Claimed by my Husband ruthless Uncle

Josie's POV

I fumbled at my throat, my fingers pressing into my skin as I searched for the hole Sarah’s knife had made, but my nails slid against smooth skin rather than wet, sticky flesh. I was burning up inside as I breathed in a giant breath of air, and for a moment, I was just lying there, gazing at the white crown molding of a ceiling I hadn’t seen in years.

The last thing I was aware of was Julian’s icy expression as he looked on while I died in that alley, and yet here I am, wrapped in high-thread count silk sheets as the scent of luxury lavender candles fills the room. I slowly sat up, all my senses spinning, and my eyes landed on a black lace dress draped over the wardrobe door like a mute specter waiting for me to wear it.

It was the same dress I wore to Julian's memorial three years ago, which means the universe has unceremoniously thrown me right back into the middle of the biggest lie I ever told.

The door opened with a creak, and I saw Lily shuffle into the room, her beloved battered bear trailing behind her across the floor. Her eyes were so swollen and red, she could hardly keep them open, and seeing her like that made another fresh surge of rage well up inside me because I thought of how I’d turned her loose to grieve for a father who never deserved even one of her tears. ​

I didn't wait for her to start sobbing; I just opened my arms and let her climb into my lap, her little heart beating against my chest. ​

“Mommy, Nana says Daddy is with the stars now, but I want him to come back for my birthday,” she whispered into my neck, her voice blocked by my hair. I pulled away just enough to see her, swiping the moisture from her cheeks with my thumbs, and I told her we were just not going to think about the stars today. I told her from that moment on, everything was going to be different, and that she didn’t need to be scared because I was never going to let anyone hurt us again, not the man we were meant to be burying today.

I got up and began my then-familiar routine, but I moved differently than the mourning wife I’d been the first time. I yanked that black dress over my head and zipped it up with a sharp tug, noting how the lace felt coarse against my skin, and I didn't use a veil because I wanted everyone to know just how dry my eyes were. When I got into the kitchen, Martha was already attired in her best mourning weeds, holding a crystal glass of sherry, as she tore into the maid about the silver trays not being polished to her satisfaction.

“‘You’re finally up, though I thought you were going to be a little more... upset, Josephine,’ Martha said, her gaze moving down my face to my shoes with a look that was nothing but pure condemnation. She put her glass down with a banging thud and informed me that the car was waiting, and I should really think about putting on some powder to conceal the fact that I looked like I was going to a gala and not a funeral. I grabbed a piece of toast off the counter and took a bite, telling her not to worry about how I looked, and maybe she should be concerned about her own smudged eyeliner rather than my lack of tears.

​The church was full of people who only came to check if the Hart family was going to fall apart, and I could feel their stares prick me like needles as I made my way down the aisle with Lily’s hand tightly wrapped around mine. I never looked at the flowers or at the pictures of Julian smiling—I just looked at the front row and the solid, empty casket sitting there like a bad joke.

As I sat down, I felt a shadow fall upon me, and raising up, I saw Alexander in the aisle; so imposing was his presence that they seemed to recoil into their pews the moment he entered. He was Julian’s uncle, the man everyone whispered about in boardrooms. and he was currently looking at me with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. He didn't offer a polite nod or a fake word of sympathy; he just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes scanning my face as if he could see the three years of future knowledge I was hiding behind my calm expression.

​"You're holding your head very high today, Josephine," Alexander said, his voice a low, gravelly sound that cut through the murmurs of the crowd. He sat down in the pew directly across from me, never breaking eye contact, and he leaned in slightly as if we were the only two people in the building. I told him that my neck would hurt if I kept it bowed, and I saw a flash of something that looked like genuine respect cross his face before he turned his gaze toward the casket. We sat there in a heavy silence while the organ music started to swell, and I realized that while everyone else was focused on the dead man who wasn't there, Alexander was the only one truly watching the woman who was.