3-

ALEXANDER

I unbutton my collar, letting out a breath as the elevator doors open onto the grand marble lobby of The Sterling.

God, I'm fucking exhausted. Working eighteen-hour days is usually my excuse to avoid going back to the family estate, but tonight, the thought of walking into that house... hearing my stepmother’s fake voice... my birth mother's plea for me to settle down and give her a grandchild, makes my blood run cold.

So I’d decided to crash in one of my own penthouses instead. A quiet night in one of my establishments is infinitely better than spending five minutes with my toxic family.

I rub the bridge of my nose, stepping toward the glass doors, when a frantic figure holding a child comes rushing blindly away from the front desk.

She slams straight into my chest.

"Woah... I've got you," I rumble instinctively, my hands reaching out to catch her by her waist before she can crash onto the marble floor.

The moment my fingers touch her, my whole body freezes. The scent hits me a second later... vanilla, and the faint, familiar perfume that's just only one womans'.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

I hold her steady, watching as she stumbles back and brings her small hands against my chest. Her eyelashes are wet, spiked with tears. She looks up at me through a blur of crying, and my throat locks up.

My sweet, beautiful Mela.

"Alex?" she breaths, her voice cracking.

"What the hell are you doing out here at this ungodly hour of the night?" I demand, my dark eyebrows pulling together into a deep line as I take in the disheveled state of her hair and dress. "And with the baby?"

Mela swallows hard, her chest rising and falling. She glances nervously over my shoulder at the receptionist, who's watching us with wide eyes, before looking back up at me. She tries to pull herself together, smoothing a hand over her hair in that nervous little habit she’s had since we were young.

"I'm fine, Alexander," she stammers, her voice sounding paper-thin and completely fake. "We were just... we were taking a drive. Milan couldn't sleep, and..."

She's lying. I know every line of her face better than I know my own.

I step right past her, my long strides taking me directly to the front desk. "What just happened here?" I ask the receptionist, my tone flat.

"Alexander, don't..." Mela rushes after me.

"She was trying to check in for the night, sir," the receptionist explains quickly, shifting nervously on her feet. "But all of her credit cards were declined."

I turn around slowly, my gaze locked onto hers. "You look stranded, Melanie."

"I am not stranded," she snaps, a defensive flash in her eyes as she tightens her grip on the sleeping toddler, though her trembling hands betray her completely. "I just... I forgot I had a limit on those accounts, that's all. We're leaving."

I don't move an inch out of her path. My eyes soften slightly as I look down at the tiny girl sleeping heavily against Mela’s shoulder. "Isn't she two today?"

Mela blinks up at me, caught completely off guard. "How... how do you know that?"

"She's my niece, Mela,"

A scoff escapes her chest. "Yeah, of course. I forgot. At least someone in the family remembered."

My smile vanishes completely. My dark eyes searched her face, ripping right through the fragile mask she’s been wearing all night. "Mela, what are you really doing out here tonight?"

"I told you. I'm finding a room," she mutters, looking away from me.

"There are plenty of rooms at your house," I say quietly, a sickening suspicion beginning to form in my gut. "Where's Saint?"

"Something happened," she whispers, her voice catching in her throat as fresh tears threaten to break through. "I just... I can't be there tonight."

I stare at her for three seconds. Anger flares hot in my veins, but I bury it down. I'm not going to interrogate her right here in the middle of a lobby.

I turn back to the counter and rest my hands on the marble top. "I need the penthouse suite prepared for tonight," I command, my voice deadpan. "My sister-in-law and I will be occupying it."

The receptionist nods without hesitation. "Right away, boss. I'll hand-deliver the key cards up to the top floor."

Mela’s jaw drops. She looks from the clerk to me, her wide hazel eyes glassy with confusion. "Boss?"

I turn back to her, a tiny ghost of a smirk touching my lips despite the storm brewing inside me. "Yes, Mela. I own this hotel."

She lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. "Right. Of course you do."

"Come on," I say gently. I reach out, placing my broad, warm palm against the small of her back to guide her toward the private executive elevators. "Let's get you and Milan upstairs."

We turn toward the elevator bank, but as Mela shifts the baby higher onto her hip, her sleeve hitches up past her elbow.

I stop walking.

Every drop of air leaves my lungs in one swoosh. The calm demeanor I'm trying so hard to keep leaves in a split second. I reach out, my fingers wrapping gently around her slender wrist to hold her arm in place.

Dark, ugly purple-red fingerprint bruises are blooming across her soft, pale skin.

The exact shape of a man's heavy hand.

My vision turns red. My jaw clenches so hard a muscle twitches in my cheek, and my chest heaves as I stare at the marks.

"What happened to you?" I rumble.

Mela yanks her arm back, hastily tugging her dress sleeve down to cover the bruises. "Nothing! I... I just bumped into the kitchen counter while I was frosting the cake. It's fine, Alex."

I step directly in front of her. I look down into her panicked, tear-stained eyes.

"Did he do that to you?" I demand, my voice dangerously low. "Did Saint put his fucking hands on you, Melanie?"