Claimed By My Ex’s Uncle After Divorce

Chapter 3: The Fractured Mask

Elowen's POV

The text beneath the photograph read: He gave me mine during our little intermission tonight. Said he bought a pair so we could always be connected. Aren’t they beautiful, Elowen? We can wear them together.

A choking sensation gripped my throat. My breath came in short, jagged gasps as I stared at the screen, the image searing itself into my retinas. The sheer, calculated cruelty of it knocked the wind out of me. Julian hadn't just cheated; he had turned our marriage, our history, and my dignity into a twisted, double-sided joke.

With trembling fingers, I reached up, caught the diamond pendant, and yanked it hard. The delicate white-gold clasp snapped, biting into the skin of my neck. I hurled the necklace across the room. It struck the full-length mirror with a sharp clink, sliding uselessly onto the hardwood floor like a piece of cheap glass.

When Julian walked out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist, the steam from the shower clung to his skin. He looked at me, his eyes dark with a sudden surge of desire. He walked over to the bed, pulling me into his arms before I could step back.

"El," he whispered against my neck, his hands moving down my back, pressing me against his chest. "Let’s not fight anymore. We’ve been trying so hard... let's forget about tonight and make a baby. Together. Right now."

The word baby hit me like a physical blow. The thought of his hands, which had touched Sophia hours ago, touching me now made my stomach violently turn.

"Get off me!" I shrieked, pushing against his chest with every ounce of strength I had.

Julian’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening around my waist, his ego clearly bruised by the rejection. "Come on, Elowen, don’t be like this. I apologized, didn't I? You've been obsessed with having a kid for two years, and now you're pushing me away over a late night?" He pressed closer, his movements becoming forceful, an ugly, possessive dominance breaking through his usual gentle exterior. "You’re my wife. Stop acting crazy."

As he lunged forward to kiss me, my survival instinct took over. My right hand flew out, striking his cheek with a resounding slap.

The sharp crack echoed through the bedroom.

Julian’s head snapped to the side. He froze, his hand slowly rising to touch his reddening cheek. The gentle, boyish charm completely vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, simmering fury I had never seen before. He stared at me, his jaw clenched, before turning on his heel and slamming the bedroom door behind him, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.

The next morning, the bedroom door opened quietly. Julian walked in, dressed in a tailored navy suit. The anger from the previous night was entirely gone, replaced by a smooth, apologetic smile that made me wonder if I had hallucinated the entire exchange.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said softly, walking over to the bed and brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead. "I'm so sorry about last night. I was tired, stressed, and I didn't respect your boundaries. Can you forgive me?"

I looked at him, keeping my expression entirely vacant. "It’s fine."

"Good," he smiled, visibly relieved. "Because today is Granmather's eighty-fifth birthday party. We need to leave in an hour. Dress to impress, okay? The whole family will be there."

An hour later, we were in the back of Julian's luxury sedan, driving up the winding, tree-lined path toward the massive, historic estate in Westchester. The atmosphere in the car was suffocatingly tense, though Julian chatted aimlessly about corporate stocks, entirely unaware that my lawyer was currently drafting our divorce papers.

As our car pulled up to the grand stone entrance, a sleek, armored black Maybach rolled to a stop right beside us. The sheer presence of the vehicle immediately drew the attention of the surrounding guests and valet staff.

Julian’s face tightened instantly, a mixture of deep-seated fear, jealousy, and resentment flickering across his features. He despised his uncle Rhysand. He hated that while he had to beg the family board for every corporate advancement, Rhysand had walked away from the family empire, built his own conglomerate from nothing, and now held enough financial leverage to crush the family estate five times over. Years ago, Julian had made a careless, derogatory remark about Rhysand's personal life at a private club. When word got back to Rhysand, he had instantly severed a massive supply-chain contract with Julian’s division, costing the company hundreds of millions. Julian had never dared to cross him since.

"Great," Julian muttered under his breath, adjusting his cuffs. "I didn't think he’d actually show up. He never attends these things. Talk about bad luck."

He pushed his door open, stepping out and putting on his perfect public-relations smile. I stepped out of the passenger side, my knees feeling dangerously weak.

The door of the Maybach opened, and Rhysand stepped out.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a bespoke black tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding height. His silver eyes swept across the courtyard with detached indifference.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My skin flushed hot as the memory of the dark hotel room, his hands on my waist, and my desperate flight flashed through my mind. I forced my posture straight, praying my face wouldn't betray the absolute panic roaring inside me.

Julian stepped forward, his voice tight but deferential. "Uncle Rhysand. Good to see you."

Rhysand turned his head, his silver eyes landing on Julian for a brief second before shifting slowly to me. His gaze lingered on my face, entirely unreadable, cool, and perfectly composed. He didn't say a word about the hotel. He didn't even blink.

He gave a curt, freezing nod. "Julian. Elowen."

Without another word, he turned and walked past us, his long strides carrying him toward the grand entrance, his powerful aura leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands trembling against my silk clutch. Thank God, I thought. He’s going to keep the secret. But the sheer intensity of his brief gaze left a lingering, electric ache in my chest.