Milo felt a strange mixture of excitement and nerves as he walked through the grand, glass-paneled doors of Kingsley Industries. The company's headquarters were nothing short of magnificent—a blend of sleek modern architecture with an air of timeless sophistication. The polished marble floors gleamed beneath his feet, reflecting the dazzling chandelier light overhead. Everywhere he looked, people moved with purpose, dressed in sharp suits, as if every moment in this place counted.
As he reached the reception desk, he smiled at the receptionist, a woman in a sharp navy-blue blazer who didn't look up from her computer screen.
"Excuse me," Milo said, keeping his tone polite. "I'm here to meet Mr. Henry Kingsley."
The receptionist looked up slowly, giving him a once-over, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her tone clipped.
Milo cleared his throat. "Actually, no. But Mr. Kingsley asked me to come. Could you just let him know Milo Winters is here?"
She raised an eyebrow, skepticism plain on her face. "The chairman of Kingsley Industries personally asked you to come here?"
"Yes," Milo replied, trying to keep his tone steady, though he could feel a prickle of irritation.
The receptionist pursed her lips, her gaze cool as she tapped a few buttons on her computer. "I'm sorry, but without an appointment, I can't let you go any further. Mr. Kingsley is a very busy man. I suggest you schedule something for next time."
Milo felt his patience thinning. "Could you at least call his office? I'm sure he'd want to know I'm here."
She sighed, looking at him as if he were wasting her time. "Sir, please. If you don't leave, I'll have to ask security to escort you out."
Before Milo could protest, two large security guards appeared at the edges of the lobby, eyeing him as if he were a suspicious intruder. Milo felt a rush of frustration; he was here because Henry had offered him a contract, yet now he was being treated like a nuisance.
As one of the guards approached, Milo felt his chest tighten. He wasn't causing a scene, but it seemed like they were prepared to physically remove him.
"Sir, we're going to need you to leave the premises," one of the guards said, his tone stern but professional.
Milo clenched his fists, holding back his frustration. "I'm telling you, Mr. Henry Kingsley invited me here. I'm not just some random person."
The guard stepped closer, reaching out as if to guide Milo toward the exit. "We'll have to ask you to leave now, sir."
Milo felt heat creeping up his neck, the sting of humiliation bubbling inside him. How could they treat him this way, without even verifying his story? He had hoped this new opportunity would be his big break, but it was turning into a nightmare.
Just as he was about to argue further, a sudden movement on the upper floor caught his eye.
Up on the glass balcony, Victor Kingsley stood, his gaze fixed sharply on the scene below. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he watched Milo struggling with the guards at the entrance. Victor's face was unreadable for a moment, then a spark of realization crossed his features, followed by something even more surprising—a flash of anger.
He turned to his assistant, who stood beside him, observing the scene with mild curiosity. "Get down there. Now," Victor ordered, his tone cold and commanding. "Tell security to let that man in. He's an important guest, and I want him escorted to my office immediately."
The assistant blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden order, then nodded quickly. "Right away, sir."
Victor's gaze remained fixed on Milo, watching every tense interaction between him and the guards below. He felt an unexpected surge of irritation—not at Milo, but at the incompetence of his own employees for not recognizing someone his father had invited personally. How dare they treat Henry's guest like this?
The assistant hurried down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the vast lobby as he approached the security guards, who were now on the verge of dragging Milo toward the exit. The guards looked up as the assistant approached, giving him a questioning glance.
"Let him go," the assistant said firmly, his voice loud enough for Milo to hear. "Mr. Winters is expected here. Take him up to Mr. Victor Kingsley's office."
Milo blinked, taken aback, and the guards immediately loosened their hold, stepping back as if realizing their error.
"My apologies, sir," one of the guards said, looking slightly embarrassed. "We didn't know you were a guest of Mr. Kingsley."
Milo took a deep breath, letting the tension seep out of him as he regained his composure. "Thank you," he replied, his tone curt. He shot a quick, irritated glance at the receptionist, who looked flustered, her face flushed with embarrassment.
The assistant gestured politely, leading Milo toward the elevators. "Please, follow me. Mr. Kingsley is in a meeting, but he wants you to wait in his office."
Milo nodded, still feeling the sting of the cold welcome but determined to hold his head high. As the elevator doors closed, he felt a strange mixture of relief and annoyance.
***
Victor watched from above as Milo disappeared into the elevator, still simmering with irritation. The way his employees had handled the situation was embarrassing, and he made a mental note to address the matter later. He hadn't wanted Milo here in the first place, but if his father insisted on this arrangement, the least his staff could do was show basic respect.
Shaking his head, Victor turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the hallway toward his meeting room, his jaw tight. He couldn't deny that he was still skeptical about Milo's involvement in their business. Yet, seeing Milo being treated like an outsider—like someone unworthy of being in their building—had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
After all, no matter his personal feelings, Milo Winters was now under his father's protection. And that meant he would be treated with the respect that position deserved, whether Victor liked it or not.