Elena's POV
I was a hotel general manager myself. One of the biggest hotels in New York. Rules like these were carved into my bones.
For half a second, I considered walking away. Letting it go.
But the image of Ayla stepping into that elevator, heading toward that room, hands in hand with that unknown woman, lit something feral in my chest.
I smiled.
The kind of smile that did not reach my eyes.
"That's because," I said calmly, pulling my phone from my pocket, "I wasn't planning on staying long. But plans change."
The receptionist hesitated. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I will have to ask you…"
"One moment," I said, raising a finger.
I scrolled quickly and dialed.
"I'm sorry," I muttered to myself as the call rang. "I don't usually do this. But I don't have a choice tonight."
She watched me closely now, uncertainty written all over her face.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then…
"Elena?" a familiar male voice answered, surprised but warm. "How are you? It's been a while."
