At 10:00 a.m, the revolving door lets out a soft hiss as Rafael steps into the hotel lobby, the polished marble gleaming beneath his hesitant strides. He adjusts his tie for the third time — too tight, too loose, always wrong — and silently curses the way his palms sweat despite the crisp air-conditioning.
He tells himself it's just another workday. Just a shift. Just a building he's walked into a hundred times before.
But everything feels different now.
His gaze instinctively flickers toward the elevators, the restaurant beyond the polished partitions, the front desk where staff whisper and move quickly — too quickly, he thinks. Are they avoiding his eyes?
He straightens his back. Walk in like you belong here, he tells himself. Because you do.
But even the lie tastes bitter this morning.
