Seducing My Ex's Ruthless Billionaire Uncle

The heavy oak doors of the Manhattan private club muffled the thumping bass of the music inside.

Out in the dimly lit hallway, the air smelled of expensive cigars and spilled alcohol.

Jaelynn Grant stood frozen, her knuckles turning stark white as she gripped her black quilted Chanel clutch. It was one of the last designer items she hadn't sold.

Artie Howard, her stepfather, stepped into her personal space. His face was flushed with cheap liquor.

He raised his hand and shoved her hard against the shoulder.

Jaelynn stumbled back, her spine hitting the cold, silk-lined wallpaper.

"You are going to walk into that room, and you are going to get that funding from the investors tonight," Artie warned, his voice a harsh, guttural whisper. "Or your father's medical bills go unpaid tomorrow."

Jaelynn bit down on her lower lip. She bit so hard she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of her own blood.

Her stomach twisted into a violent knot, bile rising in the back of her throat.

She stared at Artie's hypocritical, sweating face. She wanted to scream, to hit him, but the image of her father, Garfield, lying in the Intensive Care Unit at Mount Sinai Hospital flashed in her mind.

The machines keeping him alive cost tens of thousands of dollars a day. Since the Grant family company filed for bankruptcy under the Bankruptcy Code, all their assets were frozen. She had no money, no power, and no choice.

Artie sneered, turning his back on her. He pushed open the heavy door to the VIP room and walked into the noisy, smoke-filled space.

Jaelynn stayed in the hallway. She leaned against the cold wall and dragged a shaky breath into her burning lungs.

She turned her head and looked through the half-open crack of the door, scanning the room.

The lighting inside was dark, illuminated only by amber wall sconces.

Her eyes immediately locked onto the man sitting at the center of the largest leather sofa.

It was Dolph Valentine.

He wore a custom-tailored charcoal suit that screamed old money. He wasn't talking to anyone. He was just sitting there, his long fingers casually flipping a silver lighter open and closed.

Click. Clack.

The sound seemed to cut through the noise of the room.

Before Jaelynn could process his presence, Filiberto Ortega, a balding investor with a massive gut, spotted her.

Ortega walked toward the door, holding a glass of dark liquor. His greedy eyes dragged down the deep neckline of Jaelynn's red silk dress.

He held the glass out to her, his lips curling into a predatory smile.

Jaelynn forced her facial muscles to relax. She swallowed the nausea rising in her throat and reached out to take the glass.

As her fingers brushed the crystal, she intentionally let her wrist go limp.

The glass tipped.

She timed it perfectly just as he was about to pass them toward the back of the room. Half of the dark red wine splashed directly onto the sleeve of Dolph Valentine's pristine, expensive suit.

The air in the VIP room instantly froze. The music seemed to stop.

Dolph halted his steps. He slowly looked down at the dark stain spreading across his gray sleeve.

Then, he lifted his head. His dark, oppressive eyes locked onto Jaelynn.

His gaze was heavy, like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.

Jaelynn met his eyes. She forced her breathing to steady, putting on a perfectly calculated look of panic mixed with a subtle, inviting smile.

She reached into her Chanel bag, pulling out a silk handkerchief.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, stepping closer, reaching out to wipe the stain on his arm.

Dolph didn't blink. He coldly swatted her hand away.

He didn't say a single word. He just turned around and took long, purposeful strides toward the private locker rooms at the back of the hallway.

Jaelynn ignored Ortega, who was calling her name in the background.

She grabbed the fabric of her red dress, lifted it slightly, and followed Dolph's path, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

Dolph pushed open the heavy wooden door of the private locker room.

Just as the door was about to swing shut, Jaelynn turned her body sideways and slipped through the narrow gap.

The locker room was pitch black. The main lights were off.

Before Jaelynn could adjust her eyes, a large, solid body turned around in the dark.

Dolph stepped forward, forcing Jaelynn to step back until her spine slammed against the hard wooden door.

A dull thud echoed in the quiet room.

Pain shot up Jaelynn's back, but she tilted her chin up stubbornly.

She reached her trembling fingers out and started unbuttoning the jacket of his ruined suit.

"I really am sorry," she breathed out, letting the smell of alcohol on her breath mix with the intimate apology.

Dolph's large hand shot out. He grabbed her slender wrist, his grip so tight her bones ground together.

Jaelynn winced, her eyebrows pulling together in pain.

"Save your cheap seduction tricks," Dolph muttered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble in the dark.

Jaelynn didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed up onto her tiptoes.

She leaned in, letting her warm, ragged breath fan across the skin of his throat, right over his Adam's apple. She was betting everything that he wouldn't push her away.

Dolph's breathing hitched for a fraction of a second.

A dark, dangerous gleam flashed in his deep eyes.

Suddenly, he let go of her wrist. His hands moved to her face, and he crashed his lips down onto hers.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a punishing, aggressive invasion.

Jaelynn couldn't breathe. Her lungs screamed for oxygen. Her hands instinctively flew up, gripping his broad, muscular shoulders to keep from falling.

Dolph's large hands slid down the curve of her waist.

He grabbed the fabric of her dress. With a sharp, violent pull, he ripped the hidden zipper on the side of her silk dress.

The sound of tearing fabric filled the dark room. The air grew thick with dangerous heat.

Jaelynn's mind was spinning. She knew this was a massive gamble. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting herself drown in the control of this terrifying stranger.

Just as their breathing turned heavy and their clothes became tangled, a loud, angry voice echoed from the hallway outside.

"Where is she?"

It was Gordon Valentine. Her ex-fiancé.

Jaelynn's entire body went rigid. Her pupils dilated in the dark.

Pure, unadulterated terror flooded her veins, turning her blood to ice water.

Outside, Gordon was yelling at a waiter. "Did you see a woman in a red dress come this way?"

His heavy footsteps were getting closer to the locker room door.

Panic seized Jaelynn's chest. She shoved her hands against Dolph's chest, trying to push him away so she could find a place to hide.

Dolph didn't budge. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pinning her tightly against his body. She couldn't move an inch.

Dolph looked down at her wide, terrified eyes. A cruel, wicked smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He lowered his head and bit down hard on her exposed collarbone.

Jaelynn gasped sharply at the sudden pain.

She immediately slapped both of her hands over her own mouth, terrified that even a whimper would reach Gordon on the other side of the door.

Gordon's footsteps stopped right outside.

He pounded his fist against the heavy wood. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The vibrations traveled through the door and straight into Jaelynn's spine.

Dolph slowly pulled back. He casually adjusted the collar of his messy dress shirt.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

"Gordon," Dolph whispered, saying the name like a weapon.

Jaelynn's brain short-circuited. The power map of New York's elite society flashed in her mind.

Gordon Valentine. Dolph Valentine. The names clicked in her mind, forming a terrifying connection. She knew of Gordon's powerful, reclusive uncle, a man who was whispered about in hushed tones on the Upper East Side, the true power behind the Valentine fortune. The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach.

Dolph watched the shock register in her eyes. He let out a cold, mocking scoff.

He turned his back to her and walked toward the door. His large hand wrapped around the brass handle.

Jaelynn pressed her back flat against the wall, sliding into the blind spot behind the door's hinges.

She listened to the mechanical click of the lock turning.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but as she stared at Dolph's broad back, a crazy, desperate plan to use him completely solidified in her mind.

The brass knob turned with a heavy, metallic click.

Dolph pulled the heavy wooden door open, but only a few inches. His massive frame completely blocked the gap, cutting off any view into the dark locker room.

He looked down, his eyes cold and flat, staring at Gordon, who was panting and red-faced in the hallway.

Gordon's angry expression vanished the second he saw who opened the door. He took in Dolph's messy hair, the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, and the dark stain on his jacket.

Gordon's shoulders dropped. "Uncle Dolph," he stammered, taking a step back.

Inside the room, Jaelynn held her breath. Her lungs burned. She pressed her spine so hard against the wall she felt the plaster digging through her skin. Her hands gripped the torn edges of her red silk dress, her knuckles white.

Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might crack her ribs.

"Are you incapable of keeping your voice down in a private club, Gordon?" Dolph's voice was low, but it carried a lethal authority. "You are embarrassing the Valentine family."

Gordon swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I was just... I'm looking for a woman. She doesn't know her place."

Gordon's eyes darted nervously, trying to peek through the narrow crack between Dolph's arm and the doorframe.

Dolph shifted his weight, turning his body slightly to block Gordon completely.

As he moved, he reached his hand behind his back, finding the bare skin of Jaelynn's waist. He pinched the soft flesh there, hard.

A violent shiver ripped through Jaelynn's body.

As he pinched her, a gasp clawed at her throat. Desperate to stay silent, she twisted and bit down hard on the hand that was holding her waist, her teeth sinking into his skin. Her eyes watered from the sheer effort of staying silent.

"Get out of my sight, Gordon," Dolph ordered, his tone devoid of any warmth. "Do not interrupt my private time again."

Before Gordon could say another word, Dolph slammed the door shut in his face.

The lock clicked into place.

Out in the hallway, Gordon's frantic footsteps quickly faded away.

Jaelynn's knees gave out. She slid down the wall, her body hitting the carpeted floor as all the strength drained from her muscles.

Dolph turned around. He looked down at her sitting on the floor. The heat from the kiss was completely gone from his eyes. There was only cold, calculating judgment left.

Jaelynn forced herself to swallow her pride. She pushed herself up from the floor, her legs shaking.

She pulled the torn fabric of her dress across her chest, trying to cover her exposed skin. She forced a stiff, unnatural smile onto her face.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Dolph reached into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a silver money clip, extracted a few crisp hundred-dollar bills, and tossed them onto the wooden bench next to her. As he pulled his hand from his pocket, a thick, gold-embossed business card slipped out and fluttered to the floor unnoticed by him.

"Don't have any unrealistic fantasies," Dolph said coldly. He didn't look at her again as he pushed the door open and walked out.

Jaelynn stared at the empty room. A massive wave of humiliation crashed over her, making her chest ache.

But she walked over to the bench. Her trembling fingers picked up the fallen card. She gripped it so tightly the sharp edges dug into her palm.

She walked over to the mirror above the sinks. She spent five minutes fixing her messy hair. She found a safety pin in her Chanel bag and pinned the torn zipper of her dress together.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed the door open, stepping back into the hallway.

The moment she turned the corner, Artie stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path. His face was dark with rage.

"Where the hell have you been?" Artie hissed, grabbing her arm. "The investors are getting impatient."

"I was in the bathroom. I threw up," Jaelynn lied, her voice flat. She yanked her arm out of his grip.

Artie didn't care. He grabbed her wrist again, dragging her down the hallway toward a different VIP suite.

As they walked past the semi-open booths of the cigar lounge, Jaelynn's feet suddenly stopped moving.

She heard a low, distinct laugh. It was Dolph.

She turned her head. Through the gaps in the carved glass partition, she saw Dolph sitting on a dark leather sofa. He was surrounded by a group of Wall Street heirs, including Benji Mclean, Gordon's best friend. They were all smoking thick cigars.

Benji leaned forward, his eyes catching something on Dolph's hand.

Benji whistled loudly. "Damn, Dolph. Look at that bite mark on your hand. Looks like you had a wild time in the back rooms tonight."

Jaelynn's entire body went stiff. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She knew exactly where that bite mark came from. She had bitten his hand in the locker room when he pinched her.

Dolph exhaled a thick cloud of gray smoke. He glanced down at the red teeth marks on his skin.

His face was completely bored. "Just got bit by a blind wildcat," he said, his tone dripping with casual disrespect.

The entire booth erupted into loud, obnoxious laughter.

Benji grinned. "How was the wildcat?"

Dolph took another drag of his cigar. "Tasteless. Boring."

Those two words hit Jaelynn like a physical slap to the face. The tiny bit of confidence she had built up about using him shattered into a million pieces.

Artie shoved her hard from behind. "Move!" he barked.

Jaelynn stumbled forward, her vision blurring. She pulled her eyes away from the glass and let Artie drag her away.

Artie shoved her through the doors of the VIP suite. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of old men.

The investors looked up, their eyes crawling over her pinned dress like she was a piece of meat on display. The air in the room felt suffocating.

She was forced to sit on the edge of the leather sofa. She picked up a glass of water mechanically.

Dolph's voice echoed in her head. Tasteless. Boring.

Ortega, the balding investor, slid closer to her. He reached out his sweaty hand and placed it heavily on her bare thigh.

Jaelynn's body reacted before her brain did.

She grabbed the glass of ice water from the table and threw the freezing liquid directly into Ortega's face.

Ortega screamed, jumping up as the ice hit his eyes. The room descended into chaos.

Artie's face turned purple with fury. He raised his hand and swung.

Smack.

His heavy palm struck Jaelynn's cheek with brutal force. The impact threw her backward, her body crashing into the armrest of the sofa.

A sharp, burning pain exploded across her face. She tasted the warm, metallic flavor of blood pooling in her mouth.

She didn't cry. She slowly pushed herself up.

She turned her head and stared at Artie. Her eyes were dead, filled with a cold, terrifying hatred.

While the men yelled and cursed at her, Jaelynn grabbed her Chanel bag.

She shoved past Artie, ignoring his shouts, and ran out of the suite, never looking back.

The cold New York wind whipped through Jaelynn's hair as she stood on the sidewalk. She hailed a Yellow Cab, her body shivering violently in her thin silk dress.

She collapsed into the backseat, exhausted to her bones. The cab drove her back to the Upper East Side, to the Grant family's penthouse.

She punched the security code into the keypad and pushed the heavy front door open.

The massive apartment was pitch black. The only light came from a thin, yellow sliver shining from beneath the master bedroom door down the hall.

Jaelynn kicked off her high heels. Her feet ached. She walked barefoot across the thick Persian rug, heading toward the kitchen. She needed a glass of ice water to press against her swollen, throbbing cheek.

As she walked past the hallway leading to the master bedroom, she stopped.

A sound drifted through the crack in the door. It was a heavy, muffled panting, followed by a sickeningly sweet whisper.

Jaelynn's bare feet froze on the carpet.

She knew that male voice. It was the exact same voice that had screamed at her and slapped her in the club just hours ago. Artie.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

She reached out, her trembling fingers pressing against the slightly open door. She pushed it open.

The blood in her veins turned to solid ice.

In the center of the room, on the massive King-size bed, her mother, Jayne, was wearing a sheer silk nightgown. She was tangled intimately with Artie.

Jaelynn's mind flashed to the sterile white room at Mount Sinai Hospital. Her father, Garfield, was lying there right now, a plastic tube shoved down his throat, fighting for his life.

A wave of pure, violent nausea hit her.

Jaelynn shoved the door open all the way. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

Jayne let out a high-pitched scream. She scrambled backward, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin to cover her body.

Artie didn't panic. He slowly sat up, reaching for his silk robe. He tied the belt around his waist and turned to look at Jaelynn. He had the smug, arrogant look of a man who had won everything.

Jaelynn raised her shaking hand, pointing a finger at the bed.

"How could you?" Jaelynn's voice cracked, shattering in the quiet room. "How could you betray Dad? How could you betray this family?"

Jayne didn't look guilty. She didn't even blush. She smoothed her messy hair and glared at her daughter.

"Stop screaming in the middle of the night, Jaelynn. Grow up," Jayne snapped, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Something inside Jaelynn snapped.

She lunged into the room. She grabbed a heavy, crystal perfume bottle off the vanity and hurled it straight at Artie's head.

Artie ducked. The bottle smashed against the wall, exploding into a thousand sharp, glittering pieces.

Artie lunged forward. He grabbed a fistful of Jaelynn's hair and yanked her backward.

He threw her hard onto the hardwood floor.

Jaelynn cried out as her palms hit the ground. The sharp shards of broken glass sliced deep into the flesh of her hands.

Jayne didn't jump out of bed to help her daughter. Instead, she sighed loudly. "You're bleeding on the rug, Jaelynn. That rug is expensive."

Jaelynn lay on the floor, staring at the bright red blood welling up in her palms. She looked up at her mother. She finally saw the ugly, selfish truth hiding behind Jayne's beautiful face.

Artie crouched down. He grabbed Jaelynn's jaw, his fingers pressing into her bruised cheek.

"You think the bankruptcy was an accident?" Artie laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. "Your mother and I moved the assets months ago. There is no money left for your precious father."

Jaelynn's eyes widened in horror. The bankruptcy wasn't a market failure. It was a calculated murder of her family's legacy.

Artie pulled his phone out of his pocket. He opened an email and shoved the screen inches from Jaelynn's face.

It was the billing statement from Mount Sinai Hospital. The numbers were astronomical.

"If you don't go to Ortega tomorrow, get on your knees, apologize, and spread your legs for him," Artie whispered maliciously, "I will call the hospital and tell them to pull Garfield's plug."

The anger in Jaelynn's chest vanished, replaced instantly by a suffocating, paralyzing terror. Her father's life was in this monster's hands. Her body began to tremble violently.

Jayne leaned against the headboard, looking down at her daughter.

"Be realistic, Jaelynn," Jayne said, her voice cold and practical. "A woman's body is a tool. Use it to get what you need."

Those words were the final blow. They severed the last string of sanity Jaelynn had left.

She let out a dry, broken laugh.

She didn't shed a single tear. She pushed herself up off the floor, ignoring the glass embedded in her hands.

She stared at the two of them with dead, hollow eyes. She memorized their faces.

Without a word, Jaelynn turned around and walked out of the master bedroom.

She walked down the hall, entered her own bedroom, and locked the door behind her.

She leaned her back against the door and slid down until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and let out a choked, agonizing sob.

She cried for exactly five minutes.

Then, she snapped her head up. Her eyes were red, but the weakness was gone. Only a burning, destructive need for revenge remained.

She crawled over to her bed. She opened her Chanel bag and pulled out the slightly bent, gold-embossed business card.

Dolph Valentine.

She knew he was a monster. She knew he thought she was trash. But he was the only monster big enough to drag Artie and Jayne into hell. She was ready to sell her soul.

Jaelynn grabbed her phone. She looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. She slid the business card under her pillow and lay down in the dark, her mind racing as she planned her hunt for the next day.