I Married My Ex's Mistress's Uncle

Chloe's POV:

I was six weeks pregnant, and I had no idea who the father was.

My fiancé Kyle had been caught cheating. He'd dropped to his knees in front of me, sobbing, and confessed that the night I'd conceived — the night I couldn't fully remember — Lucy, the woman he'd been sleeping with, had drugged me and delivered me to a stranger like I was some kind of gift.

Now I was standing in front of that stranger.

Adrian. Lucy's uncle. One of the most powerful men in the city.

I was holding a forged check.

"This is the compensation you left behind after that night." I kept my voice even. "Surely you remember."

He didn't look at the check.

He sat behind a desk that could have served as a landing strip, floor-to-ceiling windows at his back, the city skyline stretching out beyond the glass in every direction. This city's pulse ran beneath his feet, and he looked like he knew it.

His gray-blue eyes were cold. They moved from my face to my abdomen with a slow, deliberate precision that felt more like a territorial assessment than a glance, and they stayed there for a full three seconds.

I swallowed. Steadied my breathing.

"The money isn't enough," I said, cutting him off before he could speak. I laid down my hand. "I'm pregnant. Six weeks. It's yours."

He remained in his black leather chair, watching me with something that looked almost like amusement.

"What do you want?"

The check was still suspended between us. I told myself not to panic. I was a lawyer. I'd gone up against opponents ten times more difficult than him.

I set the check on the desk and slid it toward him, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage.

"I want you to take responsibility. Marry me — publicly — and I'm prepared to offer something in return." I straightened my spine and met his eyes with the most composed expression I could manufacture. "A time-limited contract marriage. I'll keep the opportunistic women away from you, smooth things over with your family, and give you a legitimate heir. In exchange, I need a father. Someone to protect this child."

I was fully aware I was using him.

But then, I hadn't exactly gone looking for this. I'd been at the hospital picking up my test results when I'd overheard his assistant making calls on his behalf — trying to track down the woman from his one-night stand. And once I'd learned that the man they were looking for was the same Adrian that Lucy was always talking about, her powerful, untouchable uncle, the math had become very simple. Whatever the biological truth was, this child was going to be his.

Lucy had taken my fiancé. I would become her aunt.

I'd expected my proposal to catch him off guard. What I hadn't expected was for Adrian to tilt his chin upward in a gesture that was, unmistakably, an invitation for me to go down on him.

"You said you were willing to offer something in return," he said, glancing down at me. "Is this particular offering off the table? That night, we were both drugged. I'd imagine neither of us got much out of it." He nodded toward the sofa across from his desk. "We could finish what was started. Right here."

I pressed my lips together to kill the nervous twitch threatening to surface at the corner of my mouth, then crossed to the sofa and sat down without hurrying.

He rose from his chair, rounded the desk, and walked toward me one unhurried step at a time.

He stopped close enough that his shadow fell across me entirely, and I understood, in a very concrete way, exactly how much physical presence this man carried.

My heart was going too fast.

For one unguarded moment, I almost told him the truth — that I was here to get back at his niece, that the pregnancy might not even be his, that I should just turn around and leave. But I couldn't. Not when Lucy and Kyle were still out there, unpunished. Making Adrian the father of this child was the fastest route to everything I needed, and I wasn't going to let one moment of panic take that from me.

He stopped directly in front of me, looking down, close enough that I could make out the shadow cast by his lashes. The curve at the corner of his mouth was not a kind one.

"What makes you think you're qualified to stand beside me?"

I dug my nails into my palm and kept my face neutral. "The child I'm carrying. And the fact that I understand, better than anyone else you'd find, exactly how to play the role of Mrs. Wells."

"Is that so." He leaned down without warning, one hand braced against the armrest beside me, caging me between himself and the sofa. His face was close enough that his breath touched my lips, and the warmth of it sent a shiver through me. "Then show me, Mrs. Wells. Use your body to please me."

His voice carried a low, magnetic pull. His eyes were ice.

I recognized the trap immediately. If I agreed, I'd proven I was the kind of woman who traded her body for leverage. If I refused, I'd proven that everything I'd just said was empty posturing.

My heart was slamming against my ribs. I made myself smile, reached up, and let my fingers trail from his collarbone to his tie, tugging it lightly.

"Mr. Wells, there are many ways to be of use to someone. For instance — I could make sure that women like me, women who show up at your door carrying your child, stop being a problem for you. That check exists because you left it. Which means you were satisfied with that night. And I haven't been with anyone since, which means the child is yours. You're responsible for this. You know that."

"Responsible." The thin curve of his mouth went colder. "Fine."

I stood up so fast my lips nearly grazed his.

He'd just agreed. No security. No being thrown out. He had simply agreed.

"I have conditions."

He turned, walked back to his desk, pulled a document from the drawer, and pushed it to the edge of the surface.

"Sign it. A one-year contract marriage. I'll give you a three-month probationary period. If you can hold up your end, I'll acknowledge you publicly. If you can't—" He left the rest unspoken, but his expression finished the sentence without difficulty. He raised one hand and loosened his tie, as though the entire conversation had been mildly suffocating.

He settled back into his chair, and the distance between us restored him to what he actually was: a man who looked down at the world from a very great height.

I flipped through the document, weighing the terms, most of which were not in my favor. He could see me hesitating. His voice dropped, taking on the particular quality of a hunter who has learned that patience is more effective than pursuit.

"You can walk out right now. Pretend none of this happened."

I closed my hand into a fist.

Walk out. And then what? Go back to Kyle, swallow what he'd done, and let the wedding happen anyway? Endure Lucy's smirk? Go back to being alone and pregnant and furious at people I couldn't name?

I picked up the pen.

"I just want to read through the terms carefully."

The moment the corner of his mouth lifted — barely, just slightly — I had the sudden, unwelcome feeling that I had just stepped off a ledge into a very deep drop.

Back at the apartment I shared with my best friend and colleague Merlin, I told her everything.

She slapped my pregnancy test down on the dinner table. The hot pot was going between us, and the steam blurred her face into something that looked like barely contained fury.

"Six weeks pregnant. You walked into that man's office and ran a con on him, and it worked. And you already signed the contract." She stared at me. "How many times has a door hit you in the head? Six? It must be six."

"Merlin—"

"Don't talk. Let me finish." She pointed at me across the steam. "You are a lawyer. You signed a contract with terms that restrict your personal freedom, and you have the nerve to sit there and tell me you read it?"

I dropped a slice of beef into the pot.

"I need him."

Merlin went quiet.

The hot pot bubbled steadily between us. She looked at me for a long moment before she asked, "What are you actually trying to do here?"

"Get back at Lucy and Kyle. Obviously."

She was quiet for a while after that, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Then she said my name. "Chloe."

"Yeah?"

"Have you thought about what happens when he finds out the baby might not be his?"

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number. I answered.

"Chloe?" Kyle's voice was warm and easy, as though nothing had happened. "Hey, babe. Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for three days — did you move? Can we meet? I need to talk to you."

"Kyle."

"Yeah?"

"We broke up. Is the problem your ears, or your memory?"

Two seconds of silence.

Then he laughed — the same generous, indulgent laugh he used to use when he thought I was being unreasonably upset about something small. "You're still angry, I get it, I completely understand. But Chloe, yes, I made mistakes with Lucy, but she pushed me into it — you know how I am, I'm too soft-hearted, I—"

"Right. So soft-hearted you handed your fiancée over to another man's bed."

I ended the call.

Merlin, who had clearly heard enough to know who it was, made an exaggerated gagging gesture from across the table.

The screen went dark. A text notification appeared.

Adrian. With an address attached.

Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Meridian General Hospital, VIP Prenatal Center. My driver will pick you up.

I stared at the message, and my stomach turned over.

Merlin leaned across to read it and sucked in a sharp breath. "See? I told you — "

The phone rang again. Kyle. Not a call this time — a text.

Chloe, I'm really worried about you. You're not acting like yourself. Are you being pressured by someone? I meant what I said — I want to be there for this baby. I'll be a good father. Trust me.

Merlin snatched the phone before I could react and started typing. I grabbed it back.

"Don't."

"Why not?" She looked at me hard. "Chloe. Are you sure you can actually outmaneuver both of them?"

"No. But I don't have another option."

Merlin was quiet for a moment. Then: "This Adrian guy. Is he at least good-looking?"

"That's really where your head is right now?"

"I'm doing a risk assessment," she said, entirely serious. "If he's some bald, greasy middle-aged man, you're just destroying yourself for nothing. If he's decent-looking, at least you're not coming out of this completely empty-handed."

I thought about him in that black leather chair — the cool, sharp lines of his face, the deliberate way he'd loosened his tie, the way his fingers had looked against the knot, the particular cruelty of that almost-smile.

"He's not ugly."

That was an understatement by a significant margin.

Merlin raised her beer glass. "Well then. Good luck."

At nine the next morning, I walked into Meridian General Hospital.

The VIP Prenatal Center occupied the entire twelfth floor and operated by appointment only. The elevator doors opened, and I found myself looking at someone I had absolutely no business seeing there.