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Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge Novel Cover

Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge

I was the "crazy girl" my family sent to a survivalist commune in Utah to rot. Four years later, I returned to Manhattan with a titanium USB drive and a heart full of ice, ready to blackmail the one man who could burn my family to the ground. But I underestimated how much they hated me. My fiancé, Preston, was already laundering money through my inheritance and sleeping with my replacement. He didn't even flinch when I showed him the evidence of his crimes. Instead, he grabbed me by the shoulders, smashed my phone, and shoved me out of his moving Lincoln into a midnight storm. I hit the wet pavement hard, my knees scraping against the asphalt as I watched him drive away, laughing about how I was a "dirt-poor exile" that nobody wanted. Within minutes, my credit cards were flagged as stolen and my father’s lawyers were drafting a statement calling me mentally unstable. I was left shivering in a puddle of oily sludge, wearing a ruined Chanel suit, with no money, no home, and no one to hear me scream. I couldn't understand how they could be so cruel. I was their flesh and blood, yet they treated me like a broken toy to be discarded in the trash. I was a "distressed asset" in a city that only valued gold. That’s when a black armored SUV pulled to the curb. King Wagner—the ruthless shark of Wall Street and Preston’s own uncle—looked at my muddy face with cold, calculating eyes. He didn't offer me pity; he offered me a leash. "You belong to me now," he whispered, pulling me into the dry warmth of his car. By the next morning, he had announced our engagement to the world, turning me into the very weapon that would slit my family's throat.
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Chapter 3

The doorbell rang again, longer this time, insistent and angry.

Adeline spun around, her eyes darting across the sleek, minimalist apartment. There was nowhere to hide. The open-plan living room was a trap.

King moved with efficient speed. He grabbed the torn remains of her thrift-store dress from the floor and shoved them deep into the trash compactor.

He pointed a long finger toward the bathroom. "Get in. Don't make a sound, no matter what you hear."

Adeline didn't argue. She sprinted barefoot across the hardwood floor, the oversized dress shirt billowing around her thighs. She threw herself into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning her back against the cool wood, gasping for air.

Outside, she heard the heavy front door open.

"Uncle King," Preston's voice filtered through the wood, breathless and overly polite. "I'm so sorry to disturb you. I ran into Silas in the lobby. He said you needed the McKinnon papers signed immediately."

Adeline pressed her ear to the door. Preston was lying. He was checking up on King, using work as a shield.

"Leave them on the table," King's voice was bored, dismissive.

"Is that..." Preston paused. Adeline could imagine him sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "Is that perfume? It smells... expensive. Not your usual scent."

Adeline stopped breathing.

"It's a gift for a client," King lied smoothly. "Chanel. Do you have a problem with my corporate gifting choices, Preston?"

"No! No, of course not," Preston stammered. "It's just... Adeline is missing. I'm a little on edge."

Footsteps approached the bathroom. Adeline's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

King knocked on the bathroom door from the outside-two sharp raps.

"Occupied?" Preston asked, his voice pitching up.

"Housekeeping," King said. "They're scrubbing the tiles. I'm about to take a shower and change. Wait here for five minutes, Preston. I have questions about the Macau account."

Before Preston could respond, the bathroom door handle turned. Adeline jumped back.

King slipped inside and locked the door behind him in one fluid motion.

Adeline stared at him, her eyes wide with panic. "Are you insane? He's right there!" she hissed.

King reached into the shower stall and turned the water on full blast. The roar of the spray filled the small, tiled room, creating a wall of white noise.

He advanced on her, backing her up against the marble vanity.

"This is a test, Adeline," he said, his voice low under the sound of the water.

"A test?"

"If you can't face him with a door between you, how are you going to help me destroy him?" King's eyes were dark, challenging.

"I don't have any clothes!" she whispered furiously, gesturing to his shirt.

King opened the cabinet under the sink. He pulled out a garment bag that Silas must have stashed there earlier. He tossed it to her.

"Chanel," he said. "Put it on. Then you're walking out there with me."

Adeline froze. "You want me to walk out there? While he's sitting on your sofa?"

"We're going to make him think you're here for business," King said. A smirk played on his lips. "My business."

He stepped closer, his hands gripping the edge of the vanity on either side of her hips, trapping her again.

"Remember," he said, staring into her eyes. "From this moment on, you belong to me. He isn't your fiancé anymore. He's prey."

He leaned down and kissed her again. This time, it wasn't a punishment. It was a transfer of power. It was aggressive, demanding, and it made her knees weak.

"Fix your hair," King commanded, pulling away. "You look like you've just been thoroughly... debriefed."

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