My Best Friend's CEO Uncle

He's My Boss?!

Basement Level 2 Parking Garage, Delacroix Corporation.

A ruby-red Porsche was parked brazenly across two distinct parking stalls.

Agatha hopped out of the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and turned around to find Aliyah crawling out of the passenger side at a snail's pace.

"Babe, what on earth are you moving like a turtle for?"

"Aga, give me a hand here, my legs are killing me," Aliyah whimpered, feeling entirely wronged.

She didn't want to crawl like a snail either, but every single time she took a step, her thighs throbbed with a vicious, dull ache.

Agatha clicked her tongue, trotted over to loop an arm around Aliyah’s waist, and started nagging instantly.

"Seriously, babe, did you get scammed last night or something?"

"I'm starting to think that model saw someone young, rich, and clueless, and played you like a cheap fiddle, otherwise how could you possibly be this sore—"

Aliyah’s eyelids flickered wildly. She lunged forward, clapping a hand directly over Agatha’s mouth.

"Walls have ears, watch what you say, sister."

"Oh, relax!"

Agatha chuckled, peeling her best friend's hand away and patting her shoulder soothingly. "This parking zone is exclusively for the Delacroix family. My dad is on annual leave, and nobody else from the executive tier comes here except me."

"Now, tell me which club that guy was working at, and what his stage name was. I need to go give him a piece of my mind and get some payback for you."

Give Luca Delacroix a piece of her mind?

Just imagining that scenario made Aliyah’s blood run completely cold.

"Forget it, the guy had a rough night too."

"Tsk, are you actually defending him now? Was he really that good? Did he leave that much of an impression?" Agatha gave her a look of utter exasperation.

Pounded by her best friend's endless interrogation, Aliyah threw out a random excuse to shut her up.

"He was handsome, an absolute powerhouse, top-tier talent."

The second the words left her mouth, a sharp screech of car tires echoed through the garage.

The heavy door of a black Cullinan swung open, and a towering, imposing figure stepped out from the back seat. Standing at nearly six-foot-seven, the man radiated an overwhelming, heavy-handed aura.

He was dressed in a tailored black suit that showcased his broad shoulders and narrow waist to absolute perfection, paired with slim-profile black leather shoes that made his long, powerful legs impossible to ignore.

His facial structure was sharp, chiseled, and deeply shadowed, with a piercing, authoritative gaze that made anyone within a ten-foot radius want to look away out of sheer intimidation.

Aliyah felt the man’s intense, unblinking gaze lock straight onto her.

The garage headlights were blinding. She squinted through the glare until his sharp, austere facial lines finally came into focus.

And instantly, those lines merged seamlessly with the wet, shadowy phantom from the bathroom steam last night.

Aliyah’s entire body went rigid as stone.

Oh no. There was no way in hell Luca hadn't just overheard every single word she and Agatha were shouting a second ago, right?

"U-Uncle Luca? What are you doing here?" Agatha choked out, her voice cracking in pure panic.

Luca shifted his piercing gaze off Aliyah and onto Agatha, his tone flat and glacial. "Is your car paying luxury tax for occupying two stalls?"

"Uh..." Agatha glanced back at her Porsche, then sideways at Luca’s limited-edition Cullinan, offering a weak, sheepish grin.

"I'm just a small fish, Uncle Luca's ride is obviously the real masterpiece."

"And yet you still parked across two spaces?" Luca’s voice dropped an octave, dripping with low, crushing pressure.

Realizing belatedly that she had just stolen her terrifying uncle's VIP spot, Agatha offered a dry, nervous laugh. "I—I'll go move it right now."

Watching her best friend scramble away like she was fleeing a crime scene, Aliyah felt a deep pang of sympathy—though she didn't dare watch any longer.

She turned her head away, only to find her eyes crashing directly into a pair of bottomless, ink-black eyes.

Her heart vaulted straight into her throat.

Sympathizing with Agatha? She had a lot more to worry about than her friend. She was the one who had accidentally drugged, seduced, robbed, and ghosted a billionaire corporate titan. She was standing on active tectonic plates.

"Why aren't you saying hello today? Don't recognize me anymore?" the man asked quietly.

"…Uh." Aliyah forced a stiff, agonizingly awkward smile, pressing forward with pure survival instinct.

"Uncle Luca, it's just... well, my ex-fiancé just publicly disgraced you, so I honestly didn't have the face to look you in the eye."

Luca paused, clearly surprised she would bring up such a sensitive topic so brazenly. His dark gaze flickered before he countered, "So your logic is that since my fiancée also hijacked your fiancé, I should feel too ashamed to look you in the eye?"

Aliyah gasped softly, waving her hands frantically.

"No, that's not what I meant at all!"

"I just figured... whenever we see each other, we're just reminded of that whole mess, so it's probably better not to greet each other."

"Is that so..." Luca murmured thoughtfully, before taking a sudden, razor-sharp pivot.

"Speaking of messes, I couldn't help overhearing you and Agatha talking about a model just now. Tell me, did you two happen to hire male escorts at a bar last night?"

Aliyah’s brain completely blue-screened. She stared at him in unadulterated horror.

So... he really did hear every single word, didn't he?!

Luca took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them.

The air grew dense as the man towered over her, his eyes locking onto hers with dangerous amusement. "Why aren't you answering?"

Aliyah caught a faint, familiar scent drifting off him—crisp cedarwood. The exact same scent that had slowly, systematically claimed every inch of her skin last night, potent, dominating, and inescapable.

"I..."

Her mind raced at light-speed, frantically rummaging through her digital history until she pulled up a viral dance trend on her phone, shoving the screen straight toward Luca.

"Aga and I were just talking about this trending male model dance challenge online! That must be what you heard, right, Uncle Luca?"

Aliyah clung desperately to her last shred of plausible deniability. She couldn't admit to last night's disaster under any circumstances—doing so was a fast-track ticket to a shallow grave.

"Both Agatha and I are upstanding citizens. We don't do wild things at bars."

Hearing that, Luca’s gaze shifted downward, tracking deliberately toward the soft curve of her pale throat.

Right there against her delicate skin sat a faint, stubborn cluster of dark crimson marks.

Upstanding citizens? Not wild?

"Uncle Luca—"

Agatha sprinted back over the second she finished moving her car, assuming Luca was intimidating her best friend, and immediately jumped in to run interference.

"I already gave you my report yesterday, Uncle! We literally just went for a couple of quiet drinks, we didn't do anything crazy! You can ask River if you don't believe me!"

Luca blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as his gaze shifted to Agatha. His expression smoothed over into cool indifference. "Ah. If you say so."

Meanwhile, Aliyah was already mentally drafting a hundred different ways Luca was going to execute her.

Yet, against all odds, the narrative swerved. He actually believed her?

Could it be that he had been so blind-drunk last night that he genuinely didn't recognize her face?

Because if he had pieced together that she was the girl who had not only slept with him, but was currently walking around calling him a gigolo... she’d be converted to ash on the spot.

This was nothing short of a miracle.

"Mr. Delacroix."

Just then, a cluster of senior executives stepped out of the private elevator bank, rushing over to bow their heads respectfully. "We're here to escort you up."

"Mn." Luca offered a single nod of acknowledgment, throwing one last lingering, heavy look at Aliyah before turning on his heel.

A sea of tailored suits parted around him as the entourage escorted the billionaire away.

The frozen, suffocating air in the garage finally began to thaw.

Aliyah exhaled a breath she felt like she'd been holding for a century, grabbing Agatha’s arm as she whispered frantically,

"Aga, why on earth did your uncle suddenly show up here today?"

Agatha furrowed her brows in thought. "Oh, right. His tech firm is launching a brand-new hardware line, and they're setting up an exclusive showcase in the corporate mall upstairs. He probably came down to finalize the contract."

Hearing that, Aliyah’s heart finally settled back into her chest.

Thank goodness. It was just a standard corporate walkthrough. He'd probably be gone in an hour.

All she had to do was make sure she stayed completely out of his line of sight.

The two best friends rode the elevator up together.

During the ascent, Aliyah pulled out her phone to check her banking app, only to find a jarring red notification banner: Salary Advance Request Rejected.

Ding.

The elevator chimed, stopping at the 35th floor—the sub-penthouse level housing the administrative hub and executive secretarial pool for Delacroix Corporation.

Aliyah’s direct supervisor was Anna, the senior-most executive secretary in the department.

A Columbia University graduate with elite international credentials, Anna managed high-level external relations and corporate crisis communications for the executive board.

She possessed striking, sophisticated features, a honeyed, professional smile that hid razor-sharp efficiency, and the rare ability to be an absolute sweetheart to her juniors while slicing competitors to ribbons in the boardroom. She was a powerhouse.

The moment Aliyah settled at her desk, Anna walked over to explain the exact reason her advance had been flagged.

Standing nearby, Agatha listened in, completely baffled. "My dad always approved those instantly online. Since when do you need to report in person to explain why you want your own money?"

"The rejection note literally specifies it," Anna said, looking apologetically at Aliyah.

Since Aliyah had already spent the cash she borrowed to pay off her imaginary "gigolo bill," she desperately needed that advance cleared so she could pay Anna back. Following Anna's lead, she marched straight toward the executive offices.

Anna knocked on the heavy mahogany door, gave a brief verbal report of the operational logs, and excused herself, leaving Aliyah standing in the doorway.

Curious as to which bureaucratic control freak was wasting everyone's time over basic payroll algorithms, Aliyah stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

"Close the door."

A low, husky voice cut through the silence—one that carried an uncomfortably familiar weight.

Aliyah raised her eyes slowly, finding a man dressed in a sharp black button-down shirt lounging lazily behind the executive mahogany desk. His features were stark and striking, his gaze deep and fathomless.

"U-Uncle Luca?"