Claimed By My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle

The sharp, electronic beep of the hotel room lock disengaging pierced the heavy silence.

Abigayle's eyes snapped open.

The blinding light from the hallway flooded the dim suite, stabbing directly into her retinas.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach rolling in a violent wave of nausea.

Her limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement.

She tried to push herself up, but a dull ache radiated through her lower body, and the cold air hit her bare skin.

The thick hotel duvet slipped down, revealing a constellation of dark, angry marks blooming across her collarbones and chest.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the plush carpet.

Before her brain could process the sensory overload, the rapid, blinding flashes of camera lenses exploded in the room.

The harsh white light fired like strobe lightning.

Abigayle gasped, her lungs burning as she instinctively threw her arm over her face to block the assault.

Her trembling fingers blindly searched the foot of the bed, grabbing a massive, wrinkled men's dress shirt.

She yanked the fabric against her chest, her heart slamming against her ribs so hard she thought they might crack.

"Disgusting."

The voice was cold, dripping with absolute contempt.

Abigayle lowered her arm, her vision swimming before finally focusing on the man standing at the foot of the bed.

Jeffery Sullivan.

Her fiancé stood there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his fingers casually adjusting his expensive cuffs.

There was no shock in his eyes. No heartbreak. Only a chilling, calculated satisfaction.

Right behind him, her best friend, Kim Stein, rushed into the room.

Kim slapped a hand over her mouth, letting out a loud, theatrical gasp that echoed off the walls.

"Abigayle! How could you?" Kim shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the messy sheets and the red marks on Abigayle's neck. "How could you do this to Jeffery?"

Abigayle's throat was sandpaper.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind was a complete, terrifying blank.

She couldn't remember leaving the charity gala. She couldn't remember walking into this room.

Jeffery let out a dry, humorless laugh.

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a crisp, folded piece of paper.

He stepped forward and threw it directly at her face.

The sharp edge of the thick paper sliced a tiny, stinging line across Abigayle's cheek before landing on the white duvet.

It was a lab report from New York-Presbyterian Hospital.

The bold black ink screamed the results: Progesterone levels elevated. Pregnancy confirmed. Eight weeks.

Abigayle stared at the letters until they blurred.

Her blood turned to ice water in her veins.

"That's impossible," she choked out, her voice cracking. "Jeffery, we haven't even..."

"You not only spread your legs for some random bastard, but you're carrying his bastard, too," Kim interrupted, stepping closer to the bed.

Kim's voice was laced with fake agony, but Abigayle saw it.

She saw the malicious gleam dancing in Kim's eyes. She saw Kim's finger twirling a