My Forbidden Step-Uncle

THE AFFAIR VIII: The Corner

|CIRCE|

The silence in the booth was a living thing, heavy and expectant. Three pairs of eyes fixed on me. My mother’s shining with pride, Delson’s full of generous fatherly anticipation, and Dax’s glittering with the cold triumphant light of a predator who knew he had already won.

My future hung on my response, a thread about to be snipped by the weight of their expectations. Saying no was impossible. It would slap Delson in the face, an act of inexplicable rebellion that would shatter my mother’s happiness and declare open war against Dax.

Saying yes was unthinkable. It meant willingly walking into the lion’s den and handing him the key to the lock.

But there was no choice. There had never been a choice.

I drew a shaky breath, the air feeling thin and useless in my lungs. I forced myself to look at Delson, to direct my surrender toward him as if it were gratitude.

“That’s an incredible offer,” I said, the words feeling like foreign objects in my mouth. “Thank you. I’m speechless.”

The relief that washed over the table was instantaneous and suffocating. Delson’s smile returned wider than before.

“I knew you’d be thrilled. It’s the perfect fit.”

My mother reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “Oh, Circe, I’m so proud of you. This is everything we’ve ever wanted for you.”

Their joy pressed down on me, crushing the air from my lungs. A hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. They wanted this for me. They had just happily, lovingly, sold me into servitude and called it a gift.

I glanced at Dax. His expression wore the polite satisfaction of a proud future uncle, but his eyes told a different story. They were locked on mine, and in their depths I saw a clear, cold, victorious message. You are mine now.

The rest of the dinner passed in a hazy out-of-body experience. I ate without tasting, nodded without hearing, and smiled without feeling. Delson and my mother, giddy with their successful matchmaking, dominated the conversation and planned my future without any further input from me.

“You will have to show her around the office next week,” Delson said while pouring more wine. “Let her see what she is getting into.”

Dax replied smoothly, his gaze still fixed on me. “Of course. The work is demanding. We expect absolute discretion and loyalty from our interns. The pressure can be intense.”

Every word was a carefully aimed dart, a reminder of the secrets he expected me to keep. “But I have a feeling Circe will handle it well.”

My mother beamed. “She will be brilliant. She has always been so resilient.”

The dinner finally and mercifully ended. The walk out of the restaurant became a slow agonizing procession. Delson insisted on valet, and we stood on the curb in the cool night air while waiting for the cars to be brought around.

My mother sighed and leaned her head on Delson’s shoulder. “What a wonderful night.”

Delson kissed the top of her head.

“The first of many.” He turned to me and pulled me into a warm fatherly hug. “I am so glad you are on board with the internship. It means a lot to me that you are embracing this new family.”

Over his shoulder I saw Dax watching us with an impassive mask, and I felt like Judas accepting a hug from the man whose trust I was being forced to betray.

When Delson’s car arrived, he and my mother said their goodbyes. She blew me a kiss as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Dax will wait with you until your car comes, darling.”

Then they were gone.

I stood alone with him on the quiet lamplit street and wrapped my arms around myself in a futile gesture of self-protection. The silence stretched between us, thick and charged.

He spoke first, his voice a low murmur that did not carry to the nearby valet. “You played your part well tonight.”

My voice trembled with rage that had simmered all evening. “I did not have a choice.”

He turned to face me fully. “You always have a choice. You just happened to make the correct one.”

My car pulled up to the curb then, its headlights cutting through the darkness and offering a temporary escape. He nodded toward it. “It seems your ride is here.”

I walked to my car without another word, my entire body screaming with the need to get away from him. My hands shook as I fumbled with the door handle.

His voice stopped me. “Circe.”

I turned back with my hand on the open door.

“I will be in touch.” It was not a promise. It was a threat.

I got in the car and drove, my vision blurred by tears I had not realized I was crying. The dam of my composure finally broke, and I drove through the glittering city streets with ugly gasping sobs tearing from my throat.

This was no longer just fear. It was hopelessness. He had won. He had infiltrated my family, my home, my future. He had backed me into a corner so completely that my only path forward led through him. He had left me no escape.

I stumbled into my apartment, but its safety and silence felt like a mockery. This was no sanctuary. It was a holding cell. He could reach me whenever he wanted, and I had no power at all.

The passivity of it suffocated me. I could not just sit here and wait for his next move, for the next phase of his torture. I could not let him have the last word. I had to do something, to take back some sliver of control however small and foolish.

My phone lay on the counter where I had dropped it. My hands still shook, but a new defiant energy pulsed through me. I found the text conversation with Elvena from earlier, the one where she had mentioned my mother’s post about the intimate family dinner.

I looked at the picture again and saw him there, tagged. Dax Trevino. A single click led me to his profile, and from there a link to his firm’s website. His direct office line and email were listed right under his photo, so easy and public and powerful.

I was not going to call. I was not going to email. That felt too formal, too much like the intern he was trying to make me. I went back to the text messages and hovered my thumb over the keypad. I did not have his personal number, but he had mine. A cold reptilian part of my brain knew he would see this.

A text to his office line would be logged and flagged and sent to him. He would know.

My fingers typed out the words before I could second-guess myself. Simple and direct. A demand, not a request.

We need to talk. Alone.

I hit send. The message disappeared into the ether. For a long moment nothing happened. I stared at the screen with my heart pounding, half expecting no reply.

Then my phone buzzed in my hand. A new message from an unknown number.

My penthouse. Tomorrow. Ten AM. Do not be late.

Below the text stood an address of the most notoriously exclusive and expensive building in the city.

He wasn’t coming to me. I was going to him. That was the difference between us. He summoned and I obeyed.