Your Uncle, My True Love

“Harry Smith… what did you just say to your wife?”The deep voice resonated through the night — commanding, steady, and filled with authority.Every head turned toward the source. The laughter and chatter that had filled the party evaporated instantly, leaving behind a thick, uneasy silence.Even the guests still holding their champagne glasses lowered them slowly, afraid that the faintest clink might break the tension.From the villa’s doorway, James Walker stepped inside.The middle-aged man wore a dark suit and a neatly knotted grey tie, but his eyes burned with a restrained fury that betrayed his calm appearance.His jaw was tight, his expression carved in stone, and each step he took felt heavy — like a man who had been suppressing anger for far too long.The air itself seemed to tense with every stride he made.“Uncle James…” Harry’s voice faltered; his whole body stiffened.But James didn’t respond right away. His sharp gaze swept over the garden — once filled with laughter, no

That morning, sunlight slipped gently through the bedroom curtains. The air was still damp from last night’s rain, carrying a faint scent of wet earth. Birds chirped outside, as if the world was trying to appear normal again — though for Emma Taylor, the world had stopped turning since the night of that party.She opened her eyes slowly, a dull ache pulsing in her head. The room was silent. Only the ticking of the wall clock filled the air. Emma stared at the ceiling, trying to recall what had happened the night before.Then it all returned like fragments of a film: Harry and Sophie kissing, the sting of a slap on her cheek, the disgusted stares of the guests — and then, James’s deep voice cutting through the chaos.Emma pushed herself upright carefully. Her blanket had been neatly folded, and on the small bedside table sat a glass of warm water and a plate of toast. She stared at them for a long time, feeling uneasy. It definitely wasn’t her housekeeper who had done this.Then she he

Morning crept in slowly, slipping through the white curtains of James’s living room.A faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of birds outside the window.On the large, soft sofa, Emma was still asleep — her face a little calmer now than it had been the night before, though the shadows of exhaustion had not completely faded from beneath her eyes.James stood not far away, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up. In his hand, a cup of coffee steamed gently.He gazed at the woman for a long while, his eyes reflecting something difficult to name — a mixture of compassion, admiration, and a deep, gnawing guilt.Emma stirred slightly beneath the blanket. Her head still felt heavy, but the cool morning air drifting in from the window brought a fragile sense of ease. She opened her eyes slowly and found James sitting in a chair beside the sofa, his coffee still warm in his hand.“You haven’t gone to work yet?” she asked, her voice

It had been a week since the doctor confirmed Emma’s pregnancy. Since that day, James’s life had shifted course.He could still remember Emma’s pale, panicked face when her secret was exposed—how she had gripped his hand with pleading eyes.From that moment on, James had not known a single night of peaceful sleep. He knew Emma was stubborn, but pregnancy was not something she could face alone. So he made a decision: he would protect her, even from a distance.Every morning, before heading to the office, James would stop by Emma’s design studio. He never went inside—only watched from afar, making sure she arrived safely and looked well. Sometimes, he left a small bag of fruit or bread by the door, without a note.Emma knew it was from him, but she pretended not to care. Silently, she allowed those little gestures to continue.James also instructed his assistant to quietly block a few negative articles mentioning Emma. Some gossip outlets had started linking her divorce to a major scand

The room fell silent in an instant.Sophie forced a tense smile before replying, “Every artist has their inspirations. But these designs are mine—copies of no one. And this haircut… must be a coincidence.”The reporter nodded slowly, then continued, “In that case, perhaps you know where Emma Taylor is tonight? She used to attend every major gala like this. It feels rather strange not seeing her among the designers.”Sophie froze for a brief moment. Cameras immediately focused on her face.Harry quickly intervened with a light laugh. “Emma’s probably busy with her new project. The fashion world is vast—everyone has their own path.”The reporter offered a thin smile. “Of course. Still, the sudden disappearance of someone as iconic as Emma Taylor… quite intriguing, isn’t it?”Flashes erupted once more, capturing the flicker of unease on Sophie’s face. She straightened her shoulders and forced a professional smile.“Emma’s simply taking a break from the spotlight,” she replied smoothly. “