I stood alone in the hotel lobby, suitcase at my feet, staring at the text from my husband: “Relax, it’s just a prank.”

This time, I smiled.

“Very sure,” I said.

“And I need printouts for every charge under my name—because when they come downstairs tomorrow, I want everything ready.”

Noah didn’t question me after that. He nodded, lowered his voice, and said, “Since you’re the cardholder and primary guest on the reservation, I can separate your room and remove the remaining nights from the others. But once I do that, they’ll need a valid payment method by checkout tomorrow if they want to stay.”

“Perfect,” I said.

My tone was calm, but inside I was buzzing with anger and adrenaline.

He worked quickly, tapping through the system while I stood with my arms crossed.

A printer hummed behind the desk, producing itemized receipts, reservation confirmations, and cancellation notices. When he handed them over, I slipped every page into a folder from my tote—the same folder I had used to organize the entire trip. That detail almost made me laugh.