Dear Ex, Your Billionaire Uncle Is Mine

Chapter 2

Seraphina wasn’t thinking clearly as she stepped toward him. Not that she needed to. Thinking would have been the enemy of what she was about to do.

Caution would have held her back. Logic would have softened her edges. But this wasn’t about reason. It was about pain—raw, gnawing, unrelenting pain. Her heart had been trampled, crushed under the arrogance of Italian leather shoes and the careless laughter of someone who had no idea what he had destroyed. This was about revenge, sharp and delicious. And, if she admitted it to herself, maybe a little about seeing just how far she could push herself into danger. The thought made her pulse thrum in her ears, a mix of fear and adrenaline that made every step feel heavier and lighter at the same time.

Before her mind could catch up, she saw him at the bar. Lucien Blackthorne. Her newest obsession, her newest temptation, the man who made her pulse spike without effort. The way he moved, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to command the space around him, it was magnetic, dangerous, intoxicating.

He wasn’t Adrian. That was her first relief. Where Landon had been all boyish charm and hollow promises, Lucien was something else entirely. Older, harsher, more deliberate. There was precision in the way he existed. He commanded attention effortlessly, without needing to speak. The very air around him seemed to hum with authority.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms etched with intricate tattoos, like maps of battles fought and secrets kept. A few days’ stubble dusted his square jaw, giving him an edge of danger that she couldn’t ignore. His posture was an unspoken challenge: he needed nothing from anyone, and he wanted nothing to disturb him. He looked perfect and untouchable

Seraphina slid onto the stool beside him without hesitation. Her hands shook slightly, but she masked it with a calm smile and reached for the drink menu, though she barely glanced at it. Her mind was elsewhere, focused entirely on the man before her, imagining what it might feel like to be noticed in a world that had ignored her until now.

“You’re a little young for this place, sweetheart,” Lucien said without turning his head. His voice was low, gravelly, like velvet layered over stone, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m not here for the drink,” she said, voice steady. “I’m here for you.”

Finally, he turned to face her. The first time he really looked at her, as if trying to decipher her, see right through her carefully crafted façade. The intensity of his gaze made her chest tighten, like he could read her shame, her vulnerability, her secrets just from the way she breathed. It made her feel exposed and dangerous all at once.

“Do I know you?” he asked, arching a brow.

“No,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “But I know you.”

Lucien’s brow lifted higher. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Seraphina smiled faintly. “Depends if you’re still Adrian's uncle.”

That made him pause, just long enough for her to savor the effect of her words.

Lucien turned fully toward her now, resting an arm on the bar as his sharp eyes studied her. “What did he do?”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “He made me fall for him, made me believe in love, then he treated me like I was nothing. Two years later, and I’m just a joke to him.”

He said nothing, only picked up his glass, sipped slowly, and set it back down with deliberate calm.

She didn’t stop. “I heard him. Just now. He said, just one more week, and I would be begging him to marry me. Like some charity case he’s saving. My dad’s dead. My mom’s in rehab. I guess that made me easy to fool,” she said, her voice flat, like reporting facts. Each word felt heavier than the last, weighted with humiliation and quiet fury.

Her hands gripped the edge of the bar as if it were the only anchor she had. “He made me a trophy in front of his friends. As if I wasn’t even real.” The memory twisted her stomach into knots, but it also fueled her resolve.

Lucien was quiet. Then he finally asked, carefully, “And you came to me… why?”

Her eyes burned with intensity. “Because he hates you. Because you’re older, wealthier, more powerful. Because you make him feel small. And if I can make you even look at me once, like you might want me…” She paused, her chest tightening. “Then I win.”

She held her breath, expecting him to scoff or laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, Lucien leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m not a child,” she snapped, defensive now. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” he replied cautiously, his tone neutral, not cruel.

A silence fell between them. It seemed to stretch for eternity, filled with unspoken words and unacknowledged desires.

Her voice softened, tentative. “Has anyone ever made you feel… disposable?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes softened for a moment, but his defenses didn’t waver for long.

Then, summoning every ounce of courage she had, Seraphina opened her almond-shaped eyes wide and whispered, “Let me kiss you.”

Lucien blinked, taken completely off guard.

“I’m not asking for forever,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “Just one real moment. That’s all I want.”

He exhaled slowly, frustration etched in the line of his jaw. “Hey girl…” he tried to speak, but couldn’t finish. Her lips, her innocence, and those eyes unraveling.

Before he could recover, she brushed her lips against his cheek. She paused at the corner of his mouth, trembling, waiting for rejection.

It never came.

Instead, Lucien turned slightly, and when their mouths finally met, the kiss was soft, quiet, and devastating in its restraint. Not yet passion, not fully desire, but enough to leave both shaken, aware of the tension lingering in the air.

When they pulled apart, he frowned. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

“You didn’t,” she said bitterly. “I did.”

Her legs quivered as she smoothed her dress, steadying herself. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That’s all I needed.”

Before he could respond, she rose and walked away. Lucien stayed seated, one hand around his untouched glass, the other flat on the bar, grounding himself in the moment. The memory of her lips burned, soft and fleeting.

Too young, too tempting, yet every instinct told him he wanted her more than he should. Every rational thought screamed no, but every primal impulse said yes.

God help him. He turned his head toward the door, but she was already gone.

Lucien dragged a hand down his face. “f*****g hell,” he muttered under his breath.

The bartender glanced at him. “You okay, Mr. Blackthorne?”

“No,” he said, voice low. “Absolutely not.”

“Start a tab,” he added, eyes returning to the door. “I’ll be here a while.”