My Fiancé's Uncle is Obsessed With Me!

Emily Nathan did not return until later, his lips swollen from the kiss and Lily trailing behind him. I simply laced my hands around his, adjusting his tie as cameras clicked around us, wanting to take a hot shot of the latest elite couple in the society. I felt those eyes on me again, but I ignored it reaching for a glass of champagne as I and Nathan climbed the stage, thanking everyone for coming and participating in this 'special moment' that would mark the beginning of a union between two families Everyone clapped, murmuring how perfect we seemed together. I downed the drink in a toast, distancing myself from Nathan the moment we were no longer the focus of attention The alcohol warmed me quickly, loosening the tight coil in my chest. Conversations blurred into background noise—laughter, clinking glasses, polite congratulations. I smiled when required, nodded when spoken to, but my thoughts kept drifting back to dark eyes and a voice that didn’t ask permission. By the

Emily Assured that what happened remains between us, I tightened the robe around me and slipped out of the room, scanning the hallway for movements, I walked as fast as I could down the long corridor, all the rooms had the same doors, no wonder I went into the wrong room. I tried to remember which room the the maid had taken my luggage to. I couldn't I could only guess. The only main room on this floor other than Adrian's was Nathan's. Others were guest rooms Trying my luck, I open the first guest room beside Nathan's slightly, peeking inside. It was empty. I sighed in relief and slipped into the room, closing the door behind me. At a corner of the room was my luggage. Perfect, I'm in the right room. It made sense though, placing my luggage in the room beside my fiancé's. I looked around the room. A modest bed, neutral walls, a single window letting in soft morning light. Nice for a guest room. The bathroom was small but functional. I turned on the s

Emily The day passed in a haze of polite conversation, carefully curated activities, and subtle tension. I had spent the hours after breakfast wandering the Carter estate under Nathan’s mother’s guidance, helping in the garden, attending to small family errands, and sharing tea with Nathan’s parents. I tried to stay composed, engaging only when necessary, smiling politely, nodding in agreement, and responding in measured tones. Yet, every laugh or gesture felt dampened by a lingering awareness of what had happened the night before. Lunch was quiet, a meal filled with carefully selected topics: minor family events, distant relatives, and the occasional gentle tease about my engagement. Nathan was easy enough, keeping his tone distant yet polite. He seemed relieved to let the morning pass without the weight of pretense, giving me room to navigate my own thoughts. The afternoon dragged, slow but intentionally pleasant. Nathan’s mother insisted we spend some time in the drawing ro

Emily I woke up slowly. Not the gentle kind of waking, but the kind where awareness seeps in through discomfort. My body ached—deeper than soreness, deeper than fatigue. It was the kind of ache that reminded me of everything I didn’t want to think about yet. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking, breathing. Get up, I told myself. Just get up. But my limbs felt heavy, uncooperative. I shifted slightly, and the ache sharpened, radiating through my lower back, my thighs, my shoulders. I pressed my lips together, annoyance flaring. This is ridiculous. I reached for my phone on the bedside table, more out of habit than intention. The screen lit up. Three notifications. Unknown number. My stomach sank. I opened the messages. I’m missing you already. What do I do? My fingers tightened around the phone. Another message, sent minutes later. Are you asleep? And then— I should probably just tie you to me so I won’t have to worry or miss you. What do you think? I stare

Emily I descended the stairs with measured steps, spine straight, shoulders squared, expression neutral. Control. That was the goal today. I'd chosen this outfit carefully—a tailored blouse tucked neatly into high-waisted trousers, a blazer structured enough to make me feel anchored. It wasn’t flashy, not loud, not attention-seeking. Just elegant. Clean lines. Muted colors. The kind of clothing that said I belong anywhere I stand. It felt foreign on my body. I rarely dressed like this. As a sculptor, days were spent in oversized shirts, worn jeans, clothes I didn’t mind ruining with clay dust and plaster stains. Clothing was usually an afterthought, a practical necessity rather than a statement. Today, it was armor. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The servants paused—not fully stopping, but slowing just enough for me to notice. A glance here. A whisper there. I ignored it. My gaze swept the living room instinctively, search