Married To My Ex's Ruthless Uncle

The Lincoln glided into the underground parking garage of a hyper-luxury high-rise in Tribeca. The engine cut off, leaving a heavy silence in the car.

The driver opened the door. Ellwood stepped out. He looked back at Audriana, who was staring down at her bare, dirty feet, hesitating to step onto the concrete.

Without a word, Ellwood leaned in and scooped her up into his arms again.

Audriana's face flushed hot. "I can walk," she protested weakly, pushing lightly against his chest.

Ellwood's arms tightened around her, pressing her closer. "Stop moving," he commanded.

He carried her into the private elevator. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner, and the doors slid shut. The elevator shot up to the penthouse level.

The doors opened directly into a massive, open-concept living space. It was decorated in stark black, white, and gray. It looked like a museum—cold, expensive, and completely devoid of human warmth.

Ellwood set her down on a plush gray sofa. He walked away and returned a minute later with a white first-aid box.

He dropped to one knee in front of her. He gently took her right wrist. Angry purple bruises in the shape of Eston's fingers stained her pale skin. Ellwood's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

He opened a tube of ointment and squeezed a cold drop onto her skin.

Audriana hissed sharply as the medicine stung.

Ellwood's movements instantly slowed. He lowered his head, blowing softly on the bruised skin as he rubbed the ointment in with extreme care. The harsh lines of his face softened in the dim light.

Audriana stared at his thick eyelashes. Her heart skipped a beat. A strange, warm feeling bloomed in her chest. She felt safe.

"Go take a shower," Ellwood said, standing up and closing the box. "The master bedroom is down the hall. There are clothes in the closet."

Audriana nodded. She walked down the long hallway and entered the master suite. The bathroom was the size of her old apartment. She stood under the scalding hot water until her skin turned red, scrubbing away the memory of Eston's touch.

When she stepped out, she opened the massive walk-in closet.

There were no women's clothes anywhere to be seen, only endless rows of dark, meticulously tailored men's suits and crisp dress shirts. She reached up and pulled down one of his heavy black silk dress shirts from a mahogany hanger. She slipped it over her head. The fabric was incredibly soft, but the hem fell past her mid-thigh, and the sleeves completely swallowed her hands. It was entirely too large, hanging off her slender frame, yet the fabric smelled intensely of cedarwood and him. The sheer size difference made her acutely aware of whose territory she was in.

She walked out into the bedroom.

Ellwood was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window. He wore a dark grey bathrobe. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the smoke curling around his face.

He heard her footsteps and turned around. His eyes swept over the silk shirt clinging to her curves. His gaze darkened, turning heavy and predatory.

Audriana crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Should I sleep on the couch?"

Ellwood crushed the cigarette into an ashtray. He walked over, grabbed her by the shoulders, and gently pushed her down onto the massive king-sized bed. He pulled the heavy duvet over her legs.

"Sleep right here," he ordered, his voice a low, rough rumble that brooked no argument. "Do not leave this bed without my permission."

Audriana was too tired to argue. The moment her head hit the soft pillow, her brain shut down.

Hours later, she woke up gasping for air. A nightmare about her father flatlining had ripped her out of sleep. Cold sweat coated her forehead.

She opened her eyes in the dark.

Ellwood was lying next to her. He wasn't asleep. He was propped up on one elbow, staring down at her face.

The coldness in his eyes was completely gone. Instead, there was a look of agonizing, desperate longing. It was a look so intense it made Audriana's chest ache.

Before she could speak, Ellwood reached out. His cool fingertips brushed a damp strand of hair away from her forehead. He traced the line of her cheekbone, his touch feather-light, as if he were touching something fragile that might break.

He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply.

"Annie…" he whispered. The word was muffled against her skin.

Audriana didn't hear it clearly. The syllables blurred together against her collarbone, sounding like a fragmented nickname or perhaps just a garbled attempt to say her own name. She was entirely too exhausted to decipher it, assuming it was just a garbled attempt to say her own name. The sound tugged at something deep in her chest—a thread of warmth tangled with a faint, inexplicable unease—but exhaustion swallowed the thought whole before she could chase it down. She let go of the prickle of tension and wrapped her arms around his broad back, letting his warmth chase away the nightmare.

She fell back asleep in his arms, completely unaware of the tear that slipped from the corner of Ellwood's eye and soaked into her pillow.

When the morning sun hit her face, Audriana woke up. The bed beside her was empty. The sheets were cold.