Bad s*x with my Fiance’s Uncle

A sound—half gasp, half shriek—split the silence. Rhea Morgan jerked awake, heart hammering, head pounding. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The scent of expensive cologne clung to the air; the sheets felt too soft, too smooth. Sunlight poured through silk curtains, scattering across marble floors and the mess that surrounded her—her clothes, scattered like evidence. A duvet clung to her bare skin. Then came the voice she feared most. “What an insolent act!” Mrs Regina Morgan. Her stepmother. Rhea blinked, trying to piece together the blur in her head. Her temples pounded; flashes of last night flickered—the glittering dinner, Adrian’s hand pressing a glass into hers, his coaxing smile, her reluctant sip… and then nothing. She tried to sit up. Her clothes lay scattered like accusations across the floor. A cold wave of realization hit her. “Mother—” Mrs Morgan’s shriek cut her off. “Do not call me that! You’ve dragged this family into ruin!” Every syllable was a blade. Rhea froze, dread crawling up her spine. When her eyes focused, she saw faces—her stepmother’s pinched one. By the door stood her stepsister Betty, arms folded, eyes bright with satisfaction she didn’t bother hiding. Beside her loomed Mrs Hamilton—elegant, severe, lips pressed tight—and next to her, Adrian. Her fiancé. He stood near the door, expressing a mixture of wounded pride and something almost like triumph. “Mother, please,” Betty crooned, stepping forward with theatrical concern. “Let’s all just calm down.” Rhea tried to speak, but her voice cracked. “What—what’s happening?” “What’s happening?” Mrs Morgan snapped. “You tell me! You were meant to host the Hamiltons for dinner, not—” She gestured to the room, the bed, the half-dressed chaos. “—not disgrace this family in our hotel suite!” Rhea’s throat tightened. “Dinner?” She pressed a trembling hand to her temple. She pulled the duvet tighter. “I don’t understand. I didn’t—” Mrs Hamilton’s voice cut through. Calm, cool, terrifyingly precise. “Miss Morgan, would you like to explain why my son’s fiancée was found in this state, in my brother's bed, when we were expecting you downstairs?” The room seemed to shrink. Her mouth went dry. “I swear, I don’t know how I got here. “I don’t understand what happened. I swear, I don’t know why I’m—” “Spare us your lies!” Mrs Morgan snapped. “I should have known you’d shame us eventually.” She turned toward the Hamilton matriarch, tone instantly sweetening. “Please, Mrs Hamilton, forgive her. She must have been… misled.” “Misled?” Adrian said, a faint smile tugging his lips. “That’s generous.” Rhea looked up at him, confusion and terror twisting in her chest. “Adrian, please—tell them. You were with me last night, you handed me the drink—” He raised a hand, calm as ever. “Enough, Rhea. Don’t embarrass yourself further.” “Adrian,” Mrs Hamilton warned, “explain.” Adrian interrupted smoothly. “Enough.” He turned toward his mother with a practiced sigh. “It’s been handled, Mother. There’s no need to humiliate her further.” Rhea blinked at him. “Handled? Adrian, what are you talking about?” He looked at her then, eyes gleaming. “Imagine my shock,” he said quietly, “finding out that the man we were meant to dine with—the very man I hold dear in my heart—was the one you decided to spend the night with.” Gasps rippled. Rhea shook her head violently. “No. That’s not true! I didn’t choose anything—” Mrs Morgan gasped. “You— you were with Draven Hamilton?” Her voice cracked between awe and horror. The name hit Rhea like a physical blow. She’d heard it whispered her entire life: Draven Hamilton, the invisible billionaire, ruthless, untouchable. Few had met him; fewer dared speak of him without fear. “Impossible,” she whispered. “I never saw him.” Adrian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You may not remember. But the staff found you in his bed this morning. He confirmed he found you… asleep there.” “Enough of your lies!” Mrs Morgan stormed forward, seized Rhea by the arm, and yanked her off the bed. The duvet nearly slipped; Rhea caught it just in time, clutching it against her chest. The slap came fast—sharp, burning. “Mother, please!” Betty rushed forward, kneeling dramatically beside Rhea. She stroked her hair, whispering so softly only Rhea could hear. “You finally made it, sister. Welcome to the level you always feared—beneath mine.” Then, louder, with crocodile tears: “Please, don’t punish her too harshly. She’s… confused.” Mrs Hamilton studied Betty for a long moment, her sternness thawing just a fraction. “Your compassion does you credit, dear. But this is not a simple matter.” She turned to Adrian. “What do you propose, my son?” Rhea’s breath caught. Son. So this was it—her fate resting in the hands of the man who had destroyed her. Adrian slipped his hands into his pockets, every inch the grieving gentleman. “I’ve spoken with Uncle Draven already,” he said. “He was—magnanimous.” Rhea felt the blood drain from her face. Uncle Draven. The reclusive titan. The man whose name could freeze boardrooms. No one had seen his face in years, yet his power shadowed every conversation in Los Angeles. Adrian continued, voice silky. “He’s agreed to take responsibility for what happened. He’s even offered me his grand hotel downtown as compensation for the… confusion.” He paused, feigning pain. “And in return, our engagement is annulled.” Mrs Morgan gasped. “Adrian, please—she loves you! This can’t—” He lifted a hand, silencing her. “The family’s long-standing agreement still stands. There will still be a union between our families.” He looked straight at Rhea then, and his smile was cold enough to burn. “But it won’t be with me.” The room went still. Mrs Hamilton folded her arms, voice soft as velvet. “Then with whom, Adrian?” “With my uncle,” he said simply. “Draven Hamilton will marry Rhea Morgan. In one month.” The silence that followed was deafening. Even Betty’s practiced expression faltered. Rhea could hear only her heartbeat—loud, broken, disbelieving. The words echoed like a sentence passed. Draven Hamilton. The invisible monster of the business world. The man who could buy governments and bury scandals with a phone call. And now… her future husband. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The walls seemed to tilt, the chandelier spinning above her like a mocking halo. Mrs Morgan collapsed into pleading. “Please, Mrs Hamilton, there must be another way—” But Mrs Hamilton’s expression was already composed, decisive. “One month,” she repeated. “We’ll send the terms. Try to keep your daughter out of the news until then.” He stepped closer to Rhea, his shadow falling across her. “You wanted to belong to this family so badly, didn’t you? Now you will.” Rhea stared at him, tears burning her eyes, shame flooding her chest. “You set me up,” she whispered. He leaned in, voice low enough only she could hear. “Consider it a promotion.” Mrs Hamilton gathered her purse, expression unreadable. “One month, then,” she said. “We’ll send the terms.” And just like that, they left—the Hamiltons, followed by Betty’s satisfied smile and Mrs Morgan’s angry voice. When the door finally shut, silence swelled around Rhea. The duvet slipped from her shoulders; she didn’t bother catching it. The cold air bit at her skin. She stared at the door long after they’d gone, her heart hollow and loud. Somewhere in Los Angeles, a man she’d never met—Draven Hamilton, the phantom king of power and wealth—had just been handed her life. And in one month, she would belong to him.