He Cheated Before Our Wedding, So I Slept With My Future Uncle‑in‑Law

For two days, Sol holed up in her hotel room, never once stepping outside. All she did was work the phones, chasing down any potential buyer for her shares of Windward Corp. On the third day, the front desk called up: her bill was due. That was when she noticed her account had gone bone-dry—Zamir Peterson had cut her off from their joint bank account.

Pissed, Sol unblocked Zamir's number and called him.

"Zamir, what gives you the right to mess with my money?"

She didn't even have to guess. She'd used his computer once to log into online banking—and hadn't bothered to hide it.

"Sol, every cent you have comes from me. You want to break up? Fine. But you're not walking away with a dime of what's mine."

A disbelieving laugh slipped out. "Zamir, you're not half as powerful as you think you are."

She hung up and blocked him again. On the other end, Zamir's face went dark with fury. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. His assistant edged into the room like he already regretted it.

"Mr. Peterson... Miss Smith sold the house two days ago. Thirty thousand under market value."

Zamir's head snapped up. "That's impossible. Are you sure?"

The assistant nodded, barely breathing. "No mistake, sir. She's been staying at the Marriott."

Zamir snatched up his car keys and stormed out, panic clawing through him in a way he wasn't used to. She'd Sol Smithd their home. That meant she was serious. This wasn't some game of cat and mouse. She was done.

Down in the hotel lobby, Sol Smith fixed her gaze on the man sitting across from her. "If you can't find a buyer, try Eagle Group. I'm sure they'd love a piece of Windward."

"But Miss. Smith, Eagle is Windward's biggest rival. If they get those shares, Zamir's in for hell."

Sol smiled, calm as still water. "And why should that matter to me?"

Something in her expression told him not to push. He slid a card across the table. "The password is your birthday."

With that card, she paid for four more nights at the hotel. On her way back to her room, the door to the neighboring suite swung open, and a tall man stepped out. Broad-shouldered, athletic, with dark eyes that held a cool, unreadable distance. Sol Smith glanced at him on instinct. He gave her a polite nod. She returned it as they passed.

Not long after, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it—and found herself staring straight into Zamir's familiar face. Her expression iced over instantly.

"Mr. Peterson. What brings you here?"

He hated the formal address, especially with that cold, distant look on her face.

"Sol, why didn't you talk to me before selling our house?"

A hint of sarcasm curled her lips. "The house is in my name. Selling it was my call. And if you're looking for an answer, here it is: I don't want you, and I don't want the house."

Zamir's throat went dry. "You're really willing to throw away three years?"

"You threw it away first."

The calm in her voice gutted him. A desperate, sinking loss opened up inside his chest. For the first time, he was afraid he couldn't fix this.

"She means nothing to me. I love you. I always have. Once we're married, I'll cut her off. She won't be a problem."

Sol's voice went ice-cold. "I don't recycle trash."

Rage twisted Zamir's face. He grabbed her wrist, slammed her back against the wall, and crushed his mouth to hers. Sol Smith went pale. She shoved at him, but he was stronger—too strong—and he held her there.

He tugged at her collar, his breath hot against her skin. "Sol Smith, I know I was wrong. Forgive me. Let's just—"

Her fury turned to terror. She fought him with everything she had. "Get off me! Don't touch me!"

"Help! Help—" His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the scream.

"Sweetheart, shh. I'm sorry. Don't yell. Please. I'll be gentle," he whispered, as if force could ever be mistaken for love.

Panic swallowed her whole. The door began to swing shut, and fear sliced through Sol Smith.

At the last second, a hand caught the door before it could close.

Adrian Lopez stepped in, pulled Sol out of Zamir's grip, and sent him sprawling to the floor. He glanced at the trembling woman, his voice low. "Are you okay?"

Sol Smith nodded, still shaking. It was the man from earlier—the one who'd nodded to her in the hall. Fear had blinded her to everything else, including how exposed she was.

Adrian's dark eyes swept over her rumpled clothes, her torn collar. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Cover up."

Heat rushed to Sol Smith's face. She looked down, realized what she must look like, and quickly pulled the jacket tight around herself.

"Who the hell are you? This is between my wife and me. Stay out of it," Zamir spat, scrambling to his feet, fury burning in his eyes.

Adrian didn't flinch. His voice dripped with contempt. "Your husband?"

Sol Smith shook her head hard. "No. We're broken up. He was trying to force me."

Adrian's expression turned to stone. He fixed Zamir with a stare cold enough to freeze fire. "So, an ex-boyfriend. Pathetic. Forcing yourself on a woman—what a disgrace. You waiting for the cops, or should I call them myself?"

Zamir burned with rage, but something about Adrian—the authority, the money, the danger—warned him not to push.

"Sol, please. Calm down. I'll come by again tomorrow."

She watched Zamir retreat, then let out a shaky breath. Her nerves finally began to unwind.

"Thank you. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?"

She needed to thank him somehow. His timing had been everything.

"Adrian Lopez."

The name tugged at a memory she couldn't quite catch. Before she could grasp it, Adrian had already turned to leave. His parting shot drifted back over his shoulder.

"You sure have lousy taste in men."

Sol Smith was left speechless.