No Second Chances Ex-husband (Lauren and Ethan) novel Chapter 202

**He Chased 202**

**ELIZABETH’S POV**

“That would be five thousand dollars a night, ma’am,” the receptionist stated with an air of professionalism, her voice steady and composed.

I felt my eyebrows knit together at the staggering figure she had just quoted. “Five thousand?” I echoed, disbelief lacing my words. “Are you certain this establishment is actually a seven-star hotel? Because that price sounds a tad extravagant for what you’re calling a ‘standard’ here.” My tone dripped with skepticism.

The young woman behind the counter blinked, momentarily taken aback, caught between a smile and an apology. “Expensive? Ma’am, this is our premier suite, the most luxurious room we have available,” she replied, smoothing her uniform as if to assure me that I had indeed made a choice worthy of indulgence.

With a resigned sigh, I waved my hand dismissively, “Whatever. I just hope that a price like this doesn’t result in subpar service,” I said, my words clipped and precise. “I expect only the best. Breakfast at eight a.m. sharp, no need for lunch since I prefer dining out, and dinner must be served by nine p.m. on the dot. Not a minute later, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she responded promptly, nodding slightly as I presented my American Express Black Card.

She accepted it delicately, sliding it into the payment machine as though it were a priceless artifact. I watched her, tapping my perfectly manicured nails against the counter in a rhythm of impatience. The lobby was infused with a subtle scent of roses and polished wood, while soft jazz floated gently through the air. Yet, it lacked the opulence I was accustomed to in my travels.

Once the transaction was completed, she returned my card with a bright smile. “Your room is ready, ma’am. The porter will assist you with your luggage.”

I acknowledged her with a curt nod and trailed behind the porter to the elevator. The sharp clicks of my heels against the marble floor echoed through the hallway. As we arrived at the room, I stepped inside and surveyed the space meticulously. It was larger than I had anticipated, but it still fell short of my expectations.

The décor was rather unremarkable—cream-colored walls adorned with minimalistic art, a king-sized bed with gold accents that screamed ordinary luxury, and a balcony that offered a view of the bustling city below. To an average affluent traveler, this might be considered “luxurious,” but I was accustomed to penthouse suites, champagne service, and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the vastness of the ocean.

Still, I reassured myself that I could endure this for just one week. One week in this so-called “country,” as my parents called it.

The reason for my presence here was my parents, who were too preoccupied with their business dealings in Europe to come themselves. Instead, they had decided to send me to represent the family in an important negotiation. A ludicrous idea, if you asked me.

When they first broached the subject, I genuinely thought they were joking. Why on earth would they choose me to close a business deal when my knowledge of the corporate world was practically nonexistent? My studies revolved around fashion marketing, not corporate law or whatever arcane practices they engaged in.

Yet, of course, my parents were unfazed. They insisted that I didn’t need to know anything beyond signing the papers their lawyer would provide, flashing a smile for the clients, and pretending I had a clue what I was doing. Simple enough, right?

They even promised to video call me on the day of the signing to “guide me through it.” As if that would alleviate my anxiety in any way.

I reached for the remote, ready to switch to something less aggravating—perhaps a reality show or a fashion program, anything devoid of billionaires, courtrooms, or tears.

But just as my finger hovered over the button, something on the screen caught my eye.

The news feed had transitioned into a slideshow of images. One was of Ethan Black in handcuffs, his expression blank as officers escorted him away. Another displayed a man I recognized from business articles, Roman Hale, a quiet yet strikingly handsome and influential CEO. And then—

My breath hitched in my throat.

The third image was of me.

I blinked, stepping closer to the television, convinced my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, it was unmistakably me.

My image was plastered on the screen, positioned alongside Ethan Black and Roman Hale, as if I somehow belonged in the same narrative as them.

“What the hell…” I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as confusion and disbelief washed over me.