Greetings sweet people....
How are you?
Please ignore the typo mistakes
Enjoy!!
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"The color for the living room could be a soft—"
"Queen, there's a problem at the hotel in Auckland," Jenny interrupted, bursting into the meeting room with urgency in her voice. The meeting was meant to finalize plans for the upcoming project, but Jenny, who had left just a few minutes earlier, now looked visibly shaken, as though she had sprinted back. Hermione scanned her face, noting the shock and fear.
What the hell happened now?
Hermione kept her thoughts to herself, but the situation was clearly serious. She rose from her chair, signaling Jenny to follow her to the privacy of her office. The employees in the room quietly resumed their work, knowing that the meeting would be rescheduled once Hermione was available.
As they entered Hermione's office, Hermione leaned against her desk while Jenny closed the door and stepped forward.
"Queen, we received a report from Allen's Residence in Auckland. The staff is misbehaving and not treating clients professionally," Jenny began, her voice laced with tension. Hermione gestured for her to continue.
"The managers noticed the issue and took action, but even after hiring new workers, the same behavior persists. The manager has had to threaten them just to get them to work. This issue could likely be resolved with your presence there." Jenny handed over a file, opening it to show Hermione customer complaints and bad reviews posted online.
Hermione flipped through the pages, her frown deepening. When she reached the accounts section of the file, she froze. Her gaze shot back to Jenny.
"Thirty percent of our monthly donations to orphanages haven't been delivered for the past five months," Jenny revealed grimly. "Someone's stealing from us."
Hermione's expression hardened, frustration mounting. "Why wasn't I informed sooner?" she demanded, her voice cold and clipped.
Jenny gave a slight shrug. "I don't know, Queen."
"Prepare my jet. I'm leaving in two hours," Hermione ordered before swiftly heading toward the elevator. She sent a message to Thomas, her driver, asking him to pick her up. As she stepped into the elevator, Sam joined her.
"Sam, we need to leave for Auckland. There's a situation there." she said curtly, not pausing for an explanation as her anger bubbled over during a phone call. Sam glanced at her, noting her tense expression but stayed silent.
Once they reached the ground floor, Hermione stormed out of the building, radiating fury. She got into the car, still barking orders in rapid-fire Italian over the phone. Sam and Thomas exchanged glances, both inwardly cringing for whoever was on the other end of the call.
"Put your resignation letter on my desk by tomorrow if you can't find the person responsible for this mess." Hermione snapped before hanging up without waiting for a reply.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to rein in her frustration. Soon, the car pulled into the driveway of the mansion. Hermione quickly exited, heading straight to the front door, where a woman in her mid-40s greeted her with a warm smile. Hermione returned the gesture, though it was clearly forced.
Without wasting time, Hermione headed upstairs to the master bedroom, where her father sat reading a book. He looked up as she approached. After kissing him on the cheek, she handed him the file.
Warner's face darkened as he read through the documents. He patted Hermione on the shoulder reassuringly. "The tech team will help you sort this out. Don't worry," he said, pulling her into a side hug. "And if things get out of hand, call me or Carlo. Though I'm confident you'll handle it better than anyone else."
Hermione nodded. "I'll keep you updated, Dad, and call after landing."
With that, she left to pack a small bag for the trip. A few minutes later, she joined Sam and Thomas outside, both men ready to head to the airport. Sam was on a call, while Thomas typed on his phone, but as soon as Hermione arrived, they dropped everything and settled into the car for the journey ahead.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Nedvar received news about the situation on Hermione's end. He reviewed the account details Dante had managed to hack into. "Find out how this happened and who's responsible," he ordered Dante.
Pulling out his phone, he quickly typed a message. "Hermione is on her way to Auckland. Keep me updated on any potential danger."
As he pondered who would dare steal from the Allens, his phone chimed, drawing both his and Dante's attention. Nedvar grabbed his phone from the table and saw an incoming message from an unknown number. The sudden alert caused him to tense up, which didn't go unnoticed by Dante, who raised a questioning brow.
Nedvar opened the message and placed his phone on the table, facing Dante so they could both view the contents. Instead of a text, the message contained a video. Nedvar clicked on it, revealing footage of a woman being sexually harassed by a bellboy from the Auckland hotel. Several more disturbing clips followed.
Dante leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply, while Nedvar ran his hand through his hair in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The thought of these videos spreading could ruin the Allen family's reputation and lead to massive losses. Nedvar knew the damage it would do to Hermione's business. A spotless reputation, now at risk of being destroyed by these videos, could spread like wildfire through the business world.
This would hit her the hardest.
Stay strong, Mia, he silently pleaded, a prayer slipping from his mind—a habit long forgotten until now.
"She'll be okay, Ned. We have our men watching over her," Dante reassured him before diving back into tracking down the person behind this disaster.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Why wasn't I informed sooner?" Hermione's voice was low but laced with anger as she climbed the jet stairs. Jenny, following closely behind, flinched at her tone while still trying to manage the call. Sam, as usual, walked in silence with his famous blank expression, his eyes sweeping the area for any potential threats.
As Hermione took her seat, she threw a cold glance toward Jenny, who nervously settled beside her, hastily placing her laptop on the small table in front. Sam, still standing, exchanged a nod with the two pilots who appeared visibly tense, their eyes darting nervously toward the furious Hermione. When one of them cleared his throat, Sam subtly raised a brow. That was all it took for them to retreat to the cockpit in a hurry, desperate to avoid Hermione's wrath.
On the call, Hermione was not holding back. "Excuses won't work. I want everything ready when I arrive or you'll be holding your resignation letter," she threatened, her tone chilling. Even Sam, who prided himself on staying unaffected, felt a brief shiver but quickly composed himself, taking a seat in the far corner. The seatbelt clicked just as the jet prepared for takeoff.
Hermione's scowl deepened, her face tight with frustration. One wrong move, and she would strangle you with a glance. Jenny, next to her, was a nervous wreck. Her hands trembled as she furiously typed, trying to block hateful comments about the hotel from leaking into the media. Despite her frantic efforts, Hermione's silence was worse. Jenny could feel the tension, her stomach knotting with dread.
In the seat opposite, Hermione had her eyes closed, giving the illusion of calm. Jenny and Sam assumed she was resting, but the reality was far different. Hermione's mind was racing, assembling the pieces of the disaster, searching for solutions. Despite her experience in handling crises, this felt different. What scared her more than the unfolding scandal was the person pulling the strings behind it all.
What does this person want from me? From my family?
Why would my employees behave like this?
The hotel was their new, prized branch in Auckland, and it was supposed to be flawless. Why would someone want to sabotage us? Each thought circled her mind like a storm, leaving her feeling worn out.
Despite her exhaustion, she forced herself to focus on unfinished business—emails, projects, approvals. There was no time to stop.
The plane landed by evening. Stepping off the stairs, Hermione moved with purpose, her eyes scanning the horizon. Marco, their driver, stood by the silver car, waiting. Without hesitation, she slipped into the backseat, Jenny following suit. Sam took the front seat, offering Marco a firm handshake before settling in.
"To the hotel, Marco," Hermione ordered, her voice cold. Marco nodded silently. The drive was quiet, thick with anticipation.
When the car pulled up to the hotel entrance, the manager, Mr. Collins, stood waiting with a group of staff. Hermione exited the car with an air of authority, her steps swift and sharp. She was a queen in her own right, commanding attention with every movement. Jenny walked close behind, trying to keep up, while Sam trailed a few steps back, maintaining a respectful distance.
Inside, hotel employees stared at Sam—women with admiring glances, men with jealousy, though Sam remained indifferent to it all.
Hermione, however, was their true focus.
She sat down on a plush armchair in the corner, her posture both regal and intimidating. One leg crossed over the other, she leaned back, her foot lightly swinging as if she were at ease. But everyone knew better. Her icy blue eyes scanned the room, each staff member shrinking under her gaze.
"Mr. Collins," she began, her voice smooth yet dangerous, "I distinctly remember asking for every staff member to be present, including the security guards." She let out a small sigh, the tension palpable.
Mr. Collins opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off sharply, "I don't like repeating myself." The man visibly sweated, his fear of losing his job evident.
"I did as you instructed, Queen, but some were away—"
"That tells me they don't take my words seriously," she interrupted again. "Fire them unless they have a valid reason." Her dismissal was cold, final.
Hermione's gaze turned to the rest of the staff. "I want the employees who disrespected our guests to come forward. I won't fire you but consider yourselves suspended for a period." Her voice was low, lethal. No one moved. Her eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath the surface.
"So, you all prefer the hard way," she murmured, her calmness more terrifying than if she had shouted. "If I have to personally call out each person and make you relive the disrespect you showed, trust me, it will be hell."
From his corner, Sam observed with a mixture of astonishment and respect. This wasn't just Hermione. This was the Devil Queen they all feared. He had never seen her this deadly.
Anger the Devil Queen, and all hell breaks loose, he thought, half in awe.
At last, some of the guilty employees stepped forward, heads hung low. Hermione didn't flinch.
"You're all suspended for a month. After that, your work will be closely monitored." Her tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. She rose from her chair with a graceful yet commanding presence.
"This should serve as a warning to those who think being unprofessional in my hotels will go unnoticed. Mr. Collins, close the hotel for two days. Post openings for new staff, and ensure the interview process is strict. If I find any employee repeating these mistakes, both you and that employee will be permanently unemployed." With that, she walked away, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Two Weeks Later
The next two weeks were relentless. Hermione was unforgiving in her quest to fix the damage. She fired the night-shift guard who had slept on duty, allowing intruders to slip in unnoticed. She dismissed the accountant who failed to inform her about missing funds meant for orphanages. Every day, 10 to 15 employees were fired. Hermione gave one chance—no more. Wrong was wrong, no exceptions.
By the third week, the hotel was running like a well-oiled machine again, but the culprit behind the theft remained elusive. Sitting across from Miss Liz, the head of the tech department, Hermione's voice was as cold as ever. "I don't care about the money, Miss Liz. I want the person behind this found and brought to justice."
Miss Liz shifted uncomfortably, rising from her seat. "I'll find another way, Queen. Excuse me," she said quietly.
Hermione's voice stopped her in her tracks. "You better," she warned softly, her words like ice. "There are plenty of people waiting to take your place, Miss Liz."
Miss Liz clenched her fists, feeling the weight of the threat.
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"Tori, don't be a bore," Aurora teased from the other side of the FaceTime call. Her bright voice filled the room as Vittoria rolled her eyes, clearly trying to keep her patience. "Ray, I told you, I can't. The autumn season fashion show is coming up, and for the first time in three years, my work's going to be in the spotlight!" Vittoria said, exasperated. Aurora sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But once it's over, we're going on vacation. No excuses this time!" she declared, making Vittoria chuckle and nod. "We really do need a girls' outing," Aurora added with a grin, which Vittoria returned before glancing at the clock.
"Okay, Ray, my break's over. We'll talk later, after work," Vittoria said, starting to pack up. "Bye, love you!" Aurora chirped. Vittoria hung up, stuffing her phone in her bag when she caught a glimpse of someone familiar heading toward the elevator.
Her heart raced as she grabbed her things, left cash under the glass, and rushed after him. She quickly scanned the display screen: floor 9, then 10.
But where would he get off?
An idea popped into her mind. The upper floors were all reserved for business meetings—she'd been up there enough times herself. She darted over to the reception desk.
"How can I help you, ma'am?" the receptionist greeted politely. Vittoria didn't waste any time. "I'm here with Mr. Alex Accardi. I need to know where his table is reserved," she said with her usual cold tone.
The receptionist hesitated, glancing nervously. "Uhmm... but ma'am, we—"
"I'm late for a meeting, and my boss will fire me if I don't show up," Vittoria cut her off, mentally patting herself on the back for that little white lie.
"He's on the 8th floor," the receptionist finally answered. Vittoria didn't bother with a thank you as she rushed to the elevator and hit the button for the 8th floor. Her foot tapped impatiently while she waited for the doors to close.
Once inside, she let her hair down from its ponytail, hoping it would shield her face. She spotted a coat lying by the reception area earlier and grabbed it to blend in. The elevator dinged, and she stepped onto the 8th floor, walking cautiously, scanning the tables as she passed.
There. Alex Accardi. Sitting at a secluded table in the corner, alone.
He lied about being out of town...
Her thoughts raced. Was he just having lunch, or was he meeting someone? "He's dumb, but not that dumb, right?" she muttered under her breath, turning to leave—only to collide with what felt like a brick wall.
"What the—? Since when do walls move?" she hissed, rubbing her forehead before feeling arms around her waist. Her eyes snapped up to see none other than Rocco, smirking like the devil himself.
"You moron! Get your hands off me!" she growled, struggling as some people glanced over at the commotion.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I'm late," Rocco said loudly, pretending this was just a spat between a couple. Vittoria's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What the fuck? Call me 'sweetheart' again and I'll kick you next time" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper, but the venom was clear.
Rocco, however, ignored her completely. His attention was fixed on something else—probably Alex. "By the way, my name's Rocco, not moron, sweetheart," he whispered playfully into her ear, making her scowl deepen. Before she could launch into another round of threats, he dragged her into a hallway near the restrooms, pressing her against the wall and covering her mouth with his hand.
Vittoria squirmed, but his grip was annoyingly strong. "Why are you following Alex, sweetheart?" His voice had lost all its playfulness, now cold and serious.
"I'm going to remove my hand, and you're going to answer me honestly. If you try anything stupid, I'll make sure Alex knows you were tailing him," he warned.
Rocco internally winced at his lame threat but decided to go with it. He removed his hand, and Vittoria shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"I saw him come in when he told Vee he'd be back tomorrow. Seemed suspicious," she said coolly, crossing her arms as if daring him to challenge her.
Rocco just nodded, unbothered. "Why were you following him?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion.
"Pissed me off at the party. I just want to make him suffer a little." Rocco shrugged, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Vittoria blinked, thrown off by his casual response. She studied him for a moment, trying to decide if he was being serious.
"You wanna help me?" Rocco added with a smirk that suggested trouble.
"Help you? You've lost your mind." Vittoria muttered, but her curiosity was piqued.
Rocco's smirk widened. "C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll make him squirm. You know you want to."
She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn't help the corner of her lips twitching. Rocco's grin turned devilish as he saw the shift in her expression.
"You're impossible," she finally muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Trust me, sweetheart. Impossible's where I thrive."
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