Seven Minutes with my Ex's Uncle
It was meant to be the happiest night of Layla's life-her eighteenth, the moment she officially stepped into adulthood.
Instead, she walked into a crowded nightclub and watched her boyfriend laugh, drink, and kiss another girl while the world looked on.
Humiliation followed swiftly. Dragged into a cruel game of Truth or Dare, Layla became the night's entertainment. When the bottle landed on her, the challenge sounded harmless enough: seven minutes in heaven with a man of her choice.
Everyone expected her to choose him.
She didn't.
Her gaze went to the man watching silently from the shadows-his uncle. The one man she was never supposed to want, yet couldn't look away from.
Seven minutes was all it took to spark something forbidden. Something dark. Something that refused to stay contained.
When the night ended, nothing returned to normal. He became her obsession and most dangerous temptation. And Layla found herself willing to risk everything-family, reputation, even her own heart-for a man she was never meant to desire.
This is a story of betrayal, passion, and the pull of a love that should never exist.
Once caught in it, there is no turning back.
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Chapter 4
The sunlight that seeped through Layla's blinds felt less like morning and more like punishment, thin blades of gold slicing through the dark refuge she had tried-and failed-to hide in.
She didn't wake all at once. Instead, a warm breath brushed her cheek first-soft, insistent-followed by a wet nose nudging beneath her jaw. A small weight shifted against her chest, then a sudden, unapologetic lick dragged across her face.
Layla groaned faintly and turned her head, half-asleep irritation bubbling up before memory could catch her.
"Okay, okay," she murmured hoarsely, eyes still closed. "I'm up."
Another lick landed on her cheek, more enthusiastic this time and her eyes fluttered open.Brown eyes stared back at her wide and loyal,tail thumping faintly against the mattress like it was the best morning in the world.
Milo.
Her family's dog,too small to be intimidating, too affectionate to understand boundaries, and apparently determined to wake her whether she was ready or not.
Layla let out a breath that was almost a laugh and lifted a weak hand to scratch behind his ears.
"Hey," she whispered. "Good morning to you too."
Milo responded by climbing halfway onto her, licking her chin again, completely unconcerned with shame, consequences, or whatever wreckage waited outside this room.
For a few fragile seconds, she let herself stay there-buried in warm fur and familiar comfort-pretending this was just another morning.
Then her mind caught up.Her body stiffened as blurred memory rushed in, fast and unforgiving.
A hand at her back,a voice low and steady in her ear,a hallway full of breathless silence and watching eyes,a hand down there.
Layla sucked in a sharp breath.Milo whined softly, sensing the shift, his tail slowing as she curled inward beneath him. She gently nudged him off her chest, sitting up too quickly, heart already hammering.
"Go," she whispered with her voice tight. "Go on."
Milo hesitated, then hopped off the bed, casting her one last confused look before trotting toward the door.
Every detail now came rushing back with brutal clarity.Every kiss that had lingered too long,every look that had stripped her bare without a single touch and every command spoken low and steady, as if disobedience had never been an option.
Her breath hitched as she curled inward, knees pulling to her chest, the sheets tangling around her fingers as if fabric could somehow shield her from herself. Heat flooded her cheeks, her skin, her thoughts. Her heart pounded wildly-not only with shame, but with something else beneath it, something darker and far more terrifying.
Craving.
She hated that part the most.Layla forced herself upright, the room swaying slightly as though the night hadn't fully released its grip on her yet. She dragged the covers around her shoulders, clutching them tightly, even though she knew they couldn't protect her from what had already happened-or from what was coming. The bed felt wrong now and too charged with memories that refused to stay buried.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound sliced through the silence like a warning bell.Layla froze, her gaze locked on the device as though it might explode if she touched it. Her stomach twisted painfully because she already knew, in some instinctive, dread-filled way, that whatever waited for her on that screen would change everything,but the buzzing wouldn't stop.
With shaking fingers, she reached for the phone.The screen lit up-and her world collapsed.
Dozens of notifications crowded her display,text messages,missed calls,social media tags and group chats she didn't remember joining.
Her chest tightened painfully as she tapped the first alert which was a video.
Grainy and shaky,taken from down a dim hallway in the club.
Her walking beside Elias Thorne.His presence was unmistakable even in low resolution-tall, composed, predatory in the way he moved. His hand rested at the small of her back, possessive and deliberate, as though he'd claimed that space without asking. Her body leaned toward him unconsciously, her head angled just enough to suggest intimacy, willingness and even surrender.
The comments beneath the video scrolled faster than her mind could process.
Is that Layla?
Isn't she with Liam?
What the hell is she doing with him?
That man is dangerous.
Isn't that Elias Throne?
Her throat closed as if invisible fingers were tightening around it. The weight of exposure pressed down on her chest, crushing and absolute. She felt naked, flayed open, her private choices dragged into public judgment.
Another notification flashed.
Her mother had viewed her story.
Layla dropped the phone as though it burned her skin.
"No," she whispered hoarsely. "No, no, no..."
Just then a sharp knock thundered through the door,jolting her upright.
"Layla, open up!"
Chloe's voice came in,edged with panic.
Layla stumbled to the door, her legs weak beneath her, and pulled it open.
Chloe stood there, eyes wide, fear etched deeply into her expression. Glitter still clung to her hair and cheeks, remnants of the night before that now felt like a lifetime ago, but there was nothing celebratory about her posture. She looked like someone who had run straight into disaster.
" Tell me you've seen it," Chloe said immediately.
Layla stepped aside, letting her in. "I've seen it."
Chloe pulled her aside, glancing at the phone screen. "Someone filmed you. It's everywhere. I swear, if your parents see this-"
"Chloe...
"CHRIST!, LAYLA,DO NOT 'chloe' ME," Chloe snapped, stepping inside. "You have to know how bad this is.
Chloe shut the door behind her and turned, already pulling out her phone. "It's bad,worse than you think. People aren't just whispering anymore-they're posting and tagging. This isn't staying in our circle and someone tagged the school."
Layla's stomach dropped.
"The school?" she whispered.
Chloe's jaw tightened. "And if they haven't seen it yet, they will."
Layla's chest constricted painfully. "I didn't do anything wrong."
Chloe looked at her for a long moment, sympathy flickering across her face before reality hardened it again. "That's not how it looks, Layla. Optics matter and these optics are lethal."
She showed Layla screenshot after screenshot-posts dissecting her behavior, threads speculating wildly, cruel jokes layered over shocked disbelief.
Some comments were fascinating,some were vicious but none were kind.
"And Liam?" Layla asked quietly, already dreading the answer.
Chloe hesitated, just long enough.
"He's been calling since six this morning," she said. "Texting and asking where you are right now."
"He saw me at the club,so why is he asking?" Layla said as she sank onto the edge of the bed, her head falling into her hands.
"I didn't plan this," she whispered. "I didn't even think-"
"That's exactly it," Chloe interrupted softly. "You didn't think,I don't even know how that idea came to your head. And Elias Thorne is not someone you accidentally fall into."
Layla flinched at his name.Chloe crouched in front of her, lowering her voice. "You need to understand something. Men like him don't get involved unless they want control. Attention from someone like that isn't a compliment-it's a warning."
Layla opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed again before she could speak.
A message preview flashed across the screen.
Come over to my place NOW.
Sender: Liam
Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. "He already knows."
"I think so." Layla said.
"And are you going to see him?"
"I better not because the moment I set my eyes on him,I'm breaking up with him."
"I support this one." Chloe whispered.
Before Layla could talk,a slow knock echoed on her door.
Layla's heart slammed violently against her ribs.
"That's not Liam," Chloe murmured.
Layla opened the door and saw her older sister Nadia,standing there.
Nadia took one look at Layla's face-and then Chloe's-and sighed, a tired sound that carried equal parts worry and resignation.
Chloe immediately stood. "I should go."
"Neither of you are leaving," Nadia said calmly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Sit."
Chloe stiffened. "I was just-"
"No," Nadia cut in. "You're both here because you're both involved. Whatever this is, you're in it together."
Nadia crossed the room and picked up Layla's phone from the bed, scrolling with the ease of someone already bracing for impact. Her mouth tightened slightly.
"You're trending," she said flatly. "That's never a good sign."
Layla's eyes filled. "Please don't tell Mom and Dad."
Nadia looked at her and something in her expression shifted.
"Tell me what happened," she said.
Layla chose her words carefully.
"After the family dinner," she began. " In celebration of my birthday,Chloe and I went out. Just for a little while. An after-party."
Nadia's gaze sharpened. "You went to a club."
Layla nodded. "I turned eighteen. I just wanted to feel... normal."
Nadia let out a short, humorless breath.
"You turned eighteen and made a mess."
Layla flinched.
"And Liam?" Nadia asked.
Layla swallowed. "I saw him at the club before everything happened." Her voice trembled despite her effort. "He was kissing another girl. Like it meant nothing,like I wasn't even there."
Chloe's jaw tightened in silent confirmation.
Nadia absorbed that, her expression darkening-not with sympathy, but with calculation. "So you were hurt and angry. And you followed the most dangerous man in the room."
Layla didn't argue because she couldn't.
"You're making me get worried," Nadia said quietly.
"I didn't mean to," Layla whispered. "Please."
Nadia sat beside her. "Whatever you think you feel-it's not worth this. Elias Thorne destroys people without touching them. You fix this and stay away from him."
Layla nodded, even as her heart rebelled.
"I won't tell them," Nadia said finally. "But only if I never hear his name again."
When Nadia left, Chloe squeezed Layla's hand once before following her out.
After they left, Layla lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic storm.
Just then her phone rang.
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8.4
She'd spent her whole life hearing the same thing: cold, distant and untouchable.Like she was something behind glass-safe to admire, impossible to reach.
Then she met him.
A man who was sitting in the dark when she walked in. A stranger in her mother's house. All hard edges and quiet intensity, the kind of man who didn't need to raise his voice to fill a room. When he looked at her, really looked, something shifted. The air got thicker which made her pulse kicked up in a way she'd never felt before.
He didn't touch her because he didn't have to.
He just muttered one word;low and rough, like gravel and honey.
"Kneel."
And she did.
Not because she was weak,not because she didn't know better but because for the first time in her life, someone saw past the glass and the careful distance she'd built around herself. He saw what she'd been hiding-the part of her that wanted to be taken, not just touched.
"Yes, Daddy."
The words left her mouth before she could think. And when they did, something inside her cracked wide open.
From that night on, Jessy wasn't the girl people whispered about anymore. She was the woman who'd tasted danger and couldn't get enough. The one who finally understood what it meant to feel.
7.8
THIS IS A DARK ROMANCE FEATURING DARK CONTENT AND MORALLY AMBIGUOUS CHARACTERS.
Peyton has been in her marriage, enduring the pain of watching Odin, her husband, flirt and cheat in the guise of an open marriage-a decision he made without her agreement.
She hit a dead end when Odin broke the number one rule: bringing one of his flings to their home, their bed. That's when she made an impulsive decision-cheat and not feel guilty.
He wants her to get a boyfriend? No, she'd do him one better. One night, that's all it took, and the next day she finds herself tangled with her husband's brother.
Axel-He's a live wire, pure mischief and untamed. He doesn't just give Peyton what she's been starved of; he ignites a fire she didn't know she had, making her crave the wild freedom only he offers. With Axel, it's not just a fling; it's an explosion of everything forbidden.
Raphael-A little unhinged? More like a master of controlled chaos. He's the kind of man who sears himself into your soul, leaving an unforgettable mark deep in your memories. Raphael doesn't just flip a switch in your brain; he rewires it entirely, making you question every sane choice you've ever made.
Ready to dive deeper into Peyton's dangerous game?
7.9
On Christmas Eve, the snow fell in relentless sheets.
My grandmother and I were cast out into the snow as if we were nothing by my uncle.
My aunt cursed me as a bad luck charm, while my uncle's boot landed fiercely in my chest.
I knelt in the freezing snow, clutching my grandmother's body as it grew cold, my nails digging into my flesh, convinced that death awaited us tonight.
Suddenly, the blinding headlights cut through the night.
A convoy of Rolls-Royce cars, bearing diplomatic plates, silently blocked the entrance to the rundown neighborhood.
The elderly butler strode directly to my grandmother, who had been "blind" for forty years, and knelt on one knee, "Your Highness, forgive us for arriving so late."
8.9
I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak.
7.4
For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.
The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.
In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.
"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."
His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.
"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."
He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.
8.3
"I don't want your money, Elara. I want the five years you took from me."
Elara's world shatters when her father gambles away her freedom to the most dangerous man in the city. Silas Vane isn't just a ruthless billionaire; he's the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, and he's been hunting Elara for years.
To Elara, he's a stranger holding a debt she can never pay. To Silas, she is the mate who vanished, leaving him with a scarred heart and a thirst for vengeance. Trapped in his obsidian estate, Elara must navigate a world of shifting shadows and primal instincts. As the line between captor and protector blurs, a dark secret begins to surface: Elara isn't as human as she thinks, and her "debt" was written in blood long before she was born.
Can she escape the Alpha's golden-eyed gaze, or will she finally remember why she ran in the first place?