Sleeping With My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle

The crystal chandelier inside The Plaza Hotel emitted a blinding light.

Adelia Graves stood directly beneath it, holding a flute of champagne. The harsh light forced her to narrow her eyes. She forced the corners of her mouth up, maintaining the flawless social smile she had practiced for years.

A Wall Street executive's wife walked up to her, her diamond necklace catching the light.

"Where is Coleman hiding tonight, Adelia?" the woman asked.

Adelia swallowed the hard lump of panic forming in her throat.

"He had to take a quick call with the London office," Adelia lied smoothly, keeping her voice steady.

Her phone vibrated violently inside the tiny beaded clutch she held tightly in her hand. The delicate metal clasp dug into her palm as she quickly snapped it open. She pulled the phone out, her thumb pressing the screen.

It was a text from Coleman's private assistant.

Elia Tate was in a car accident. Mr. Cooper has left the building.

The cold words burned her eyes. Her lungs stopped working. The air in the ballroom suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

Her bridesmaid, Audrey, leaned in close, noticing the sudden drop of color in Adelia's face.

"What's wrong?" Audrey asked.

The loud, brassy notes of the live jazz band drowned out the question. Adelia could not speak. She only shook her head, her neck stiff.

She grabbed handfuls of her heavy skirt and turned toward the side doors of the ballroom. The intricate lace hem caught on the heel of her stiletto. She stumbled forward, her ankle twisting painfully, but she caught her balance against a marble pillar.

She pushed open the heavy oak doors.

The cold draft of the hallway hit her bare shoulders. Fifty feet away, Coleman was sprinting toward the elevators.

"Coleman!" Adelia called out.

Her throat was completely dry. Her voice sounded weak, echoing off the empty walls.

Coleman stopped and looked back. There was zero apology in his eyes. His jaw was tight with pure, unfiltered impatience.

"Elia needs me," he said.

The blunt words hit Adelia like a physical slap to the face. Her stomach dropped.

She ran to him and grabbed the sleeve of his tuxedo.

"You cannot leave our rehearsal dinner," she said, her fingers trembling.

He yanked his arm away with brutal force. The smooth silk of his jacket slid against her hand, bending her fingernail backward until the skin tore.

The elevator doors opened. Coleman stepped inside without a second glance. The metal doors slid shut, cutting off his face.

At the far end of the hallway, a rapid series of clicks echoed.

Camera flashes exploded in the dim light. Paparazzi had breached the floor. The bright bursts of white light blinded Adelia. She threw her bleeding hand up to cover her eyes.

Hotel security guards rushed past her, shoving the photographers backward. The chaotic pushing forced Adelia to retreat. Her back hit the wall. Her chest heaved as she struggled to pull oxygen into her lungs.

She turned around and walked back into the ballroom.

Hundreds of eyes locked onto her. The whispers started immediately, rolling through the crowd like a tidal wave. The sound pressed heavily against her eardrums.

Adelia took a deep breath, forcing her shaking legs to walk toward the microphone on the small stage.

As she touched the stand, the microphone let out a sharp, piercing screech. She winced, fighting the ringing in her ears, and leaned in.

"My fiancé has been called away on an urgent business matter," she announced.

Her voice was dead and flat. The fake excuse made bile rise in the back of her throat.

She stepped off the stage and grabbed her champagne glass. She slammed it down onto a passing waiter's tray. The golden liquid splashed out, soaking the waiter's white cotton gloves.

Ten minutes later, she walked out of the hotel and climbed into the back of a waiting Lincoln Navigator.

The freezing touch of the leather seats sent a shock through her spine, pulling her out of her numb state.

"Drive to Manhattan Private Hospital. Now," she ordered.

The driver jumped at the harshness in her voice. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

The heavy SUV sped through the pouring rain. The windshield wipers thrashed back and forth. Adelia stared out the window at the blurred neon lights of the city, feeling the walls of her chest caving in.

They arrived at the hospital. Adelia pushed through the glass doors.

The sharp, chemical smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol hit her nose. Her stomach twisted. The scent instantly dragged her mind back to the freezing snow of Aspen three years ago.

She walked fast down the silent corridor. The sharp clicks of her heels against the marble floor sounded like gunshots.

She reached the VIP floor. Outside room 402, the window blinds were not fully closed. A thin slice of warm yellow light spilled into the dark hallway.

Adelia stepped closer to the glass. She pressed her face near the narrow gap.

Her heart stopped beating.

Coleman was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly around Elia's hand. He was looking at Elia with a soft, agonizing tenderness. It was a look Adelia had never received in their three years together.

Elia lay against the pillows, tears rolling down her pale cheeks. But as she cried, her eyes shifted. She looked straight through the gap in the blinds, locking eyes with Adelia.

The corner of Elia's mouth twitched upward into a slow, deliberate smirk.

Adelia's hands curled into tight fists, her manicured nails digging into her palms. The faint sting was a cold, sharp anchor in the swirling chaos of her mind. It didn't clear the fog; it froze it solid.

She did not push the door open. She did not scream.

She took one slow step backward. The thick hospital carpet swallowed the sound of her movement.

She reached for her left hand. Her fingers gripped the three-carat diamond engagement ring. She pulled it off her finger. The hard, sharp edges of the diamond scraped against her knuckle.

She clutched the cold ring inside her fist, her eyes turning to pure ice.