Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge

The heater in the SUV hummed, blasting warm air, but Adeline couldn't stop shaking. Her teeth chattered, a rhythmic, humiliating sound in the quiet cabin.

King pressed a button on the armrest. A privacy partition slid up, sealing them off from Silas in the front seat.

He reached into a compartment and pulled out a cashmere throw blanket. He tossed it at her.

"Dry off," he said. "I don't like the smell of wet dog in my car."

Adeline wrapped the blanket around herself, burying her face in the soft fabric. It smelled like him. "Thank you," she mumbled.

King opened a small refrigerator and handed her a bottle of Evian. "Preston just froze your credit cards. And the joint account."

Adeline took the water, her fingers stiff. "How do you know?"

King tapped the lid of his laptop. "My algorithms monitor all Wagner capital flows. Three minutes ago, your supplementary card was flagged as 'lost/stolen'."

Adeline closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. "So I have nothing. No money. No home."

"No," King corrected her. "You are now a 'Distressed Asset'."

She opened one eye. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"In private equity," King said, "distressed assets often yield the highest returns. Provided the restructuring is... aggressive."

He opened another compartment and tossed a sleek, black object onto her lap. It was a new phone, heavy and featureless. "This is yours now. Fully encrypted. Silas has already migrated what was recoverable from your old device's cloud backup. Don't lose this one."

"How do you plan to restructure me?"

King's gaze traveled over her, lingering on the mud staining her knees. "First, we hide you. Preston thinks you'll come crawling back to the estate, begging. He's wrong."

"Where are we going?"

"The Hamptons," King said. "You have 48 hours until the markets open on Monday. By then, I'm going to turn you into a knife that can cut the throat of Golden Media."

Adeline looked out the window. The city was fading behind them, replaced by the dark outlines of trees. "Is Carmella in the Hamptons?"

"Everyone is," King said. "The Summer Charity Gala. That's your stage."

His phone buzzed. He answered it on speaker. "Go."

"Sir, McKinnon stock is dropping," a trader's voice crackled.

"Buy," King said. "All of it. Then short the competitors." He hung up.

Adeline watched him. The power he wielded was effortless. It was sexy, in a terrifying way.

King reached out suddenly. His fingers caught her chin, tilting her face toward the light. He inspected a small cut on her cheekbone where the phone had hit her.

His touch was warm. Adeline flinched.

King frowned. "Don't let him touch you again. Not even a finger."

"It was part of the act..."

"I can hire actresses," King cut her off. His thumb brushed the skin under her eye. "My things don't get damaged by other people."

Adeline's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't affection. It was possessiveness.

The SUV slowed, passing through a series of massive iron gates. They drove up a long, winding driveway.

King's estate wasn't a traditional shingle-style Hamptons cottage. It was a fortress of concrete and glass, stark and imposing against the night sky. It looked like a bunker designed by an architect who hated soft edges.

The car stopped. Silas opened the door.

King got out first. He turned and extended a hand to her.

Adeline looked at his palm. It was her only lifeline.

She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, tight, crushing.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "Welcome to hell, Adeline. Or heaven. Depends on how well you follow orders."