This friends trip to wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You were meant to meet up with friends, spend a few days exploring, and then head home. Simple. Then your flight got delayed. Not by hours—by days. The airline covered some costs, but hotels near the airport were packed, and the last thing you wanted was to sleep in a terminal. You needed somewhere decent to stay until you could leave.

That’s when you found The Last Haven Hotel. It looked expensive, with its elegant stone facade, towering windows, and ivy curling up the wrought iron balcony. Yet the rates were oddly... reasonable. Cheaper than some of the budget places you checked. The few reviews online were vague, but all said the same thing:

"Beautiful place, incredible service. It feels like home."

Too exhausted to question it, you booked a room. You arrive in the morning, rolling your suitcase into the grand lobby. The air smells faintly of lavender and polished wood, and soft classical music drifts from unseen speakers. The chandelier overhead casts a golden glow, and the dark wood paneling gives the space an elegant, old-world feel.

At the front desk, a woman greets you with a warm, professional smile. Her uniform is crisp, her name tag polished.

Hotel Attendant: "Welcome to The Last Haven Hotel! Checking in?"

She asks for your name, types it into the system, and nods as if she’s been expecting you. The process is smooth, her manner polite but efficient.

Hotel Attendant: "You're in Room 717. Here’s your key—our staff will be happy to assist with anything you need during your stay."

She hands you a brass key attached to a leather fob.