Claimed By The Husband's Ruthless Uncle

The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight. The heavy, rhythmic chimes echoed through the cavernous bridal suite of Maxwell Manor. Diana Atkins sat frozen on the edge of the massive four-poster bed. The cold silk sheets seeped through the layers of her elaborate white wedding gown, chilling her skin. She had been sitting in the exact same position for three hours. A hard, cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach, making every breath feel shallow and forced.

A sharp click of the door handle made her heart slam against her ribs. Diana scrambled to her feet, her fingers instinctively clutching the heavy tulle of her skirt.

The heavy oak door swung open. A man leaned against the doorframe. He was undeniably handsome, but his lips were twisted into a cruel, mocking smirk. This was Julian Maxwell. The man she had just sworn her life to.

A heavy wave of stale whiskey and cloying, unfamiliar floral perfume rolled off him and hit Diana in the face. The scent felt like a physical slap. Her lungs burned as she inhaled.

Julian pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. His eyes dragged over her, moving from the diamond tiara in her hair down to her satin shoes. It was the look of a man inspecting a damaged piece of merchandise.

"So, you are the replacement," Julian said. His voice was flat and entirely devoid of warmth. "Janessa Walsh had better taste, at least in running away."

The blood drained from Diana's face. Her fingertips turned ice-cold. She forced her spine to straighten, digging her nails into her palms to keep her hands from shaking. She had to remember her father's threats. She had to remember the failing Atkins Industries.

Julian did not wait for her to speak. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a leather checkbook and a Montblanc pen. He uncapped the pen with a sharp snap.

He scribbled a series of numbers, tore the check from the book with a loud rip, and tossed it onto the glass surface of the vanity table. It fluttered down like a dead leaf.

"One hundred thousand dollars," Julian said, not looking at her. "For your trouble. Do not expect anything more tonight, or any other night."

Diana stared at the small rectangle of paper. Her throat closed up. The bile rose in her stomach. It felt as though her dignity had been torn from that book and thrown onto the table.

"I am not here for the money." Diana said, her voice trembling slightly.

Julian cut her off with a harsh laugh. "Oh, please. Every Atkins is. Your father sold you, and you showed up. Transaction complete."

He turned his back to her and walked toward the door. He did not spare her a second glance.

"Wait," Diana forced the word out of her tight throat. "Our marriage. Atkins Industries needs the capital injection."

Julian stopped. He slowly turned his head.