Dear Eva
Episode 10 -
"Dear Eva."
My name rolled off Stan's lips like a quiet prayer as he held me in the empty hotel corridor, the warmth of his arms wrapping around my trembling body.
I had just come out of Kingsley's office, my heart still hammering in my chest from what I'd discovered. He had been watching me. Manipulating every inch of my life behind the scenes. The gifts, the help with my father's hospital bills, the fake job offer Stan received just to keep him close—Kingsley had orchestrated it all.
"I'm so sorry," Stan whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I didn't know he had plans for me to be some kind of pawn. I came here to work, to escape my own chaos, not to be part of anyone's games."
I believed him.
The look in his eyes was nothing like Kingsley's—no calculation, no silent conquest. Just honesty. And tiredness. The kind that comes from a long journey of running, fighting, surviving.
"You don't have to apologize for what he did," I replied, placing my hand over his. "You're the only part of this whole thing that feels real."
Stan gave me a half-smile. "Then let's hold on to that."
---
The next morning, I made a decision.
I walked into the general staff meeting late, all eyes on me as I crossed the room. Kingsley stood at the front, acting as though nothing was wrong, as if the hotel walls weren't collapsing from the weight of his secrets.
"Eva," he smiled, but his voice carried a warning. "Nice of you to join us."
I ignored it.
"Good morning, everyone," I said, my voice steady. "I have something to say."
Kingsley frowned, shifting uneasily. "This isn't your place to speak."
"It is," I countered, louder now. "Because this concerns all of us."
I stepped forward and revealed everything—how Kingsley had been exploiting his position, manipulating staff, and crossing every line a professional should never cross.
I told them about the falsified pay records I'd found on his computer. The hotel funds rerouted to private accounts. The way he had abused his power with female staff members, including me.
A heavy silence fell across the room.
And then, from the back, Mr. Bello—the regional director who happened to be visiting that day—stood up.
"Eva, would you come with me?"
---
That day, Kingsley was suspended pending investigation.
Two weeks later, he was fired and arrested after the fraud was confirmed. The hotel released an official statement. His reputation? Gone. His power? Stripped away. I thought I'd feel triumphant.
But I didn't. I just felt free.
---
Stan and I started spending more time together, not in secret or in shadows, but openly. He would meet me by the staff cafeteria after work, or walk me home on weekends. We talked about everything—our pasts, our fears, our dreams.
He told me about his mother. How she died when he was ten. How he bounced from job to job just to help raise his younger sister.
"I never had time to dream," he said one night, as we sat under the stars on the hotel rooftop. "But then I met you. And now I can't stop dreaming."
My heart melted.
I knew what love felt like now. Not control. Not manipulation. But peace. Ease. Laughter. Late-night talks. Hands brushing accidentally on purpose.
One evening, as we closed up together, Stan turned to me.
"Eva, I don't have much. Not yet. But what I have is yours, if you want it."
I smiled.
The next day,
The hotel lobby was unusually quiet that morning. The soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant clinking of silverware from the restaurant were the only reminders that life was still happening—despite the chaos that had been my reality these past weeks.
I stared at my reflection in the lobby's large glass panel, fixing the strands of hair that kept falling over my face. It wasn't just hair—it was the weight of everything I had been through. And somehow, I was still standing.
Behind me, Stan walked in through the side door, holding two paper cups of coffee. He looked like a sunrise—calm, bright, and full of hope. I could see it in his eyes, even after all that had happened.
"I got you the same thing as yesterday. Extra milk, less sugar," he said, handing me the cup.
"Thanks, Stan," I replied quietly.
"You barely slept last night, huh?"
I nodded. "Too much on my mind."
Stan didn't push. He simply walked beside me, both of us sipping our coffee slowly in silence. After all the drama with Kingsley—the rumors, the manipulations, the threats—silence felt like oxygen.
But silence doesn't last forever.
"Eva," Stan said, "they're talking about Kingsley in the manager's group chat. HR has called for an emergency meeting."
My heart skipped. "Did something happen?"
He looked at me, seriousness settling over his features. "Someone finally spoke up. That lady from accounting—Zara. She filed a complaint. Detailed. With evidence."
I inhaled sharply. "So she wasn't just bluffing the other day?"
"She wasn't." He paused. "And neither were you."
I looked away, blinking fast to keep the tears from spilling. "I feel… responsible. If I had spoken up earlier—"
"No, Eva. You didn't create that man's darkness. You only survived it."
I nodded slowly, letting his words settle.
---
Later that day, the meeting was held behind closed doors. But word spread fast.
Kingsley had been suspended indefinitely.
That same evening, I received a call from the hotel's regional director. She thanked me—for my courage, for my professionalism, and for standing firm when most would have backed down. She said she was recommending me for a supervisory training program. My heart trembled as she spoke.
I was being seen.
For once, not as a pawn or a pretty face, but as a woman of strength.
---
A week later, I found myself sitting alone at the hotel rooftop bar, watching the city lights flicker like scattered stars. Stan had just clocked out from his shift and was on his way up.
As I waited, I thought of everything—the day I met him, that moment when I asked him to call me "Dear Eva." How ironic that something so simple, so silly at the time, had become the heartbeat of our entire journey.
And then he was there.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked with a grin.
"Depends," I teased. "Do you still remember my coffee order?"
He laughed. "Forever."
We sat together under the open sky, the tension that had filled our lives slowly dissolving like mist.
"Eva," he said, his voice more serious now. "You've always been honest with me. So I want to be honest with you."
I turned to him, suddenly nervous. "Okay…"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. A ring—not in a fancy box, just in his palm, raw and real.
My heart thundered.
"I'm not proposing—not yet," he said quickly. "This isn't that. I just wanted to give you something that says... I see you. I value you. And when you're ready to take the next step—if you want to—I'll be here."
I stared at him, emotion surging in waves. "Stan… I don't even know what to say."
He smiled, slipping the ring onto my pinky. "You don't have to say anything. Just… don't run away from me."
I didn't.
Instead, I reached across the table and held his hand.
---
That weekend, Kingsley's story hit social media.
Multiple women came forward. Former workers. Interns. Even hotel guests. Each story was worse than the last—harassment, intimidation, silent firings. The man who used to call me "Dear Eva" in whispers was now being dragged loudly across every platform possible.
He denied the claims at first.
Then evidence came in.
Recordings.
Messages.
Bank transfers.
And a photograph of him slipping something into a woman's drink at a staff party two years ago.
The board had no choice. Kingsley was fired, banned from all hotel branches, and blacklisted from the hospitality industry across the country.
He sent me a message.
Just one.
> "You ruined me."
I didn't respond.
Because he was wrong.
He ruined himself.
---
Weeks passed. The hotel changed. The air felt lighter. Safer.
Zara was promoted. The lady from the kitchen who always hid during Kingsley's inspections now walked freely with her head held high. HR brought in outside counselors for trauma support, and for the first time, staff meetings felt like actual meetings—not military drills.
And me?
I got my promotion.
Supervisor of Guest Services.
The same receptionist who once feared losing her job for saying "no" now had her own office key.
And a man who said my name like it meant something.
---
One evening, as I packed up for the day, I found an old envelope under my keyboard.
No name. No stamp.
Just a note inside that read:
> "Dear Eva,
I thought you were a toy.
But you turned out to be a sword."
There was no signature.
But I knew it was Kingsley.
I smiled faintly. Folded the note. Threw it into the shredder.
Let the past stay there.
---
On my first day in the new office, I brought in a framed photo of my family—Mama smiling in her wrapper, my younger sister with her head tilted to the side, and Dad in his hospital bed, slowly recovering thanks to Stan's continued support.
Stan stood beside me as I placed the frame on my desk.
"You know," he said, "I still want to be the man in the next family photo."
I turned and kissed him.
Softly. Proudly.
"You already are."
---
Final Entry – Dear Eva
Dear Eva,
You survived.
You stood when they tried to silence you.
You chose love when fear was easier.
And you reclaimed your name, not as a thing to be possessed, but as a woman to be respected.
Let them call you "Dear Eva" now.
Because you've earned it.