Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge

The water in the bathroom shut off. The sudden silence in the penthouse was deafening.

Preston stood up from the leather sofa, smoothing the front of his jacket. He looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the hallway.

The door opened. King walked out first, immaculate in a charcoal grey suit, his face a mask of indifference.

A second later, Adeline stepped out.

Preston's jaw dropped.

She was wearing a beige Chanel skirt suit that fit her as if it had been stitched on her body. Her hair was damp, combed back slickly. She held a black folder against her chest like a shield.

"Adeline?" Preston choked out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Adeline felt her heart slam against her sternum. She looked at King. He was pouring himself a glass of water, utterly unbothered.

"She's reviewing the supplementary clauses of the prenup," King said, taking a sip.

"The prenup?" Preston blinked. "That's for the lawyers. Why are you..."

King turned slowly. His gaze was heavy, physical. "I don't trust your legal team with the Golden Media equity swap, Preston. So I'm asking the principal directly."

Adeline stepped forward. She channeled every ounce of hatred she felt for the man staring at her. She held up the folder.

"Mr. Wagner pointed out some... potential risks, Preston," she said. Her voice was steady.

Preston looked between them. He was suspicious-the damp hair, the early hour-but the fear of his uncle outweighed his jealousy. He shrank back.

"Oh," Preston said. "Right. Thank you, Uncle King."

King sat on the arm of the sofa. "Since you're here. The Macau investment. I hear you took a heavy loss."

Preston paled. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse. "Just... market volatility."

"Better be," King said. "I don't want to see anything ugly in next week's audit."

Adeline watched Preston crumble. The arrogance was gone, replaced by the trembling of a scolded child. It was pathetic. And it was satisfying.

King checked his watch. "I have a meeting. Silas, drive Ms. Golden to the summit."

"I have my car," Preston interjected quickly, stepping toward Adeline. His hand shot out to grab her arm. "I'll take her."

King's eyes dropped to Preston's hand on Adeline's sleeve. For a second, the air in the room grew violent. Then, King nodded.

"Fine. Preston, ensure Ms. Golden understands the gravity of the equity clauses. There's no room for error."

"I won't let you down, Uncle," Preston said, misinterpreting the warning entirely.

The elevator ride down was suffocating. Preston stared at her wet hair, his nostrils flaring.

When the doors opened in the lobby, he didn't wait. He grabbed her wrist, his grip bruising, and dragged her toward the glass doors.

"You think running to King will save you?" Preston hissed, shoving her toward the valet stand. "He's laughing at you. You're a joke to him."

Adeline yanked her arm free. She looked back at the elevator bank. King was standing in the shadows of the lobby, watching. He didn't move to help. He just watched.

She realized then that he wasn't her savior. He was her weapon. And weapons didn't cuddle you; they waited to be used.

"At least he read the agreement," Adeline said coldly. "You just sign whatever your mother puts in front of you."

Preston's face twisted in rage. "Wait until you see Carmella. Then you'll know who the real joke is."

He shoved her into the back of his Lincoln.

Up in the lobby, King touched his earpiece.

"Initiate Project Icarus," he said to the empty air. "I want Preston's offshore accounts on my desk in three days."