His Uncle, My Sweetest Revenge

Joanna's eyes snapped open. The blinding Hampton sun stabbed her retinas. She gasped, her lungs burning as if they were still filled with the stagnant, chemical-laced water of the asylum bathtub. Her chest heaved. Her fingers dug into the padded fabric of the sun lounger, her knuckles turning bone-white. She wasn't dead. A waiter in a crisp white uniform walked past, a silver tray of champagne balanced on his palm. Joanna reached out. Her fingertips shook violently. The crystal flute clinked against the tray, almost tipping over. The icy condensation on the glass shocked her nervous system. She was back. Three years ago. The annual Madden family summer party. Her gaze cut through the crowd of socialites and trust-fund heirs. It locked onto the far side of the Olympic-sized pool. Freddie. Her fiancé was leaning against the tiled edge, laughing as Jessie Beck playfully splashed water onto his chest. A wave of somatic nausea hit Joanna's stomach. The bile rose in her throat. The memory of his cold, indifferent face as he signed her commitment papers flashed behind her eyes. Joanna took a slow, jagged breath. She forced her facial muscles to relax. The corners of her mouth lifted, clicking into the harmless, polished smile of a perfect socialite. She stood up. Her silk stilettos clicked against the wet concrete as she walked toward the deep end of the pool. Jessie caught sight of her approach from the corner of her eye. The aspiring actress immediately took a half-step backward toward the pool's edge, her eyes widening in a pathetic attempt to look intimidated. Joanna saw right through the cheap trick. She didn't slow down. She sped up. Freddie noticed the shift in the atmosphere. His brow furrowed. He pushed off the edge and stepped forward, trying to place his body between Jessie and his fiancée. "Joanna, what are you doing?" Freddie demanded. Jessie calculated the distance perfectly. She let out a high-pitched, theatrical gasp. She leaned back, her hand shooting out to grab the delicate fabric of Joanna's skirt, intending to drag them both into the water to play the victim. Joanna's eyes went dead. She didn't flinch. She didn't pull back like she had in her past life. Instead, as Jessie's fingers grazed her dress, Joanna's hand shot out. She clamped her fingers around Jessie's wrist, twisting it downward and using her own forward momentum to shove the other woman hard. Two heavy splashes echoed over the thumping bass of the party music. The freezing, chlorinated water swallowed Joanna whole. She didn't fight it. She let her body sink into the two-meter depth, the noise of the party instantly muting into a dull hum. She opened her eyes underwater. The chlorine stung, but she watched the surface. Freddie's body broke the water seconds later. He didn't even look in her direction. He swam frantically straight toward Jessie, who was thrashing and screaming for her life. Joanna's chest burned. A cold, hollow laugh bubbled up in her throat, escaping as a stream of silver air. The perfect victim script was written. The crowd above was already shouting. Cell phone cameras were definitely recording the scandal. Her lungs screamed for oxygen. She bent her knees, preparing to kick up to the surface. Suddenly, the water current shifted violently. A massive, dark shadow sliced through the water. The resistance of the pool seemed to mean nothing to him. He moved with terrifying speed, heading straight for her. Panic spiked in Joanna's chest. She tried to swim up, but her calf muscle seized. A sharp cramp locked her leg. Her body jerked downward. A thick, muscular arm wrapped around her waist like a steel vice. Even through their soaked clothes, the heat radiating from his body was scorching. It sent a violent shiver down her spine. Joanna thrashed instinctively, her hands pushing against a chest that felt like solid granite. He didn't let go. He clamped her tighter against him, his sheer physical power easily subduing her panic, and kicked upward. They broke the surface. Water cascaded down Joanna's face. She gasped, sucking in massive mouthfuls of air, coughing violently as her lungs expanded. She wiped the water from her eyes and looked up. Her breath stopped completely. She was staring into a pair of cold, predatory, gray-blue eyes. Her brain short-circuited. It was Carlton Madden. Freddie's uncle. The ruthless, untouchable patriarch of the Madden empire. Carlton didn't say a word. He just stared past her shoulder, his gaze locking onto Freddie, who was currently dragging a sobbing Jessie to the shallow end. Carlton's eyes were dead, looking at his nephew like he was a piece of trash. Freddie turned his head. The color instantly drained from his face. "Uncle... Uncle Carlton," Freddie stammered, his voice cracking. The flashes of dozens of cell phone cameras strobed around them. The scandal was being immortalized. Carlton's jaw tightened. "Confiscate every single device," he barked. His low, gravelly voice cut through the noise like a gunshot. The estate's security team immediately swarmed the guests, snatching phones from their hands. Joanna shivered. The cold wind hit her wet skin, but the trembling came from the sheer terror of being pressed against this man. She placed her hands on his chest, trying to push away and create distance. Carlton's arm tightened around her waist. He didn't let her step back. Instead, he snatched a massive, thick pool towel from a nearby cabana chair. With a single, forceful motion, he threw the heavy fabric over her trembling shoulders, completely obscuring her soaked figure from the prying cameras. He didn't lift her. He didn't offer any scandalous intimacy. He simply clamped his large, calloused hand around her upper arm like an iron shackle, his grip uncompromising and bruising. A drop of water fell from his sharp jawline, landing directly on her exposed collarbone. The cold drop sent an electric shock straight to her core as he forcibly marched her forward. Freddie scrambled out of the pool, dripping wet. "Uncle, let her go, I can-" Carlton ignored his nephew completely. He didn't even spare him a glance. Flanked instantly by his security detail to block the crowd's view, he practically dragged Joanna alongside him, turning and walking straight toward the mansion's private elevator.