Claimed By The Uncle: My Sweet Revenge

The inside of the stretch Lincoln was silent as a tomb. Rain lashed against the tinted windows, blurring the gray smear of the FDR Drive into a watercolor of misery. Preston opened the built-in bar and poured a vodka, downing it in one gulp. He slammed the glass down. "What did you do up there?" he demanded, not looking at her. "If you sold out the family interests for a bigger allowance..." Adeline turned her head. The movement was slow, mechanical. "Family interests? You mean the interest that bought Carmella her new Hermès bag?" Preston froze. The glass in his hand rattled against the coaster. "What are you talking about?" Adeline pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened the gallery. King had air-dropped the files to her before she left the bathroom. She held the screen up. It was a grainy security photo of Preston and Carmella in a jewelry store. "The Cartier necklace," Adeline said. "You expensed it as 'Public Relations.' You're not just a cheater, Preston. You're a thief." Preston's face turned a mottled red. He snatched the phone from her hand and smashed it against the window. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. "You know nothing!" he screamed. Spittle flew from his lips. "The phone shrieked and died. Carmella is worth ten of you! You're just a dirt-poor exile. No one wants you!" Adeline didn't flinch. She smiled. It was a cold, broken thing. "Is that right? Then why marry me? Oh, right. You need my signature to cover your embezzlement." Preston's eyes bulged. He hit the intercom button. "Stop the car!" The tires screeched on the wet asphalt. The car swerved to the shoulder, rocking violently as it came to a halt. Preston threw the door open. Rain and exhaust fumes flooded the cabin. He grabbed Adeline by the shoulders and shoved her. "Get out! Walk to the estate if you're so smart!" Adeline stumbled out, her heels slipping on the wet pavement. She fell hard onto her knees in a puddle of oily sludge. The beige Chanel suit was instantly ruined. Preston slammed the door. "Don't expect me to come back for you." The Lincoln peeled away, spraying dirty water over her face. Adeline stayed on her knees. The pain in her legs was sharp, but the cold inside her chest was numbing. Cars zoomed past, indifferent missiles of steel and light. She reached into the puddle for the remains of her phone. It was completely dead, the screen a mosaic of shattered glass. She was shivering violently now. The rain soaked through the expensive wool, making it heavy and suffocating. A black armored SUV detached itself from the traffic flow. It rolled to a stop beside her, silent as a ghost. The window rolled down. Silas looked out from the driver's seat. "Ms. Golden." The rear door slid open automatically. King Wagner sat inside. He had a laptop balanced on his knees. The blue light illuminated the sharp angles of his face. He didn't look up. "Get in," he said. "Unless you want pneumonia." Adeline stared at the warm, dry interior. She looked at her muddy hands. She gritted her teeth and climbed in, dragging the filth of the street onto the pristine cream leather. The door sealed shut, cutting off the noise of the storm. King closed his laptop. He turned to look at her, taking in the ruined suit, the bleeding scrape on her knee, the water dripping from her nose. There was no pity in his eyes. Only calculation. "Now," King said softly. "You are completely mine."