The car headed toward the city center.
The Whitmore Hotel stood in the most prime location.
Its façade was steady and dignified.
The doorman was already waiting at the entrance.
As I stepped out of the car, the hotel’s person in charge personally came forward to greet me.
In his fifties, suit impeccably tailored, temples streaked with gray, his gaze calm and restrained.
“Miss Aria.”
He gave a slight nod.
“Welcome.”
“I’m Edward Harrington. I used to oversee overall operations alongside Mr. Whitmore.”
“I am deeply sorry for what happened in your family.”
He was the Edward Rhett had just called.
My chest tightened slightly.
There was no deliberate flattery in Edward’s tone—only the measured respect of an old-school professional manager.
“Back then, the hotel’s positioning was pe
