4-

ALEXANDER

Mela flinches at the sound of his name, a shudder running through her small frame. She won't look at me. She just keeps her eyes locked on the floor, her chest heaving as she swallows back another sob.

"Alex, please... not here," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Milan is sleeping."

"Mela," I growl. "Did my brother touch you?"

"He grabbed my arm, okay?!" she snaps quietly, her eyes snapping up to mine, wild and overflowing with tears. "He grabbed my arm and he shoved me toward the bathroom because I wasn't pregnant, Alex! He brought home three pregnancy tests on our daughter's birthday, and when they came back negative, he threw them at the wall and told me I was a failure! He told me I was useless!"

Every word that tumbles out of her mouth feels like a blow to my chest.

A failure. Useless.

My hands curl into tight, fists at my sides. Rage floods my veins. I want to tear Saint apart with my bare hands. I want to drive to that house, drag my coward of a brother out into the street, and break every single bone in his body.

"He's going to fucking pay for this," I swear, my voice deathly calm.

"No, Alex, stop!" Mela murmurs, grabbing my suit jacket with her free hand, her fingers clutching the fabric. "Don't do anything. Please. I just want tonight to be over. I just want my baby to sleep."

I look down at her. She's trembling from head to toe, looking at me with those big, terrified eyes. The anger inside me doesn't fade... it will never fade... but I force it down, burying it deep into my chest where she can't see it. Right now, she doesn't need a war. She needs a safe place.

"Okay," I murmur, my voice softening as I reach up, gently brushing a stray tear off her cheek with the pad of my thumb. Her skin is soft, warm, and far too delicate for the world she’s been forced into. "Okay, sweet girl. No drama tonight."

The private elevator chimes behind us, the sleek silver doors sliding open.

"Come on," I say quietly, guiding her inside.

The elevator ride to the top floor is silent, saved only by the hum of the cables. Mela leans her back against the mirrored wall, her head resting back, eyes closed as if she's holding onto her last shred of energy. I stand right beside her, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off me, ensuring she knows she isn't alone anymore.

When the doors open directly into the penthouse foyer, the lights dim up, revealing the sprawling, open-concept suite... floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, plush velvet couches, and a king-sized master bedroom visible through double doors.

"It's huge," Mela whispers, stepping onto the thick carpet.

"It's yours for as long as you need it," I reply, pulling my suit jacket off and tossing it over the back of an armchair. I turn back to her, stepping in close to carefully take Milan out of her arms. "Let me put her down in the bedroom so you can breathe."

For a second, Mela hesitates, but then her shoulders sag in exhaustion. "She's heavy," she murmurs as I lift the sleeping baby against my chest.

I carry my niece into the master suite, laying her gently in the middle of the massive king bed, pulling the soft duvet over her shoulders, and tucking her plush bunny under her arm. She doesn't even stir.

When I walk back out into the living area, Mela is standing by the window, staring out at the city lights. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her midsection, looking smaller and more fragile than I’ve ever seen her.

I walk over to the wet bar, pour a glass of cold water, and walk up behind her, setting the glass on the glass table near her elbow.

"You need to drink something," I say gently.

She doesn't move for a long moment, then slowly turns around. Her eyes are red, but as she looks up at me, a breath escapes her lips.

"Why are you being so good to me, Alex?" she asks, her voice fragile. "Your family is going to lose their minds when they find out you helped me walk out on Saint."

I look down into her eyes, as I take a small step closer, stopping just short of touching her.

"Let them," I say. "You were my best-friend first before you got married to that dick. I don't give a damn about my family, Mela. And I will never, ever let anyone hurt you again. Not even my brother."

"I need a drink," Mela whispers, staring at the cold glass of water. "A real one, Alex. Please."

"Mela, have you even eaten? You're exhausted..."

"I don't care. Just give me a drink. I need to stop feeling everything for five minutes."

I sigh, turning back to the wet bar. I pour a heavy double of bourbon into a crystal tumbler and hand it over. She doesn't sip it. She knocks half of it back in a single gulp, coughing as the amber liquid burns down her throat.

"Slow down," I murmur, reaching out to steady her hand.

"Why?" She lets out a bitter, lifeless laugh, sinking down onto the edge of the plush leather sofa. She drains the rest of the glass and holds it out toward me. "More."

Twenty minutes later, the bottle is noticeably lighter, and the filter Mela usually keeps clamped tightly over her thoughts is completely gone.

The alcohol hit her hard. She's pacing the floor, moving loosely and swaying, her hand gesturing wildly in the air.

"Four years, Alex," she rambles, her speech slurring at the edges. "Four years I gave him! I smiled for his mother. I hosted his stupid business dinners. I tried... I tried so hard to be the perfect wife! And I'm just... I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired of this marriage. I wish I had run away before the wedding. I wish I had never married Saint!"

She stops pacing right in front of me. She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed red, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

Before I can process the shift in the room, she reaches up, her small hands coming up to grab the front of my unbuttoned shirt. She pulls herself up on her tiptoes and leans in, pressing her lips against mine.

The shock hits me like an electric shock.

In all the 101 ways I'd dreamed of kissing the woman I love so fucking much... I didn't even imagine it to be in a penthouse, with her drunk and hurt.

Her lips are soft, warm, tasting of sharp whiskey. Every nerve ending in my body screams at me to wrap my arms around her, to pull her in and never let go.

But I know that if I do that, then there's no coming back from that. If I decide to take this woman, everybody be damned... I wouldn't let her go back to Saint.

And that would cause an uproar. I'm not even sure she can handle the storm of taking that road.

And then Mela is dead drunk. I'm a man in love and I know how unrequited that love has been over the years. She has no fucking idea I fell for her years back, because she sees me as nothing more than a brother and a best friend.

Sober Mela would never kiss me.

So I grab her wrists, firmly but gently breaking the kiss, and push her back a couple of inches.

Mela stumbles slightly, blinking up at me in dazed confusion. "Alex... please..." she whimpers.

"You're drunk, Mela," I say, my voice raspy, fighting the absolute hell taking place inside my chest.

"Does it matter?!" she cries, trying to wrench her hands from my grip. "Why does that matter?!"

"You're drunk, Mela," I repeat, my jaw clenching as I stare down at her. "And you're my brother's wife."

Mela stares at me for a second, and then a strange, dark laugh bubbles up from her throat. She throws her head back, her curls bouncing, laughing like I've just said the funniest joke in the world.

"Like that will stop you," she purrs, taking a loose step closer to me.

My eyes narrow, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What do you mean by that?"

She leans up toward my ear, her hot, bourbon-laced breath brushing against my skin. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think no one's watching, Alex," she whispers. "I know. I've known for a long time. You're hopelessly and shamelessly in love with me."

A slow, bitter smile pulls at my lips. So she does know. And yet... she hasn't brought it up, not until now. I don't deny it. I don't bother trying to hide the undeniable truth sitting between us.

"Mela..."

"Please kiss me," she begs, her voice dropping. She reaches for my face, her fingers brushing my jawline. "Just kiss me."

"I can't," I say, holding her back. "Not like this."

"Stop!" she suddenly screams. She slaps her hands against my chest, shoving me back. "Stop trying to have morals when we both know you don't have any! Kiss me! Touch me! Fuck me! I'm tired, Alex! I'm tired!"

Tears finally spill over her eyelashes, streaming down her flushed cheeks as her voice cracks completely.

"I want to feel wanted!" she sobs, hitting my chest again, weaker this time. "I don't want to feel like I'm useless because I can't have a baby! I just want to feel like a woman! Why won't you just look at me?!"

She tries to surge forward again, trying to press her mouth to mine, but I catch her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length. "Mela, stop. Look at me..."

"Fine!" she snaps, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Okay! If you won't do it, then I'll just go down to the bar downstairs. I'll find someone who will!"

She spins around on her heel, stumbling slightly as she marches toward the front door of the penthouse.

"Stop," I growl.

Mela stops, her hand resting on the brass door handle. She turns back to look at me over her shoulder, her hazel eyes wild and reckless.

"Will you fuck me?" she challenges, her chin held high.

I stare at her across the room. The last thread of my control is disintegrating into ash.

"You don't have to ask three times,"

I cross the room in three long, predatory strides. Before she can even take a breath, I grab both sides of her face in my hands, tilting her head back, and bring my mouth crashing down on hers.