Stripper's Love: I Married My Ex's Uncle

Solene

"You're joking, right?" My voice trembles as I scan the paper in my hand. Petition for Divorce, the words scream at me in bold letters. My eyes suddenly fill with unshed tears as I look up at my husband.

He stands across the living room, with his arms crossed over his chest like a stranger. Not the man who once held me like I was his whole world.

"It's over," he says flatly.

It's over. The words echo in my head. They sting worse than the slaps my drunk father used to give me.

"No..." I whisper, more to myself. My breath feels forced. "I can't believe this. Rowan, what is this?" I ask with a shaky voice as I clutch the paper.

"Exactly what it looks like," he snaps, with a tight jaw.

"But... why? I'm your wife," I say.

"You should have thought about that before spreading your legs for someone else," he says, and tosses a manila envelope onto the table.

It lands with a thud, slides open. Photos spill out like poison.

I stagger back and sink onto the couch. My fingers shake as I pick one up-and my breath catches. It's a picture of me. In bed. With a man I don't know.

"No... no, this isn't me," I murmur, shaking my head as I scan every detail. "These are fake, Rowan. This can't be real. Look!" I hold one up, pointing. "I lost that bracelete two years ago. These have to be doctored!"

"I have seen the evidence," he growls. "I ignored it. Over and over. But now? It's undeniable. You're just a stripper who fooled me into thinking she changed."

Tears stream down my face as I drop to my knees. My hand reaches out for his leg, I just wish he can look at me.

"Rowan, please. You know me. You know I'd never do this to you."

He yanks his leg away like I burned him. His face is stone.

"My mother warned me. She said you were after a meal ticket, and I.. God... I should have listened."

"You didn't say that when you were defending me at our wedding," I snapped through my tears. "You promised I was different. You said you believed in me. What changed, Rowan? Her words? Or the lies in that envelope?"

He hesitates, just for a second. His eyes flicker. Then, just as quickly, he shuts it down.

"Don't." He slams his fist into his open palm. "You fooled me once. That's on you. But I won't be fooled again."

I was once a stripper. Not by choice.

I become one to pay my mum's hospital bills, cover my dad's gambling debts, and put my brother through school. I dance every night for strangers, fake smiles painted on my face while I try to hold back tears.

Some nights, I'm nearly raped. Some nights, I get groped or spat on. But I always come back alive.

Then comes the light at the end of the tunnel-Rowan.

He pays off everything. He buys the club and pulls me out. I thought he saved me. I thought... Maybe this is what love looks like.

And I am grateful. But Rowan never lets me forget. Every chance he gets, he throws it in my face. He reminds me I'm his project. That I owe him.

Still, I stay. I cook. I clean. I smile. I love him. Wholeheartedly. For two years.

I stare at him now, with my heart crawling into my throat.

"Where did I go wrong?" I whisper, with a shaky voice. "I give up everything for you. My dreams, my dignity. Just to be the wife you said you wanted."

Rowan scoffs, his eyes sharp. "Oh, shut the fuck up. I'm not your rehab, Solene. I was your escape plan."

His words slam into me.

I drop to my knees and crawl toward him. "Please, Rowan... don't do this. I have nothing left. My mum's hospital bills are still piling up. You're the only reason she's getting treatment. Where do I even start from if you leave me now?"

He shakes his leg violently away from my grip.

"Don't fucking touch me with your filthy hands," he growls.

I flinch and stare at my trembling hands.

"Filthy?" I whisper. "You didn't find them filthy when you made love to me. Every night."

"Do you think I touched you because I care?" he spits. "Hell no. You were supposed to give me a child. But no, you can't even do that. God knows how many abortions you had before I found you."

My heart shatters.

"You know what?" he continues. "A woman like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."

I try to breathe, but I can't. The air won't come.

I press my hands against the floor to steady myself, but they shake too much.

"I lost one child," I whisper, with a shaky breath. "And it still haunts me."

He doesn't flinch.

I look up at the man I thought rescued me.

"What would you do if I got pregnant for you?" I whisper. I already know the answer will hurt.

"I would never let you raise my heir. My mother would have raised him," he says coldly. Then, without looking back, he stomps out of the room.

I stare at him as he walks away, my mouth open, trembling.

Tears blur my vision.

With shaking hands, I crawl with my knees toward the photo on the floor.

They're forged pictures of me In bed With a man I've never seen before.

"This isn't me," I whisper, tears streaming down my face.

I reached for the divorce agreement. My fingers tremble as I flip it open. His signature is already there.

Next to mine.

But I never sign anything.

Of course Rowan would make sure I had no voice, no chance to fight this legally.

I stare down at the paper, my hands still shaking.

A sob rises from deep in my chest. I try to hold it in, but it bursts out-raw and loud, echoing through the room.

---

I know I can't hold on to what's already lost.

I curl into the side of the bed, tears streaming down my face. But I won't let this destroy me.

Slowly, I rise to my feet and push open the door.

Marcella is just about to knock.

She is the definition of a mother-in-law from hell. She throws insults at me every chance she gets, controls my access to money, and threatens to cut off my mother's medical care. I've lost count of how many times she's called me infertile.

She smiles coldly. That smile tells me everything. All of this is her doing.

"The company's gala is today," she says, with a cool but underneath the voice you could feel an edge to it. "You'll wear your best and smile at the cameras like everything is perfect between you and Rowan."

She stares me down like I'm nothing but dirt under her heels.

"He wasn't supposed to give you the divorce papers today," she adds with a sigh, casually tracing her fingers over the pearls on her neck. "But gosh my son thinks through his anus sometimes."

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. So even the timing of my heartbreak is part of her plan.

"But you'll play your role," she says, with a tight voice. "Because if you don't, I'll make one call, and your mother's treatment ends tonight."

I suck in a breath, but my lungs feel tight.

I want to slap that smug look off her face. I want to scream. But I can't, not with my mother's life hanging on a single thread she holds.

I learned long ago, no one crosses her and walks away untouched.

"I'll be ready in five minutes," I whisper, with a hollow voice.

She says nothing. Just smirks and walks off like she owns the world.

I turn back into my room, shutting the door softly behind me.

They want me at the ceremony so I can smile, pose, and play the perfect wife one last time.

But I feel it in my bones-this isn't just about saving face.

Something else is coming.

Solene

I'm wearing a blue cocktail dress. The handover ceremony has already started.

Soft music plays in the background as people move around, glasses clinking and with low voices.

I step inside, tugging nervously at the hem of my dress.

All eyes turn to me.

Most of them belong to Rowan's family, and I already know they hate me. Their stares are judgmental, like I'm a stain on their family reputation. I hear the whispers already in my head. 'Why did Rowan marry her? What did he ever see in someone like that?'

I scan the room.

Then I see him.

Rowan stands near the center, tall and calm, holding a glass of wine like he owns the place. He looks every bit the prince in his kingdom.

My heart skips, just like it always does when I see him.

But his eyes aren't on me.

They're locked on a woman who just enters the hall.

She walks like the floor was built for her. Her red evening gown hugs every perfect curve. Her hair is styled with care, her heels clicking softly with confidence.

I freeze.

Something in me already knows. 'This is her.' The woman Marcella chose for Rowan.

I watch as she walks straight to him.

"That's the man of the moment," she says sweetly.

The smile that spreads across Rowan's face could light up the entire room.

My chest tightens painfully.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. A few people glance at me, then quickly look away. Some pity me. Others enjoy the show.

Rowan pulls her closer without hesitation.

Then, right there, he kisses her.

With his eyes closed, their lips move slowly, like they've done this a thousand times.

It steals the air from my lungs.

My knees weaken. My hands go cold. I feel hollow, like someone just ripped everything out of me.

I want to scream.

I want to run.

But I can't move.

I just stand there, watching them kiss,

I never imagined I'd be humiliated like this, not in front of people who already believe I'm nothing.

Rowan suddenly pulls away from the kiss.

He takes a flute of champagne from one of the servers and taps it gently with a spoon. The soft clicking sound, and the crowd turns toward him.

"Thank you all for being here today," he says, raising the glass. "It means the world to me."

The room is quiet.

"Tonight isn't just about success-it's about love. And none of this would be possible without the love of my life, Calista."

My chest tightens.

I knew it.

She's the one. The third wheel in my marriage.

I guess she just got back from overseas.

"Babe," Rowan continues, "I love you with all my heart. I can't wait to spend forever with you. I was blind... but now I see what a rare gem you are."

I feel my knees go weak.

"And on this note, I want the world to know how important you are to me," he says, turning toward her. "So I ask you this one question..."

He lowers to one knee.

"Will you marry me?"

Gasps sweep through the room. Then applause bursts out like thunder.

My ears ring. My heart pounds. I can't breathe.

Calista covers her mouth, nods, and leans in to kiss him.

My world caves in.

But what crushes me most isn't the kiss, it's the way people look at me.

Some glance, whisper, then quickly look away.

A few pretend not to notice me at all.

Others... enjoy the show.

I should've walked away long before this.

My legs feel heavy, but I force them to move. I turn slowly, my eyes scanning the room. And then I see her.

Marcella.

She sits at a table with a glass of wine in her hand and that poisonous smile on her lips.

This was all planned, and I was meant to watch every second of it.

I step out of the hall like a ghost, holding myself together as my head throbs.

At the end of the corridor, I spot a quiet lounge.

I walk inside.

The lights are dim. It smells of faint roses and old leather.

I lower myself onto the couch, trembling.

My chest tightens until I can't tell if it's grief, rage, or both.

Rowan just proposed to Calista, right in front of me.

And the world cheered.

"Whiskey for me... and a martini for the lady." A baritone voice rolls through the quiet room.

The voice alone sends a ripple through my spine. And I hate that it does something warm and low that tightens in my belly.

I slowly lift my head.

He's tall. Broad. The air around him feels like control... wrapped in sin. His tailored suit hugs his body perfectly, but it's his presence that steals the breath from my lungs.

My gaze travels up his chest to his face.

God.

His jaw is carved like stone. His lips are full and dangerously kissable. A neatly trimmed beard outlines his sharp features, and his dark hair is slicked back in a way that makes him look like he just stepped off the cover of a billionaire romance novel.

I blink.

This man could ruin me just by breathing in my direction.

He doesn't ask me what I want. He just orders. Like he already knows.

I shake my head quickly, trying to clear the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Oh... uh, thanks for the offer," I say, standing up too fast.

I need to get away from this man.

I try to move, but my heel snags on the hem of my dress.

Rip.

A sharp tear, the fabric gives way right at my hip.

I stagger on my feet, the room spins for a second too long. I feel myself falling, bracing for impact.

I shut my eyes.

But it never comes.

Instead, I feel strong arms catch me. My body stills.

I open my eyes... and my breath hitches.

Damn.

This man is sex wrapped in human form. His arms cradle me effortlessly. And when he looks down at me smiling my heart skips. A dimple appears on his cheek, deep and sinful, and all I want to do is taste it.

He looks like he belongs on the cover of every forbidden fantasy I've ever denied myself.

And I hate how my body reacts. Like it's forgotten Rowan's betrayal from moments ago.

'Get your mind out of the gutter, Solene.'

I shove the thought down and quickly pull away from him, like touching him any longer might set me on fire.

"You okay?" he asks, with his deep voice.

I shake my head slowly. Because I don't trust my voice.

If I open my mouth, I might just say, 'Take me.' 'Make me forget.'

'What is wrong with me?'

I just watched my husband propose to another woman. And now I'm melting at the sound of a stranger's voice?

This isn't me.

It has to be him. He cast a spell on me.

"Take this," he says, removing his suit jacket and handing it to me.

I stare as I accept it. My hands tremble slightly as I wrap it around my waist, covering the tear in my dress.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.

He doesn't look away. "Let me take you to my suite upstairs."

"What?" I blink at him, startled.

"Your dress is torn," he says evenly. "You'll be more comfortable waiting in my suite. It's quiet. Private. I'll have someone bring you another dress."

My mouth opens, then closes again. I hesitate. Every part of me says this is a bad idea.

But then again....

"...Okay," I finally whispered.

People glance from a distance as we leave the corridor, but no one says a word. Either they don't care... or they know better than to question a man like him.

His steps are smooth.

Somewhere in my mind, a voice screams, leave, walk away, don't do this.

But I stay quiet.

I let him lead me to his suite.

And deep down... I know I'm crossing a line I can't uncross.

I should have turned around.

But broken hearts don't choose safety... They choose fire.

Solene

There are guards scattered around the hallway. One of them nods and presses a code. The elevator doors slide open, giving him access to his private suite.

The suite is massive, modern, expensive, and soaked in quiet power. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city skyline. Everything is polished, cold, and elite.

He walks off toward a side room without saying a word.

I stand there for a second, trying to breathe.

I should ask where I am, what he wants, or why I'm here. I should feel something.

But I don't.

Too much has happened.

I barely notice the elegant furnishings or the soft hum of the city below. My mind is still spinning from Rowan's betrayal, the public humiliation, and now, him.

Then his voice breaks the silence.

"Take your dress off."

I freeze.

My hand automatically clutches the torn fabric near my hip. "What the f-?"

"Whoa, whoa," he says quickly, raising his hands, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that."

He walks over slowly and hands me a sleek black dress, still with the tag on.

"Your dress is ripped. Change into this."

I raise a brow. "Do you keep spare dresses around... just in case?"

"Leftovers from a fashion brand shoot," he replies casually.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking the dress.

Without another word, he turns and walks back into the other room-maybe to give me privacy.

I look around, half expecting a camera or someone watching. I hesitate, then glance at the door.

I slip out of my torn dress in a hurry, wanting to get it over with before he comes back. I'm left in just my bra and panties.

I glance up at the mirror on the wall and freeze.

I don't recognize the woman staring back at me.

She looks tired. Hollow. Her eyes are empty, rimmed red. Her body still beautiful, feels like it's carrying too much.

This... isn't me.

I used to dream.

But somewhere along the way, I became Rowan's "perfect wife." I erased myself to fit the mold Marcella built. And now?

Now I'm just the placeholder. The backup plan until Calista returned.

Just then, the door clicks.

He walks in.

"Shit," I whisper, reaching for the dress, but it's too late.

He stops mid-step. His body freezes.

His eyes, dark and steady, trail down my body slowly.

He doesn't flinch. Didn't look away.

There's no guilt in his stare. Just desire. Raw. Dangerous. Focused.

His gaze feels familiar, and I can't explain why. Like I've seen those eyes before.

I fix my eyes on his.

And that's when it hits me.

The manwhore himself.

"So it's you," I say, with a sharp voice, though I'm unsure.

I take a step back.

He steps forward.

His eyes didn't leave mine, not even for a second. His gaze holds heat, power, and something deeper. Like he's already decided what he wants.

And right now... it's me.

"Do you know me?" he asks, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," I breathe, barely finding the air to say it.

He steps forward like a predator, calm and sure, each movement deliberate.

His presence steals the air from the room. I can feel the heat coming off him, but it's more than warmth. It's danger, power, and temptation rolled into one.

"And what do you know about me?" he asks, his voice deep and rich, like velvet over steel. It rattles through me, and my knees threaten to buckle.

I swallow. "You're Antonio Rodriguez. The infamous billionaire who never sleeps with the same woman twice."

A smirk tugs at his lips. "You sound like a fan."

His eyes, though, aren't playful. They're sharp. Focused. Peeling away my layers like he already knows too much.

I've met men like him before at the club, in private rooms, men who wear their power loud. But Antonio? His power is quiet, deadly. He doesn't need to prove anything. That's what makes him dangerous.

Then something inside twists.

The smirk. The jawline. The eyes.

I've seen him before.

In a photograph. Hidden away in Rowan's study.

A family portrait.

"You're Rowan's uncle," I whisper.

His expression shifts just enough for me to see the tension behind the charm.

I remember asking Rowan about that photo. He brushed it off like it didn't matter.

Antonio's gaze sharpens. "So, you've done your homework. Or did your ex-husband whisper bedtime stories about the family Black Sheep?"

He moves closer. I instinctively step back until I hit the wall.

My chin lifts out of habit, defensive. But my body betrays me. My pulse jumps. My breathing falters.

"Rowan never talked about you, it's like you didn't exist."

His jaw clenches. "That sounds right. My sister raised a coward."

The bitterness in his voice is colder than his stare. This isn't just about pride. It's something deeper, painful and old.

A thought stirs.

If he's this hated...

Maybe he's exactly what I need.

His knuckle brushes my cheek. I freeze. My breath catches. For a moment, nothing exists but the warmth of his touch.

I shouldn't want this. He's Rowan's uncle.

This is wrong in more ways than I can count.

But for once... someone is looking at me like I matter.

Rowan looked through me like I was a stain on his future. Antonio looks at me like I'm somethingand still want more.

He leans in.

I didn't stop him.

He's so close I can feel his body heat around me. My fists curl at my sides. His eyes drop to my lips.

Something flares behind them, desire, yes. But not just lust. Possession.

And God help me, I want that right now. Just for tonight. Just to feel wanted again.

This man could break me.

Maybe he already knows who I am. Maybe this is a game to him. But if it is...

I'm still playing.

He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, and every nerve in my body snaps to attention.

"Your li-"

Before I can finish the word, he crashes his mouth onto mine, kissing me like he's starving. It's not gentle. It's rough, wild, and full of hunger and possession.

I kiss him back with the same energy, matching his need.

His tongue moves against mine, tasting every inch of me.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing and pins me against the cool wall of the suite. I wrap my legs around his waist as he deepens the kiss. Fire explodes through me. Every part of me comes alive.

I know I should stop him.

But I don't.

His lips trail to my neck. I shudder when he sucks gently, then deeper. His hands slide along my waist, one rising slowly until it hovers just under my bra. Then he presses his mouth there, and heat rushes through my chest.

My body melts.

I should feel guilty. But all I feel is alive for the first time in a long time.

Then a phone starts ringing.

Shit.

It's my ringtone.

I freeze, with a ragged breath. Who would call me now?

He groans at the interruption.

The phone goes silent.

Then his mouth returns, brushing my breast through the thin fabric. My pulse pounds, dizzy and hot-

But the phone rings again.

I push him away gently. "I have to check. It might be my mom... or my brother."

He watches me silently as I dig for my phone.

Then the name flashes on the screen.

Marcella.

Of course it's her. The queen of control. Even now, she finds a way to pull the strings.

I stare at the name, my thumb hovering over the answer button. My breath catches.

Then my hand curls into a fist.

No way in hell am I picking up.