Jilted Heiress: Seducing My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

The dining room table was long enough to land a plane on.

Silas Fitzpatrick sat at the head. He was a wizened, terrifying man who looked like he ate joy for breakfast.

Ivy sat next to Clive. Clive was sulking. He drank his wine too fast.

The chair opposite Ivy scraped against the floor.

Bruno sat down.

He unbuttoned his jacket. He was wearing the grey suit. But under it, he wore a crisp white shirt. The exact twin of the one Ivy had worn this morning.

He caught her eye. He touched his collar.

Ivy looked down at her soup. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.

"So, Clive," Silas boomed. "The quarterly reports. How are the Asian markets?"

Clive choked on his wine. "Uh. Good. They're… holding steady."

Silas narrowed his eyes. "Holding steady? The Yen dropped three points yesterday. We lost four million dollars. Did you not read the briefing?"

Clive turned red. "I… I was busy."

"Doing what?" Silas demanded. "Inspecting real estate?"

Bruno chuckled. It was a dark, dry sound.

"Leave him alone, Father," Bruno said. "The boy has been busy. House hunting requires a lot of… stamina."

Clive looked at Bruno with pure hatred.

Silas looked between them. "What house?"

Clive opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was drowning.

Ivy could have let him drown. She should have.

But if Clive looked incompetent, the merger might be delayed. And if the merger was delayed, Claudia would hurt Lucia.

"Clive is looking for a summer home for us," Ivy said. Her voice was clear. "He wanted it to be a surprise."

The table went silent.

Clive looked at Ivy in shock.

Bruno stopped smiling. He looked at Ivy. His eyes were cold. Disappointed.

Silas grunted. "A surprise. Well. Focus on the business, boy."

The conversation moved on.

Ivy felt a pressure on her foot.

She froze.

Under the table, a hand wrapped around her ankle.

It was warm. Large.

It slid up her calf.

Ivy stiffened. She looked across the table.

Bruno was cutting his steak. He looked perfectly composed.

But his hand was under the table. On her leg.

He squeezed.

Ivy gasped softly.

Clive looked at her. "What?"

"Nothing," Ivy said. "Leg cramp."

Bruno's hand went higher. Past her knee. To the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

His thumb rubbed circles into her skin. It was maddening. It was terrifying.

He was doing this right in front of his father. In front of her fiancé.

Ivy tried to pull her leg away. Bruno's grip tightened. He wasn't letting go.

Clive nudged her. "Ivy. Pour Uncle Bruno some wine. His glass is empty."

It was a command. A petty power play to remind her of her place.

Ivy stood up. Her legs were shaking.

She picked up the decanter. She walked around the table to Bruno.

She leaned over to pour.

Bruno's hand, still under the table, moved higher. His fingers grazed the edge of her panties.

Ivy's hand jerked.

Red wine splashed out of the decanter.

It hit the pristine white tablecloth. It hit Bruno's sleeve.

Gasps rang out around the table.

"Oh my god," Clive shouted. "You clumsy idiot!"