The Price I Paid To Save You Novel by Theo Blackridge _ Novel



The Price I Paid To Save You Novel by Theo Blackridge _ Novel

The Price I Paid To Save You Chapter 01

Three years after I walked away from Caleb Maynard, I saw him again—at a five-star hotel.
I was the receptionist behind the front desk.
He was the VIP guest checking into the presidential suite—with a gorgeous woman hanging off his arm.
That night, I received three internal calls from his room.
The first time, he said, "The sheets are dirty. Change them."
I had housekeeping handle it.
Two hours later, he called again, asking for another sheet change. I handled it the same way.
At two in the morning, the third call came.
Before he could get a word out, I said politely, "Sorry, sir, but housekeeping is off duty."
He gave a low, mocking chuckle. "Then come change them yourself."
***
I ignored him and hung up.
I wasn't paid to change sheets as a receptionist.
A coworker leaned in, her eyes full of curiosity. "Was that the guest in the presidential suite again?"
When I nodded, she chuckled. "Three sheet changes in one night? Damn, that man's got some serious stamina.
"So what did he say when you told him housekeeping was done for the day?"
I told her the truth. "He said I should come up and change them."
She paused, then let out a sarcastic laugh. "Just 'cause he's in the presidential suite he thinks he's God's gift? What an entitled prick.
"Does he think he owns this hotel? Treats us like we're on call 24/7—"
The phone on her desk rang before she could finish.
She cleared her throat and picked up. "Yes, Mr. Barlow," she said with respect.
After listening for a moment, she glanced at me, her eyes wide. "They want Katherine to go up to the presidential suite and change the sheets? Now?"
Fifteen minutes later, I stood outside the presidential suite. I took a breath and pressed the doorbell.
Caleb, wearing a bathrobe, opened the door. Upon seeing me, he stepped aside to let me in. I could hear water running in the bathroom.
He led me into the bedroom. Then, he sat down on the sofa with an air of nonchalance, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up.
I pulled back the covers without saying anything. The wet spot on the sheets was glaring—impossible to ignore.
It hit me like a fist to the sternum—a dull, throbbing ache spreading through my chest.
He blew a few smoke rings. "Sorry about this. My girl's a total clean freak. We can't sleep on anything less than pristine."
He sounded tired but satisfied—whatever just happened had clearly been amazing.
"Mind making it quick? She's tired."
I kept my voice steady. "Five minutes."
I moved fast, pulling off the old linens and smoothing out the new ones.
When I finished, I gathered the dirty linens and turned to leave. But he was right there, blocking me, pressing me against the edge of the bed.
He stepped closer, and I stumbled back, falling onto the mattress. Before I could move, he had me pinned underneath him.
The water was still running in the bathroom.
I gripped the bed frame, trying to push myself up, but I couldn't budge him.
I frowned and pushed against his chest, keeping my voice low. "Your girlfriend might get the wrong idea. Let me up."
His eyes were cold. When he spoke, his breath was heavy with alcohol, right next to my ear.
"After all these years, there's one thing I still can't figure out.
"Why him? Why did you cheat on me with him?"

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