Sleeping With My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle

Adelia opened her clutch and shoved the engagement ring inside. The metal clasp snapped shut with a loud, sharp click that echoed down the empty hospital hallway. She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevators. As she stepped forward, the thin heel of her shoe slid directly into the metal groove of the elevator track. She jerked her leg up, nearly falling forward as the shoe popped free. The elevator doors opened. Four massive men stepped out. They wore identical black suits and clear earpieces. Their broad shoulders instantly blocked the entire width of the hallway. The lead security guard stepped forward. He raised a thick, muscular arm, blocking her path. "Where is Miss Elia Tate?" he demanded. Adelia stared at the solid wall of muscle in front of her. She stepped to the right, trying to walk around him. Another guard mirrored her movement, cutting off her escape route. "You need to tell us what room she's in, lady," the lead guard said. His heavy Brooklyn accent grated against her ears. "Back away from me," Adelia said. Her voice shook, vibrating with pure rage. The guard did not move. He took half a step closer, invading her personal space. He reached out and grabbed her bare wrist. His rough, calloused palm scraped against her sensitive skin. Adelia ripped her arm back with all her strength. The sudden movement caused her clutch to slip from her fingers. It hit the marble floor. The bag popped open. Her lipstick and compact powder spilled out. The powder case cracked open, sending a cloud of beige dust over the floor. Adelia dropped to her knees and grabbed her phone. Her fingers were stiff and freezing. She pressed her thumb to the screen, failing twice before the phone finally unlocked. She dialed 911. "911, what is your emergency?" the operator's calm voice filled her ear. "I am at Manhattan Private Hospital, VIP floor. Four men are illegally detaining me and physically assaulting me," Adelia said rapidly. Her public relations training kicked in, making her words sharp and exact. The lead guard's face turned red. He lunged forward, swiping his hand at her phone. His thick fingers struck her hand, knocking the device from her grip. The phone hit the marble floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of glass, though the call remained connected. Adelia twisted her torso to the side. Her shoulder slammed hard into the drywall. Pain flared down her collarbone. Down the hall, a nurse gasped. Three nurses peeked out from behind the station desk. The lead guard turned and glared at them. The nurses immediately ducked back down out of sight. Minutes later, the loud wail of sirens pierced through the hospital's soundproof windows. Red and blue lights flashed against the glass. The elevator doors pinged open. Two NYPD officers charged out, wearing tactical vests. The heavy metal gear on their belts clattered loudly. "Hands on the wall! Now!" the taller officer shouted. He rested his hand on his baton. The four security guards slowly raised their hands and turned to the wall. A female officer walked up to Adelia. She shined a bright flashlight over Adelia's torn Oscar de la Renta dress and bruised shoulder. "Are you okay, ma'am?" the officer asked. Adelia took a deep, ragged breath, forcing her lungs to expand. "This is a misunderstanding, officer," the Cooper family security captain yelled from the wall. "It's a family dispute." "I have no relation to these men," Adelia said, staring coldly at the captain. "I am pressing charges for harassment and assault." Thirty minutes later, Adelia was escorted into the back of a police cruiser. The hard plastic seat was freezing. The cold seeped through her thin dress and straight into her bones. Next to her sat two men reeking of stale beer and vomit. The police car sped through the streets of Manhattan. Every bump in the road sent a wave of nausea crashing through Adelia's stomach. She bit down hard on her lower lip until she tasted copper. They arrived at the 19th Precinct. The air inside was thick. It smelled like burnt coffee and old sweat. The stench burned the inside of her nose. She was led into an interrogation room. The harsh fluorescent lights above buzzed loudly, burning her eyes. She squinted, keeping her head down. A detective handed her a paper cup of warm water. The rim of the cup was soggy. She muttered a thank you but did not drink. She only wrapped her freezing fingers around the thin paper, trying to steal its heat. After giving her statement, an officer pointed her to the main waiting area. She sat down on a hard wooden bench. A prostitute sitting a few feet away stared openly at Adelia's ruined designer gown. Adelia pulled out her phone and dialed Coleman's assistant. The phone rang ten times. Finally, the assistant answered. The rhythmic beeping of hospital heart monitors played in the background. "Mr. Cooper is currently sitting with Miss Tate. He cannot leave the hospital to bail you out tonight," the assistant said in a flat, robotic tone. Adelia let out a short, harsh laugh. The sound scraped against her dry throat, triggering a violent fit of coughing. Her chest burned. She ended the call. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The deep autumn chill of New York sank into her skin. She shivered violently, completely alone in the darkest corner of the city.