Marrying My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle

Chapter 7

Word Count: 707 | Released on: Today at 17:26

oth in the mezzanine. Wyatt had already left, leaving Abdiel alone in the dim, amber light, staring intensely into

ping into the booth. "For stepping in

up. "I don't tolera

. Abdiel's right hand was wrapped around his glass so tightly that the heavy crystal had shattered under his grip, slicing deep into his palm. B

an linen napkin from the bar cart and pressed it firmly against

, and incredibly intimate. He didn't flinch, his dark eyes tracking every movement of her face, drinking in her proximity. The cont

cense?" he asked suddenly,

in years," she replied, tyi

good hand and tossed a heavy set of

ring wheel so hard her knuckles were bone-white. The hypercar purred like a caged beast, possessing more horsepower than she could even comprehend. She accident

espite the danger, a rare, genuine smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. H

heart in her throat as she wrestled with the st

dingy apartment building in Queens. She parked terribly

lief, cutting the engine. "I can call you a private dr

car, and followed her to her front door. His towering frame se

against her back, his intoxicating scent of cedar, tobacco, and expensive cologne wrapping around her like

red, turning around,

outh, his tongue sweeping past her lips, claiming every inch of her. Emaline's keys dropped to the floor with a clatter. All her defenses crumbled instantly. She pushed the door open, pulled him inside, and

Chapter End

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Marrying My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle

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“My name is Emaline Knight, and I have the worst luck in Manhattan. Twenty-four hours ago I had a fiancé, a future, and a family name worth something. Then my father went bankrupt in a federal scandal, my mother landed in the ICU, and my darling Alastair dumped me by text message-like I was a streaming subscription he forgot to cancel. Did I mention he replaced me with a walking malpractice suit named Tiffany? So yes, I had a few tequilas. And yes, I may have informed the most dangerous man in the city that if I couldn't be Alastair's wife, I'd settle for becoming his aunt. That's how I ended up in the bed of Abdiel Sharpe-the billionaire who owns half of Manhattan and terrifies the other half. He left at dawn without a goodbye. Fine. Whatever. I had bigger problems: my mother's hospital bill was due at five o'clock, and I couldn't afford to keep her alive. I begged at the Hayes mansion. They sneered at me. They called me trash. And then the man I'd slept with-the uncle of the man who broke my heart-walked in, made them grovel, and warned them all to stay out of his sight. He gave me a job at his club. He tried to hand me a million dollars; I handed it back. He keeps appearing like an expensive storm, ruining anyone who dares to lay a hand on me. I keep telling myself he's a one-night mistake with an excellent tailor. But he looks at me like he owns me. And the worst part? Some dark, traitorous part of me wants him to. They say don't bite the hand that feeds you. But I'm not the one biting. He is. Right on my neck.”