Betrayed By Fiancé, Claimed By His Uncle

Jaren Bolton slammed his fist against the steering wheel of his Porsche.

It was the morning after the club. He had actually listened to the voicemail Clare left the night before when he woke up hungover. At first, he rolled his eyes. With Bailey clinging to him in bed, he had dismissively thought Clare was just being dramatic again, throwing one of her usual tantrums. So, he ignored it. But by noon, when he finally tried to call her back to scold her... Blocked. He checked Instagram. Blocked.

He called the Lynch estate security. They told him Clare hadn't been home.

A cold sweat broke out on Jaren's neck. He pulled a few strings with his private security contacts. Ten minutes later, they tracked the license plate of the car that picked her up from Elysium.

It belonged to Aurthur Bolton.

Jaren's stomach churned with a mix of disbelief and rage. His uncle. The outcast. The man the family rarely spoke of.

Jaren sped through Manhattan traffic and slammed his car into the curb outside Aurthur's building.

He marched up to the glass doors, but the security guard blocked his path.

"I need to see my uncle. And my fiancée," Jaren barked.

The guard pressed a button on his earpiece. A moment later, he pointed to the video intercom on the wall.

Up in the penthouse, Clare stood in front of the wall-mounted screen. Aurthur stood in the shadows behind her, watching the security feed from the lobby.

Clare pressed the talk button.

Jaren's face appeared on the screen. He looked hungover. His tie was loose, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Clare, what the hell are you doing?" Jaren demanded. "Stop playing games and come down here."

Clare looked at the man she had loved for years. She felt absolutely nothing.

"My voicemail was clear, Jaren. We are done," she said. Her voice was flat.

Jaren let out a loud, heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. "Baby, listen to yourself. You are acting crazy. You're just tired and emotional. I know you're jealous of Bailey, but she saved my life. She's just a friend."

The gaslighting began. Right on cue.

"Did you forget to take your anxiety pills?" Jaren asked, his tone dripping with fake concern. "You know how you get when you miss a dose. You lose touch with reality."

Clare's chest tightened. Not from panic, but from a sudden, blinding rage.

When she was terrified and begging for help, he thought she was just 'missing a dose'.

"I know exactly what reality is," Clare said, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Reality is you comforting your 'friend' while I was being drugged and handed over to two men in a back room."

Jaren's face flushed red. He lost his patient act. "How the hell was I supposed to know where you were? You're always drinking at these parties! Who knows what guy you were trying to hook up with? And now you run to my uncle? Do you know what kind of sick bastard he is?"

He was blaming her. He was actually blaming her.

Clare's heart turned to stone.

"Who I am with is none of your business anymore," she said.

"You can't just cancel the wedding, Clare! Our families' money is tied up in this!" Jaren yelled at the camera.

Clare looked past the screen, glancing at Aurthur in the shadows.

"Let's see what matters more to the Bolton family," Clare said softly. "The money, or me."

She pressed the red button. The screen went black.

Down in the lobby, Jaren kicked the wall. He pulled out his phone and dialed his father, the head of the Bolton family. He was going to scream that Aurthur had kidnapped his fiancée.

Two minutes later, in the penthouse, Aurthur's private cell phone rang.

Aurthur picked it up. He listened for a moment.

"Father," Aurthur said. His voice was smooth, completely unbothered. "Yes, Clare is here. I invited her over to discuss the finer details of her prenuptial agreement with Jaren. As a trustee of the Bolton estate, it is my legal right to review the terms."

He paused, listening to the yelling on the other end.

"Jaren is acting emotionally," Aurthur said coldly. "He has no authority here. If he wants to discuss the trust, tell him to make an appointment with my lawyers."

Aurthur hung up. Just like that, he crushed Jaren's attempt to use the family power.

Aurthur stepped out of the shadows. He walked over to the kitchen island, poured a glass of room-temperature water, and walked back to Clare.

She was staring at the blank intercom screen, her hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Aurthur pressed the cold glass into her hands. His fingers brushed against hers.

"Well done," he said quietly.

It was the first piece of validation she had received in days. Clare gripped the glass, the water trembling inside. She looked up at him, and for the first time, she didn't see a monster. She saw a shield.