I drove six hours to check into my new luxury resort, only for the front desk clerk to toss a keycard at my feet.

my mere presence in the room might somehow contaminate their belongings.

Justin reveled in the tension. He picked up my driver’s license from the counter—the one he had previously refused to look at—and held it between two fingers, dangling it over the trash can beneath his desk.

“I should just throw this away,” he mocked softly, ensuring only I could continue reading …