He's My Uncle

The amber portico lights poured across the damp pavement of the hotel driveway. Rowe stared at the looped video playing on the phone screen, his mouth slightly parted. He swallowed hard, scrambling for an explanation as the digital Bentley splashed through the muddy pool again. Before he could offer an excuse, the Bentley’s rear window glided down with a quiet hum.

Damian Prescott sat inside the leather cabin, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His eyes rested on Vivica. Under the entryway fixtures, her features emerged in sharp relief. Street grime stained her sneakers, and her clothes hung heavy with dirty water, yet her expression remained calm. No panic, no theatrical anger, and no flattery. She held the phone steady, waiting to see how they intended to resolve the matter.

Damian leaned forward, his deep voice carrying natural authority. "My apologies. That was an unacceptable lapse on our driver's part, and we have caused you serious inconvenience. Rowe, handle this properly."

Rowe snapped his posture straight and bowed his head toward Vivica. "Miss, I am deeply sorry for the trouble. We will provide full monetary compensation and arrange professional dry cleaning for your garments immediately. We would also like to offer you a complimentary luxury suite here tonight so you can rest and freshen up."

Vivica lowered her arm, letting the screen go dark. "That works. Make sure my backpack gets cleaned, and send a set of cotton loungewear to the room."

She stated her clothing size without hesitation, her voice crisp and indifferent.

Rowe took an embossed business card from his pocket and offered it with two hands. "Right away, miss. May I have your name for the register? Here is my contact card should you need anything else."

Vivica took the card, slipping it into her pocket without glancing down. "Locke."

Rowe signaled the head concierge waiting near the entrance. After receiving quiet instructions, the manager stepped forward and bowed to Vivica with polished deference. "Miss Locke, please follow me. Your suite is ready on the eighteenth floor, and our staff will collect your belongings right away."

Vivica gave a slight nod and walked through the sliding doors behind the manager, her wet soles leaving faint tracks across the stone lobby floor.

Once Vivica disappeared into the elevator bank, Rowe turned back to the vehicle and held the door open. "Sir, Miss Mercer checked into Room 1809 on the eighteenth floor. She registered under her own personal ID."

Damian stepped out into the cool night air. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his six-foot-three frame dominated the driveway. The hotel staff lowered their gazes as he passed. His handsome face remained an unreadable mask of stone, but a quiet, dangerous fury pulsed beneath his composed exterior.

Damian adjusted his cuffs as he strode toward the entrance. "Get the Mercers on the phone. If they cannot raise a child, the Prescotts will take over her guardianship permanently. If they dare complain about that decision, tell them to face me in person."

Rowe pulled out his mobile phone, tapping rapidly as he kept pace with his employer's long strides. "Understood, Mr. Prescott. I will contact their household head immediately."

Rowe understood the cold anger simmering beneath his boss's calm exterior. Poppy Mercer was the only child of Damian's late sister. Eight years ago, a car crash claimed both of Poppy's parents, leaving the ten-year-old girl in the care of the Mercer family. Traumatized by the loss, Poppy became withdrawn, shrinking from the world around her. Damian had wanted to take her in back then, but her paternal grandparents insisted on keeping her close out of grief. Since Poppy agreed, Damian had not pushed the issue.

Over the years, Poppy had grown distant, rarely reaching out unless Damian initiated contact. Her isolation forced Damian to keep tabs on her through discreet surveillance, fearing something might happen to her. Tonight, the reports confirmed that the Mercer family expelled Poppy on the eve of her SAT exams, failing to send a single relative to check on her safety. For the Prescotts, who guarded their family with fierce pride, such neglect was unforgivable.

The elevator carried them smoothly to the eighteenth floor. Damian stood before the polished mirror, his dark eyes brooding beneath heavy brows. The pressure radiating from him made the cabin feel small and breathless.

The elevator chime sounded, and the doors parted. Rowe led the way down the quiet, carpeted hallway until they reached Room 1809.

Damian stopped at the door, raising his hand to rap his knuckles against the wood. "Poppy. It is your uncle. Open the door."

Silence hung in the hallway. After several seconds, the soft scuff of slippers sounded from the other side. The latch clicked back, and the door cracked open an inch.

Poppy peered out through the gap. Her face was swollen, her nose red, and fresh tear tracks marked her pale cheeks. When she recognized Damian's tall frame, she shrank back into the shadows of the room, her eyes filled with nervous distance. Her knuckles gripped the edge of the door.

Poppy kept her chin pressed against her chest, her lips trembling. "Uncle Damian? What are you doing here?"

Damian suppressed his emotional turmoil, softening the edge in his tone. "Did anyone hurt you?"

Poppy shook her head, staring down at her bare toes on the carpet. "No. I am fine, Uncle."

Damian did not push her. "Get some rest. I will drive you to your exams tomorrow morning."

Just then, the door to Room 1808 swung open with a soft click.

A hotel staff member stood in the corridor with a service cart, arriving to collect the wet garments. Behind him stepped Vivica.

She had just showered, dressed in the simple cotton loungewear provided by the hotel. Her dark hair was damp and loose over her shoulders, strands resting against the side of her neck. Without the mud and grime, her skin carried a clean glow from the hot water. Her striking features looked fresh and distinct, retaining that same calm, detached aura. She walked out carrying her mud-stained clothes and wet canvas backpack for the attendant.

The movement drew Poppy's attention across the carpet. The girl looked up, and her swollen eyes met Vivica's steady gaze.

In an instant, Poppy's fearful demeanor vanished. The distance and dread she had shown Damian disappeared, replaced by a radiant burst of adoration and relief.

Without a second thought, Poppy let go of the door. Ignoring Damian and Rowe, the barefoot girl dashed across the carpet.

Rowe stood stunned, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Damian froze, watching his withdrawn niece rush past him as if he were invisible.

Poppy threw her arms around Vivica's waist, burying her face into Vivica's shoulder. The scent of clean soap and steam filled the air as the girl broke down, sobs racking her frame.

Poppy clung to Vivica's shirt, her words tumbling out through ragged gasps. "Vivica, what are you doing here? They were so mean to me at home. They threw out my things and said I did not belong there."

The sudden scene left the corridor in stunned silence. Damian and Rowe stared, dumbfounded by the sight of the famously timid heiress clinging to the very girl they had splashed on the road. Damian's dark eyes fixed on Vivica, a look of surprise and intense scrutiny crossing his features.

Vivica was briefly startled by the impact, but she regained her composure at once. She handed the damp backpack and dirty clothes to the laundry attendant with an easy motion. She did not push Poppy away. Instead, she brought her hand up and patted Poppy's trembling back with calm, steady reassurance.

Vivica kept her voice even and dry. "Stop crying. You are getting tears all over my clean clothes."

Poppy let out a small hiccup, her tears slowly exhausting themselves against Vivica's shoulder. Realizing the awkward spectacle she had created, she finally loosened her grip. The heavy silence in the hall pressed in on her, and her face flushed pink with sudden embarrassment. She peeked out from Vivica's shoulder, sniffling as she glanced back toward the towering man in the charcoal suit.

Poppy sniffled and looked between them with red, puffy eyes. "Sorry... Vivica, this is my uncle."