Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge

Sunlight sliced through the gaps in the curtains, hitting Adeline's eyes like a physical blow. She woke with a start, her body aching in places she hadn't known existed. The silk sheets felt alien against her skin-too smooth, too cool.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. King was awake.

On the nightstand, her cracked, outdated smartphone began to vibrate violently against the mahogany. The name "Preston" flashed on the screen, a digital accusation.

Adeline's stomach twisted. She reached for the phone, her hand shaking. She slid her thumb across the screen.

"Where the hell are you?" Preston's voice was a jagged tear in the morning silence. "Carmella said you didn't come back to the hotel last night!"

Adeline looked at the frosted glass of the bathroom door. She could see the vague, dark shape of King moving under the shower spray.

"I got lost," she said. Her voice was flat.

"Lost?" Preston scoffed. Then, a softer, sweeter voice drifted through the speaker.

"Preston, baby, don't be so harsh. She's fresh from the farm. She doesn't know how New York works." Carmella.

Adeline's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. She could hear the rustle of sheets on the other end. They were together. Of course they were.

"Get your ass back to the Golden Estate," Preston barked, his voice returning to the foreground. "We have the summit today. If you're late and embarrass me, I'll cut off that pathetic trust fund allowance before you even sign the papers."

The line went dead.

Adeline stared at the black screen. She felt bile rise in her throat. It wasn't the hangover. It was the feeling of being small. Of being trash.

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of cedar and expensive soap. King walked out with a towel wrapped low around his hips. Water droplets tracked down the defined ridges of his abdomen.

He glanced at the phone in her hand. "The useless fiancé?"

Adeline swallowed, forcing her face into a mask of indifference. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "He wants me at the family summit."

King didn't respond immediately. He walked to the walk-in closet and pressed a button. A panel slid open, revealing rows of bespoke suits that probably cost more than her entire life's earnings.

He grabbed a white dress shirt from a hanger and tossed it onto the bed. It landed near her knees.

"Put it on," he ordered. "My assistant, Silas, will be here in ten minutes with women's clothes."

Adeline pulled the shirt on. It engulfed her, the cuffs hanging past her fingertips. It smelled like him-cold air and dark woods. Strangely, the scent settled her nerves.

King stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar. "Preston is cooking the books," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "He's using shell companies attached to Golden Media to launder money."

Adeline froze, her fingers halting on the buttons. "How do you know?"

King turned. His eyes were shards of flint. "Because I'm his boss. And I'm waiting for him to stick his neck far enough into the noose."

The realization hit her. King hadn't just slept with her for the USB drive. He needed a spy. He needed someone inside the Golden family who hated them as much as he despised incompetence.

She slid off the bed and walked over to him. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to fix his tie. It was a bold move.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

King looked down at her. "Do what you do best. Play the crazy girl. Make them underestimate you. And then..." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Copy every meeting minute and send it to me."

The doorbell rang. It was a sharp, intrusive sound.

Adeline let out a breath. "That must be Silas."

King walked over to the wall-mounted security monitor. He tapped the screen. His expression didn't change, but the air in the room suddenly grew heavier.

"It seems your fiancé is more impatient than I thought," King said, a cruel smile touching his lips.

Adeline's blood ran cold. She rushed to the monitor.

On the screen, standing in the hallway outside the penthouse door, was Preston. He looked agitated, pacing back and forth.

King walked back to the bedroom door and locked it. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot.

"Don't panic," King said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The game is just starting."