His Uncle, My Sweetest Revenge

The heavy steel doors of the private elevator slid open.

The thick, dark carpet of the penthouse absorbed the sound of Carlton's leather shoes. The silence in the hallway was deafening. The only sound was the heavy, uneven rhythm of Joanna's breathing mixing with his steady, calm exhales.

"I can walk," Joanna said, her voice trembling slightly. She pushed against his shoulder.

Carlton's bicep flexed against her back. He didn't loosen his grip by a single millimeter. He walked up to the massive double doors of the suite and pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner.

The lock clicked. He kicked the door open and carried her into the cavernous, freezing living room.

He walked over to the sprawling leather sofa. He didn't set her down gently. He dropped her.

Joanna hit the cushions with a heavy thud, the impact forcing a sharp gasp from her lips. The leather was cold against her bare legs. She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized just how dangerous this man actually was.

Carlton reached up and ripped the soaked silk tie from his neck. He threw it onto the glass coffee table. He turned his back to her, walking toward the wet bar with a rigid, furious posture.

Joanna's teeth began to chatter. She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to preserve whatever body heat she had left. Her high-end silk dress was ruined, clinging to her skin like a second layer of freezing ice.

A massive, dry bath towel suddenly hit her in the face.

She pulled the thick fabric down from her head. Carlton was standing over her. He held a crystal glass filled with three fingers of neat whiskey.

"Your footing was sloppy," Carlton said. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

Joanna froze. The blood drained from her face.

"You think pulling her in was flawless?" he continued, taking a slow sip of the amber liquid. "I saw the way you shifted your weight before the fall. The deliberate, anchored step into her space right as she grabbed your skirt. You didn't slip. You used her own momentum against her. Amateur."

Her pulse skyrocketed. The air in her lungs vanished. He had seen it. He had seen the exact moment she intentionally orchestrated the trajectory to drag Jessie into the water. Her perfect victim disguise was completely useless against him.

Joanna forced her hands to stop shaking. She gripped the towel tightly and tilted her chin up, meeting his terrifying gray-blue eyes.

"If you saw everything, why didn't you expose me down there?" Joanna asked, her voice surprisingly steady. "Are you planning to use this to protect your nephew?"

Carlton let out a dark, humorless chuckle. He tossed the rest of the whiskey down his throat.

He set the glass down on the table with a sharp clink. Then, he leaned forward. He placed both hands on the sofa, trapping her body between his massive arms. The scent of cedarwood, expensive alcohol, and pure male aggression completely engulfed her.

"The Madden family reputation," Carlton whispered, his face inches from hers, "will not be dragged through the mud for your cheap, high-society soap opera."

The physical pressure radiating from him was suffocating. But Joanna knew this was her only window. If she backed down now, she was dead.

She stared directly into his eyes. "The tech company Madden Group is acquiring next week. Their financials are fabricated."

The air in the room instantly turned to ice.

Carlton's eyes narrowed into lethal slits. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He stared at her, analyzing her, trying to figure out how a socialite who spent her days shopping knew about a highly classified, multi-billion-dollar corporate acquisition.

"Offshore account ending in 4409," Joanna said, her voice cold and precise. "And another under a shell company in the Caymans ending in 8812. Check them."

She had heard Freddie screaming about those exact accounts over the phone while she was locked in the asylum. It was the deal that almost bankrupted the family.

Carlton slowly straightened up. He didn't take his eyes off her. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed his executive assistant.

"Leo," Carlton said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Run a deep trace on two offshore accounts. 4409 and 8812. Now."

He put the phone on speaker and tossed it onto the table.

The silence in the room was agonizing. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like a bomb counting down. Joanna's palms were slick with cold sweat.

Two minutes later, the phone buzzed.

"Sir," Leo's voice came through the speaker. "The accounts are black holes. Massive debt hidden off the books. If we sign next week, we absorb three billion in liabilities."

"Cancel the acquisition," Carlton ordered. He hung up.

When he looked back at Joanna, the contempt in his eyes was gone. It was replaced by something much darker. A dangerous, consuming curiosity.

"I want you to handle the media downstairs," Joanna said, pressing her advantage. "And I want a secure exit from this building. Today."

Carlton walked slowly back to the sofa. He stopped right in front of her. He reached out.

His rough thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a stray drop of pool water. The touch was light, but the calluses on his skin sent a violent tremor straight to her core.

"Deal," Carlton murmured. "But if you ever use my family's name to play your little games again, I will ruin you."

Joanna turned her face away, her skin burning where he had touched her. The survival instinct in her brain was screaming at her to run.

Carlton turned and walked toward the master bedroom. "Go take a shower. You're ruining my leather."