Betrayed By Fiancé, Claimed By His Uncle

The private elevator doors slid open directly into the penthouse.

Aurthur didn't let Clare walk. He carried her out of the elevator and into the massive, cold fortress of his home.

Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the glittering skyline of Manhattan, but the beauty was dead to Clare. The apartment felt like a high-altitude prison.

He carried her down a long hallway and dropped her onto the center of a massive king-sized bed in the master bedroom.

Clare scrambled backward, her hands sinking into the dark silk sheets. She tried to slide off the other side.

Aurthur caught her ankle and dragged her back to the center. He pinned her down, his hands planted on either side of her head. He loomed over her, a dark shadow blocking out the city lights.

"Before you go looking for 'any random man'," Aurthur said, his voice a deadly whisper, "you are going to do one thing."

He pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen and hit dial.

Clare stared at him, her chest rising and falling in rapid, terrified breaths.

The call went straight to voicemail. Jaren was still busy comforting Bailey.

Aurthur pressed the phone against Clare's lips. The cold screen shocked her heated skin.

"Tell him you are with me," Aurthur ordered. "Tell him you are done."

Clare's eyes widened. This was humiliation. This was him forcing her to burn her own bridges while she was completely helpless.

She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, tears spilling down her temples into her hair.

Aurthur's fingers moved from the mattress to her jaw. He squeezed, not enough to bruise, but enough to show his absolute physical dominance.

"Or," Aurthur said softly, "I can call him myself. I can invite him over to watch."

The threat hit her stomach like a cannonball. Bile rose in her throat. She couldn't survive that level of degradation.

She closed her eyes. The drug was making her head spin violently.

"Jaren," she whispered into the phone. Her voice shook, but the words were clear. "It's me. We are over."

She paused. A sudden, twisted spike of anger at Jaren pierced through her fear. She looked up at Aurthur's dark eyes.

"Because I found someone better," she added.

It was a reckless provocation. A self-destructive lash out.

Aurthur's eyes flared. He pulled the phone away and ended the call. He tossed the device across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack.

He looked back down at her. The satisfaction in his expression was terrifying.

"Good," he murmured. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against her tear-stained cheek. "Now, you are mine."

The drug, the heartbreak, the sheer exhaustion of fighting him-it all crashed down on her at once. Clare stopped pushing against his chest. Her hands fell limp onto the sheets.

The lights in the room clicked off automatically. The city outside was the only witness.

(The night blurred into a feverish haze of heat, pain, and surrender. The boundaries of right and wrong dissolved in the dark.)

The next morning, the sun stabbed through the glass windows, hitting Clare directly in the eyes.

She woke up with a pounding headache. Her mouth tasted like ash.

She stared at the unfamiliar gray ceiling.

She turned her head. Aurthur was asleep beside her. The harsh lines of his face were smoothed out in sleep. His bare chest rose and fell evenly.

Memories slammed into her brain like a freight train.

The kiss in the car. The forced voicemail. The dark bedroom.

She sat up violently. The silk sheet fell away, exposing the dark bruises blooming on her collarbone and arms.

Her stomach violently cramped. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stop a sob.

She had slept with Jaren's uncle. She had slept with the man who abandoned her.

Shame burned her alive. It was a physical acid eating through her chest. Her life was completely destroyed. She had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

She had to get out.

She slid off the edge of the bed. Her legs shook so badly she almost collapsed onto the hardwood floor. She held her breath, moving like a ghost, desperate to escape the scene of her own ruin.