's eyes — red-rimmed, desperate — and felt the answer before she said it.
"Go. I've got it."
**********
The elevator to the penthouse floor required special authorization — something Kaylan had never possessed before. But the card scanned cleanly when she pressed it to the panel, and the elevator ascended silently, higher than she'd ever gone in the building.
Her heart pounded the whole ride up.
What was she doing?
Suite 5000 was legendary among hotel staff. It was more like a luxury apartment than a hotel room — sprawling, multi-leveled, filled with art, glass, and silence. And it belonged to none other than Alexander Marcelo — CEO, billionaire, and living reminder that some people really were born at the finish line.
She'd seen him in passing once. Maybe twice. Never spoken to him. Definitely never imagined being anywhere near his private residence.
When the elevator dinged, Kaylan stepped out into a hallway covered in plush gray carpet. No music. No scent. Just tension.
She found the suite — tall, dark-wood double doors with a sleek plaque that read "5000." Her fingers hovered over the handle for a moment, nerves tightening like a noose.
She knocked lightly.
No answer.
"Housekeeping," she called gently.
Still nothing.
Another knock. Still silence.
She sighed. "Okay, he's not in. Just in and out."
She slipped inside.
The door clicked softly behind her.
Kaylan stepped inside and was instantly swallowed by stillness.
It was nothing like the other suites she'd cleaned. No faint perfume. No signs of life. Just shadows, sleek furniture, and silence that pressed against her skin like static.
She adjusted the strap of her cleaning apron, her shoes making no sound against the polished marble floors. The place looked untouched, but protocol was protocol.
"Quick refresh," she whispered to herself. "Strip the bed, tidy the bath, and get out."
She walked quietly past the grand foyer into the main living area— floor-to-ceiling windows pouring in light over charcoal-toned sofas and a modern fireplace that hadn't been used in months. Her fingers itched not to touch anything. This wasn't just any room. It was his.
Alexander Marcelo.
The man whose name echoed through company emails like a warning and a myth. Kaylan didn't know much, but she'd seen him once—just once—and that had been enough. The way his presence filled the lobby like gravity. Like a storm dressed in a suit.
She moved carefully toward the bedroom area, her cart left just outside. The bed was unmade—rumpled sheets, tossed pillows. Not surprising. Rich men didn't make their beds.
But then she noticed something else.
A trail of water. Soaking the floor. Leading from the bathroom.
Her brows pinched.
"Did someone forget to report this suite for maintenance?"
She walked over, footsteps cautious, and peered inside the bathroom.
And froze.
Alexander Marcelo stood inside the glass shower—fully clothed, drenched, and barely upright. His white dress shirt clung to his chest, soaked through, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and water still dripping from his dark hair.
Kaylan's breath caught in her throat.
He looked like a god struck down mid-battle—eyes half-lidded, body trembling, jaw clenched like he was holding something in. Rage? Pain? She couldn't tell.
Then, his head turned. Slowly.
Their eyes locked.
And for one long, charged second, neither of them moved.
Then his voice—low, hoarse—cut through the air like a match struck too close to gasoline.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Kaylan swallowed hard. "I—I'm sorry. I knocked. There wasn't an answer. I thought—"
"Who sent you?"
He stepped out of the shower with unsteady steps, water trailing from his soaked dress pants. She instinctively backed up.
"Housekeeping," she said quickly. "Emergency turnover request. I was just—"
His eyes sharpened. "Who sent you?"
"I don't know!" she said. "My friend—Ella—she got the assignment, but her mom was rushed to the hospital and—"
She stopped. He wasn't listening. Or maybe he couldn't.
His breathing was too heavy. His pupils blown wide. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he moved closer, eyes locked on hers like he was trying to place her face.
Or maybe…
Like he recognized it.
Kaylan's back hit the wall. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cracking. "You look—"
"Wrong," he murmured. "Everything feels wrong."
He reached for her—just to steady himself, maybe—but his hand brushed her shoulder and heat shot through her body like lightning.
He blinked.
"You… You're real," he whispered.
Kaylan barely had time to react before he collapsed into her arms.