Claimed By My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 715 | Released on: 20/01/2026

e voices from the VIP booth drifted over

inally ditc

nd since prep school. A man who wore loafers

the phone against her chest, the

e was trying to lock down a date. Literally put a ring box

breaking glass. "But smart. You hold

giggled. Her hand was on C

"The bet was I couldn't get the Ice Queen to set a date before the

loor tilt beneat

's like trying to seduce a marble statue. All duty, no warmth. 'Is this okay, Chri

erupted in

when you get the

d then I cut her loose," Chris said. "My uncle will ha

her da

e more than his daughter. As long as the merger goes through, he'l

eft Elisa

her throat. It wasn't just Chris. It was everyone. Her entire life was a tra

ble s

burned int

phone. 02:14. Enough. It was enough to d

not

the hysterical ex-fiancée. The crazy woma

r fingers were numb. She shoved

movements stiff, robo

used to shed. At the bottom of the steps, a waiter turned the cor

s shattered on the floor, a cacophony of brea

he waite

Dash turned his h

her face. She pushed past the waiter, stepping on shards

was torrential now. It soaked her instantly, plastering the

nd started running

ldn't wait. She couldn't sit

One, then the other. They

er bare feet. The rough asphalt scraped her skin, but the

ve out. She stopped at a corner, gasping for a

n awning of the Four Seasons Hotel glowed l

She just walked

Chapter End

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Claimed By My Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Cinderella's Sister Modern

“I spent our third anniversary alone in our penthouse, adjusting a white rose and waiting for a man who didn't want to come home. When my fiancé, Chris Osborne, finally arrived, he didn't notice the 1982 Lafite or the dinner I'd prepared. He looked at me with disgust, calling my desire for a wedding date "pressure" before storming out to a private club. I followed him, hiding behind a marble pillar at The Vault as I recorded his voice on my phone. He was laughing with his friends about a $20 million bet. He called me a "boring ice queen" and a "marble statue," explaining that he only needed to keep me around until the merger closed so he could steal my shares and "cut me loose." To make it worse, my own father was in on it, prioritizing his stock price over his daughter's life. Broken and barefoot in a torrential Manhattan downpour, I sought refuge at the Four Seasons. I collapsed into the arms of a tall, dangerous-looking stranger and begged him to take me upstairs. I wanted to be erased, to forget the transaction my life had become. After a night of salt and desperation, I left my engagement ring on his nightstand as payment for services rendered and fled. The next morning, I realized I had jumped from the frying pan into the furnace. My "stranger" wasn't a nobody. He was Gallagher Osborne-the ruthless patriarch of the family and my fiancé's uncle. He tracked me to a private clinic, trapping me in a room while holding my medical file and the ring I'd discarded. He told me I was his now, and that he'd dismantle Chris piece by piece if I didn't comply. I was a piece of currency to my father, a bet to my fiancé, and a prize to his uncle. I had no allies, no escape, and no mercy left. I realized that being the "perfect daughter" had only made me a target. If they wanted to play games with the "Ice Queen," I decided to give them a frostbite they would never forget. I trashed my art gallery, backdated a diagnosis for a psychotic break, and sent a cryptic suicide note to Chris. As Gallagher watched from the shadows and Chris panicked over his investment, I began the process of scorching the earth. The merger was still happening, but I wasn't the bride anymore-I was the wrecking ball.”