I Dumped My Cheating Fiancé and Married His Uncle
On the night before her wedding, Navia Harrison discovers her fiancé in bed with her step-sister-and worse, the two of them are already planning how to get rid of her after the marriage.
Humiliated and consumed by hatred, Navia exposes their affair during the wedding ceremony itself, destroying both families' reputations in a single move.
Then, she meets him.
Leonel Crawford - the cold and dangerously powerful head of the Crawford family. Untouchable. Ruthless. A man no woman has ever been able to keep close.
He's also her ex-fiancé's uncle.
One impulsive proposal changes everything.
"If you need a wife... marry me instead."
"Honestly... we'd make a pretty good match."
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Chapter 5
A good match?
Was that really how she was using the phrase?
A quiet snort of laughter came from the driver's seat.
Jason couldn't help himself.
The moment he sensed the icy glare from the backseat, however, he immediately straightened up and focused on driving.
Leonel's dark eyes remained fixed on the woman in front of him.
She looked like a fallen swan-soaked, exhausted, and miserable, wrapped only in his oversized coat.
Yet her eyes still burned brightly.
Like stars refusing to go out.
One careless glance was enough to scorch their way straight into someone's heart.
Navia knew he was studying her carefully.
Even so, she forced herself to meet his gaze without backing down.
After a long silence, Leonel finally spoke again.
"What you said..." His deep voice was calm and measured. "Does make some sense."
Navia's eyes lit up instantly.
"You mean..."
Nervous anticipation flickered in her gaze.
Leonel slowly extended his hand toward her.
His fingers were long and elegant, his voice low and steady.
"Deal."
That single word made Navia's heart leap.
After publicly destroying things with Liam, she had honestly worried she wouldn't find anyone suitable to marry in time.
But now-
Not only had she found someone...
He was Liam's own uncle.
Jason cautiously cleared his throat from the front seat.
"Sir, we're back in the city now. Where should I head?"
"The hillside villa," Leonel replied.
Navia blinked. "Mr. Crawford... when should I contact you?"
"About what?"
She paused awkwardly.
"The marriage," she said. "The thing we just discussed..."
"There's no need to contact me later," Leonel replied calmly. "You're coming home with me."
"...What?"
Leonel raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Or were you planning to walk into the courthouse looking like that?"
Courthouse?
Marriage license?
Navia hadn't expected things to move this fast.
But there was no way she would refuse now.
"Okay," she said quickly. "I'll follow your arrangement."
The car stopped.
Leonel stepped out first before extending his hand toward her.
"Hold on to me."
"Huh-?"
Before she could react, he lifted her into his arms once again.
Startled, Navia instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
This was the second time he had carried her.
And she had never been this close to a man before.
Even during her relationship with Liam, the furthest they had ever gone was holding hands.
She shifted awkwardly in his arms.
"I can walk myself..."
Leonel carried her effortlessly toward the villa without slowing down.
"Are you sure?" he asked calmly. "Can your ankle handle it?"
Navia instantly fell silent.
He had a point.
Without another word, Leonel carried her all the way upstairs and into his bedroom.
"You got caught in the rain," he said. "Take a hot shower so you don't get sick."
Then he added casually:
"Once you're done, we'll go register the marriage."
With that, he turned and left the room.
Navia's cheeks felt burning hot.
She had never entered a man's private residence before-let alone his bedroom.
The bathroom suited Leonel perfectly.
Cold gray marble.
Minimalist. Expensive. Immaculate.
Under the bright lights, the mirror reflected her current state clearly.
Her face was pale from exhaustion, but flushed from embarrassment and cold after being drenched in the rain.
She sneezed softly.
Not daring to waste any more time, Navia removed Leonel's coat and stepped beneath the hot water.
Warm water cascaded over her frozen body, slowly easing the tension in her muscles.
But just as she finished showering and prepared to leave the bathroom, she suddenly realized-
She had no clean clothes.
After hesitating for a moment, Navia wrapped a white bath towel tightly around herself and carefully cracked open the bathroom door.
"Mr. Crawford?" she called softly.
She had never felt this embarrassed in her life.
Her voice trembled slightly, quiet and cautious like a frightened kitten.
After peeking outside, she realized Leonel wasn't in the room.
She couldn't exactly stay trapped in the bathroom forever.
Barefoot, Navia hurried out into the hallway and finally spotted him downstairs near the staircase.
Leonel sat alone on the living room sofa.
His tie had been loosened, his suit jacket tossed carelessly beside him.
A cigar burned between his fingers, the smoke curling around him as he sat there silently, almost like some untouchable sculpture carved from shadow.
Mysterious.
Cold.
Impossible to read.
"Mr. Crawford..." Navia called nervously.
Only then did Leonel look up.
The moment he saw her, his gaze paused briefly.
Her long damp hair clung to her pale cheeks, making her look like a drenched stray kitten fresh out of the rain.
The white towel wrapped around her body barely covered enough, exposing her long slender legs beneath.
As Leonel's eyes swept over her, Navia instinctively curled her bare toes against the floor, unsure whether she was nervous or simply embarrassed.
"I don't have any clothes to change into," she explained softly.
Leonel looked away calmly.
"My mistake," he said. "There aren't any women's clothes here."
He picked up his phone.
"I'll have Jason bring something over."
Navia hesitated before speaking again.
"Could I... borrow one of your shirts first?"
"Mhm." Leonel nodded casually. "They're in the closet. Take whatever you want."
After getting his permission, Navia hurried back upstairs.
Inside the walk-in closet, every piece of clothing was immaculate-tailored suits, dress shirts, luxury fabrics.
Everything about it screamed wealth and discipline.
Eventually, she found a white dress shirt tucked near the corner and slipped it on.
When she returned downstairs, Leonel glanced up.
Because of his height, the shirt hung loosely on her frame, oversized enough to conceal most of her body.
She had even used one of his belts around her waist, unintentionally accentuating her slender figure.
Instead of looking messy, it somehow resembled a carefully styled outfit.
A flicker of surprise crossed Leonel's eyes.
"It looks good on you," he said.
His low voice made Navia's cheeks warm again.
Still thinking about the marriage, she quickly sat across from him.
"Mr. Crawford, before we go register, we should probably discuss the important details first-"
Before she could finish, the lingering cigar smoke made her cough suddenly.
She clearly wasn't used to it.
Leonel immediately lowered his legs from the coffee table and crushed the cigar into the ashtray beside him before standing up.
His tall figure moved toward her, casting a shadow overhead.
Then his warm hand rested gently against her back.
"You okay?"
Navia coughed until tears filled her eyes.
"I'm fine," she managed softly. "I'm just not used to cigarette smoke."
A trace of apology appeared in Leonel's expression.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "I won't smoke around you again."
Again?
Navia looked up at him in surprise.
Even though they were only entering a contractual marriage, not a real relationship...
Why was he accommodating her so naturally?
"Thank you," she said softly.
Then, after hesitating briefly, she added:
"Mr. Crawford... before we register the marriage, shouldn't I sign something first?"
Leonel raised an eyebrow.
"Like what?"
"A prenuptial agreement," Navia replied cautiously.
Leonel looked completely unconcerned.
"There's no need for something like that."
Navia hesitated.
"For the Harrison family, maybe not..." she said carefully. "But aren't you worried that I might..."
***
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On her nineteenth birthday, a male classmate secretly sent her a diamond necklace. Elam, who had flown back from London overnight, flew into a psychotic, jealous rage at the sight of another man's gift.
He mercilessly crushed the delicate necklace into the marble floor with his custom leather shoe.
"Did you forget what you are?" Elam hissed, dragging her into a pitch-black storage room. "You take gifts from other men behind my back?"
He pinned her to the dusty floorboards and violently assaulted her. The next morning, a wire transfer of $500,000 hit her bank account. He had humiliated her, broken her spirit, and was now casually trying to buy her silence. Later, when a broken bike left her walking miles through a freezing rainstorm, he just shoved scalding tea into her bleeding hands.
"Look at you," he sneered. "You look like a stray dog ruining my floors."
Jocelyn curled up in the cold, her lips bleeding and her heart shattered. She couldn't understand his terrifying obsession. If he hated her so much, why did he refuse to let her go? Why did he look at her with such manic hunger while systematically destroying her life?
Staring at the massive sum of hush money on her phone, a desperate spark of vengeance flared in her chest. Jocelyn wired every single cent back to Elam's account. She picked up her charcoal pencil, vowing to win the upcoming art competition and buy her escape from this monster forever.
9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
9.7
Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back.
Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status.
His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout.
Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him.
Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones?
Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.
8.1
I lived my entire life in a beautiful, naive bubble, completely trusting my husband and my best friend.
That was until they tied me to a chair, slit my vocal cords, and set my family's estate on fire.
As the flames crept closer, my husband Demarco calmly crushed my diamond wedding ring under his leather heel.
My best friend Cristin walked in, leaning against his shoulder and pouring her champagne onto the floorboards to fuel the fire.
"Your grandfather didn't just have a stroke. The medication swap was incredibly easy to arrange."
Looking down at my bleeding body, they casually confessed to murdering the only person who had ever truly protected me, all to swallow the Bridges empire.
I couldn't even scream. I could only suffocate in the thick black smoke as they turned their backs and locked the heavy oak door behind them.
Why was I so blind? How could the two people I loved most treat me like disposable garbage?
In my final moments of agonizing pain and pure, concentrated fury, I pulled out the detonator my grandfather had secretly left me.
I pressed the button, blowing the estate and all of us to hell.
But the burning stopped.
When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at a pristine crystal chandelier.
I was fifteen years old again, lying in my childhood bedroom, right before my treacherous uncle and those parasites started tearing my family apart.
And I didn't come back empty-handed.
This time, I am not the naive heiress.
8.7
Jolie transmigrated into a high-tech universe ruled by beast-shifting Primals, only to wake up in the body of a "defective" female. With a Genetic Compatibility Index of zero, she was publicly discarded by her mandated military partner.
Before she could even adapt, her stepmother drugged her with an illegal aphrodisiac and locked her in a pitch-black suite with that same ex-fiancé—now a feral, maddened beast. The family wanted her torn apart to permanently erase their embarrassment.
But instead of dying, Jolie awakened a rare plant-manipulation power. She bound the raging General, drained his energy, robbed him blind, and fled to a remote farming planet. Just as she thought she was free, the Commonwealth system flashed a new mandate. They assigned her a new husband: Keanu Robertson, a psychotic assassin who had murdered his last three wives.
The system wasn't giving her a partner; it was handing her a death warrant. Keanu despised females, especially a "useless" zero-GCI burden. He tracked her forged alias across the galaxy, descending upon her barren farm in the dead of night with pure murderous intent. How could a discarded, defective girl survive the most feared apex predator in the Shadow Sector?
But as the legendary assassin stepped onto her property to finish the job, a mutated, neurotoxic vine whipped out and completely paralyzed him. Watching the massive killer crash face-first into the dirt, Jolie lowered her rifle and smiled.
"Welcome home, husband."