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Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 893 | Released on: 30/01/2026

bourbon. A saxophone wailed from the stage, a low

he had ordered a whiskey, neat. It burn

he adrenaline from the evening was fading, leaving behind

tables, heading toward the back of the club. The

vintage copper mirrors reflected her face-pale, comp

ap. The water rushe

ror, a sha

ast stall. The doo

t. Beneath the scent of lavender soap and air

. Bl

forensic accountant, the woman who could spot a discrepancy

door cra

th. It was large, rough, an

nto the cramped stall. Her b

her ear. It was deep, str

drove her elbow back, ai

und of agony, and his grip loosened. He slid down the wall, dragging her with h

ht filtering under the door. Helena looked at h

te shirt underneath was soaked red at the abdomen. His face was

rist. His pulse w

into shock fr

ady. "I'm not a doctor, but you're bleedi

rk, but she felt the weight of his gaze. It was hea

creaked open. Heavy footsteps echoed on

lls," a rough

went to his waistband, pulling out a smal

the gun. The metal was

dle this,"

She reached up and messed up her hair, pulling strands loose.

d pulled out a small spray bottle of

front of their stall. A

normal voice. She pitched it higher, slurring her w

y, stomping her foot against the floo

the air, filling the small sp

nding s

ce outside muttered. "

treated. The mai

the bathroom, save f

he tank. He let out a breath t

ing," he

od soaking into her expensive dress. She ripped the hem of her skirt

bric and pressed it hard into the gash in his side. "Hold th

d her, his eyes glinting in the dark,

ound-deep, gaping, the edges of torn flesh visible in the

stitches,"

e repeated, his

she always carried a miniature sewing kit-a habit from years of last-minute wardrobe repair

ordered. "This i

Chapter End

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Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Uncle

Haley Billionaires

“I was the "perfect" fiancée for Harrison Vincent-regal, silent, and low-maintenance. For two years, I suppressed my career as a forensic accountant to be the "safe" choice that polled well with his family's shareholders. But at a high-society gala, I found him in a VIP lounge with a socialite wrapped around him. He told her I was just a "boring art piece display stand" he had to drag around until his trust fund was unlocked. I didn't scream or make a scene. I mentally filed a "bad debt" report, tossed my emerald engagement ring into a glass of stale champagne, and walked out of his life. That same night, I found myself in a dark jazz club bathroom, using a strip of my velvet dress to stop the bleeding of a mysterious man with a gunshot wound and eyes like grey flint. The fallout was immediate. Harrison blocked my credit cards, assuming I'd crawl back once I couldn't afford rent. His mother called me a "nobody" while simultaneously begging me to handle the family's medical emergencies because they were too panicked to function. They treated me like a tool they could discard and pick up at will, never realizing I had already moved my things into a cramped Brooklyn apartment. I couldn't understand why they thought I was still their puppet, or why a black Maybach began following me through the city streets. I had saved a stranger's life and ended a toxic engagement, yet the air around me felt heavier and more dangerous than ever. The truth came out at the hospital when the most feared man in the city stepped out of the shadows. It was the man from the bathroom-Collis Vincent, the ruthless head of the family. He didn't just humiliate Harrison; he took my hand in front of everyone and made a chilling declaration. "Harrison is a fool to have let you go, Helena. Your arrangement with him is terminated. From now on, you'll be working with me."”