I’m Yours, My Wild Ex’s Uncle

His Rules

The elevator hummed softly as it carried us upward, the golden floor numbers flickering past one by one. The silence inside was heavy, pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My pulse raced, not just from fear but from the awareness of the man standing so close beside me.

Mark Castellano.

Every inch of him radiated control—his broad shoulders, the way his suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, the quiet confidence in his stance. He didn’t need to speak to make the air around him thrum with tension. I had never met a man who could make silence feel louder than words.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to build a shield. “This isn’t right,” I whispered, though my voice barely carried. “You can’t just drag me into your world like this.”

His head tilted toward me, his gaze slicing through me like steel. “Drag you?” His voice was low, dangerous, rich with unshakable authority. “Ariana, I don’t drag. I decide. And I’ve decided you’re staying with me tonight.”

The certainty in his tone both infuriated me and unsettled me to my core. My throat tightened. “You can’t just—”

He moved then, a single step closer, closing the already small distance between us. His hand braced against the elevator wall beside my head, trapping me in the heat of his presence. “I can,” he murmured, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “And I did.”

I froze. Every nerve in my body lit up, torn between the instinct to run and the terrifying, undeniable pull to stay. His proximity was suffocating, intoxicating. The faint brush of his breath against my cheek made me shiver despite the heat pooling in my veins.

“I don’t like people making decisions for me,” I whispered, though my voice wavered like fragile glass.

His storm-gray eyes narrowed, pinning me in place. “Then fight me,” he said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. His lips curved, dark and knowing. “Walk away when the doors open. Tell me no.”

The elevator chimed then, as if mocking my hesitation. The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a corridor lined with polished wood and muted golden lights.

But my knees felt weak, my body refusing to obey my mind. And he knew it. He always knew.

His hand slipped to my lower back, warm, firm, guiding me forward out of the elevator. Not forcing. Just… guiding. But the unspoken weight in his touch told me that resistance wasn’t really an option.

The hallway stretched in silence, expensive and quiet, the kind of silence that spoke of power. When we reached the double doors of his private suite, he unlocked it with a smooth swipe of his card. The doors swung open, and I was pulled into a world that didn’t belong to me.

The penthouse was breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the glittering city lights below, furniture dark and luxurious, every detail screaming wealth and control. But it wasn’t the penthouse that stole my breath.

It was him.

Mark stood before me, his jacket discarded onto the back of a chair, his eyes locked onto me with that same unrelenting intensity.

“Why are you doing this?” I finally managed, my chest heaving. “You don’t even know me!”

His jaw clenched, his movements deliberate as he closed the space between us in just two strides. He didn’t touch me at first, only studied me as though he could see through every wall I had ever built. Then, slowly, his hand lifted, his fingers brushing along my jawline with startling gentleness.

“I know enough,” he murmured. “I saw the way he looked at you tonight. I saw the way you swallowed your pain, hiding it like it didn’t matter. You think no one sees you, but I do.”

My throat tightened at his words, at the sincerity woven into his rough voice. His touch burned against my skin, but it wasn’t cruel—it was grounding, as though he was reminding me that I was still here, still real, even after everything had been ripped from me tonight.

“Mark…” My voice broke, trembling in a way I couldn’t control.

His expression hardened then, though his hand remained soft against my cheek. “You need to understand something.” His stormy gaze bore into mine, unwavering. “When you’re with me, I make the rules. No one hurts you. No one disrespects you. And no one touches you. Ever. Except me.”

The dominance in his tone sent shivers down my spine. It was possessive, arrogant, terrifying… and yet, deep inside, I couldn’t deny the strange comfort in his words. For once, someone was willing to stand between me and the cruelty of the world.

“You can’t just claim me like—”

His thumb pressed lightly against my lips, silencing me. The touch was so soft it made my heart stutter.

“I already did.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, filled only with the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. His eyes softened then, just barely, as his thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth.

“But I’ll never take what you don’t give,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “Remember that.”

The contradiction—the ruthless power and the careful restraint—knocked the air out of me. I should have pushed him away, screamed, demanded he let me go. But my body refused to move.

Instead, I stood frozen, my chest heaving, my mind at war with my own heart. Because part of me, the part I didn’t want to admit even to myself, wondered what it would mean to belong to a man like Mark Castellano.

And that thought terrified me more than anything.