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.

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.

The old analog clock on the precinct wall ticked loudly. It was 2:00 AM. Adelia's eyelids felt like they were lined with lead.

A drunk man down the hall suddenly bent over and vomited onto the floor. The sharp, acidic smell of stomach bile flooded the room. Adelia quickly pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it hard against her nose, turning her face to the wall.

The desk sergeant slammed his hand down. A thick stack of manila folders hit the wooden desk with a loud crack.

"Keep it quiet in here!" he barked.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the precinct were pushed open from the outside. A blast of freezing wind and the smell of autumn rain rushed into the stale room.

Two men in immaculate, custom-tailored suits walked in first. Their expensive leather shoes clicked in perfect unison against the dirty terrazzo floor.

Behind them, a third man stepped through the doors.

He was tall, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He wore a perfectly cut black wool overcoat. His presence instantly sucked the oxygen out of the room.

The man slowly pulled off his wet leather gloves. The movement was elegant but dripped with absolute arrogance. He handed the gloves to the assistant behind him without looking.

The entire precinct went dead silent. Even the vomiting drunk clamped his mouth shut, intimidated by the crushing weight of the man's authority.

Adelia lifted her head. She squinted through the dim, flickering light.

When she saw his face, her pupils contracted sharply.

It was Axel Arnold. Coleman's uncle. The most ruthless hedge fund billionaire on Wall Street. His cold, grey-blue eyes swept across the dirty room.

Axel's gaze finally stopped on the dark corner where Adelia was shivering. A microscopic frown formed between his brows.

He walked straight toward her. His long legs ate up the distance. The bottom of his coat flared slightly with his fast pace. The heavy thud of his shoes felt like boots stepping directly on Adelia's chest.

The two lawyers rushed to the sergeant's desk. They slapped a stack of bail documents down. The thick papers rustled loudly as the nervous sergeant flipped through them with shaking hands.

Axel stopped right in front of Adelia. His massive frame blocked out the harsh fluorescent light, casting her entirely in his dark shadow.

He looked down at her ruined dress and bare, shivering shoulders.

"Can you stand?" his voice was deep, cold, and completely devoid of emotion.

Adelia bit the inside of her cheek. She placed her hand against the dirty wall and pushed herself up. Her legs had been curled up for hours. The blood rushed back into her calves, causing a painful, tingling numbness.

Her knees buckled. She fell forward.

Axel did not reach out to catch her waist. Instead, he maintained his strict boundaries. He extended his forearm. The hard, solid muscle beneath his suit jacket caught her weight.

Adelia's forehead crashed against his shoulder. Her nose brushed against his lapel. The crisp, clean scent of cedarwood mixed with a faint trace of tobacco filled her lungs. The smell instantly calmed the frantic beating of her heart.

"Here are her things, Mr. Arnold," the sergeant said. His voice was sickeningly sweet now. He handed over Adelia's broken clutch with both hands.

Axel did not say a single word to the police. He turned and walked toward the exit. Adelia forced her aching legs to move, limping slightly to keep up with his massive strides.

They walked out into the freezing rain.

The cold water hit Adelia's bare skin like tiny needles. She gasped, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

A driver in a black suit immediately popped open a massive black umbrella. The heavy rain pounded against the tight fabric.

Axel stopped walking. He unbuttoned his black cashmere overcoat and pulled it off his shoulders. With one swift motion, he draped the heavy coat over Adelia.

The coat was still radiating his body heat. The massive size of it swallowed her completely, instantly blocking out the freezing wind.

Adelia looked up, opening her mouth to thank him.

Axel wasn't looking at her. His jaw was set in a hard line. He was staring down at the face of his Patek Philippe watch.

The driver pulled open the rear door of a black Maybach. The warm air from the car's heaters rushed out, carrying the rich scent of new leather.

Adelia bent down and slid into the back seat. The soft leather wrapped around her exhausted body. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Axel got in on the other side. The wide leather armrest separated them. The silence inside the car was so heavy it felt suffocating.

The Maybach pulled smoothly into the wet streets. The tires hissed against the puddles. The neon signs of New York smeared into colorful streaks across the tinted windows.

Axel picked up an iPad from the console. He stared at the glowing stock charts.

"Take us to my private residence at The Mark Hotel," he ordered the driver. His tone left zero room for argument.

Adelia swallowed hard, pushing down the words she wanted to say. She didn't ask to go home.