“I have a confirmed penthouse reservation under my name,” Diana replied softly, placing her phone on the counter with deliberate composure, allowing the glowing confirmation email to illuminate the sleek surface between them.
Bradley barely glanced at the screen before scoffing loudly, his expression radiating practiced contempt.
“Anyone with basic editing software can fabricate an email like this,” he declared dismissively, gesturing broadly toward the chandeliers, marble columns, and meticulously arranged floral displays. “This establishment caters to individuals whose presence reflects its standards.”
Behind the counter, Kelly hesitated while typing rapidly into the reservation system, her brow gradually tightening with visible confusion.
“There is a Diana Whitman registered in the database,” Kelly said cautiously, her voice trembling slightly, “yet something about this situation does not seem entirely consistent.”
Bradley leaned closer, his tone dripping with condescension sharpened by certainty.