A few weeks later, I was cleaning Room 805 again. Same mess—empty bottles, tangled sheets, clothes everywhere. But something caught my eye.
Inside a drawer: a wedding ring. Gold, simple, hidden.
He’s married?
It didn’t sit right.
The next day, he was there again.
“You’re back. Miss me?”
I ignored him.
“Come on,” he pushed. “I’m not that bad.”
“You think I want to talk to you?” I snapped. “I’m here to do my job, not entertain you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should stay in your lane.”
I moved to leave, but he wasn’t done.
“I think I’m missing something… my watch. You didn’t take it, did you?”
I froze.
“You think I’d steal from you?”
He smirked. “You seem the type.”
Later that day, the manager called me in.
“I’m sorry, Mia. Mr. Williams has accused you of theft.”
“But I didn’t take anything! He’s lying! He’s doing this because I rejected him!”
“We have to protect our guests,” the manager said flatly. “You’re fired.”
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