Claimed By My Forbidden Uncle

Start Reading

I walked into that VIP lounge ready to sell my soul for a wire transfer. But when the door swung open, it wasn't a desperate investor waiting for me.

It was my uncle.

That night, he didn't offer a handshake. He tossed a contract onto the marble table and forced me to read the clauses aloud, word by agonizing word.

"Spread your legs, Kit," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "Show your uncle exactly what it means to be 'obedient.'"

I buried my face into the leather cushions of the sofa, my lashes heavy with salt, forced to endure every whim of his touch. When I bit my lip to stifle a cry, he pressed his thumb deliberately into the fresh bruise on my hip.

"Were you going to beg him for the money? Or are you begging me? Hmm?"

The air in the private suite was thick enough to choke on.

Miller was on his knees, his forehead split open and oozing. Blood tracked down his greasy face, mixing with cold sweat before dripping onto the plush Persian rug. Five minutes ago, this man had been sliding his hand under the hem of my shirt, asking me exactly how much a disgraced Blackwell heir was worth.

Now, he didn't even dare to breathe in my direction.

I slowly buttoned my shirt, my fingers trembling. I tried to hide it, but the man standing by the door was a thousand times more terrifying than Miller could ever be.

Roman Blackwell hadn't even brought a security detailjust his silent, stone-faced assistant. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit, his tie knotted with lethal precision. His gold-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his straight nose, giving him the air of a refined academic.

But I knew the wolf that lived under that skin.

"Don't stop on my account," Roman said.

He walked in, his handmade Italian oxfords silent on the carpet, yet every step felt like a heel pressed against my carotid artery. He pulled out a chair and sat, casually picking up the keycard Miller had tried to shove into my waistband moments before.

"Why the sudden silence? I thought we were negotiating."

I didn't spare Miller a second glance. I walked over to Roman and lowered my head. "Uncle Roman."

Roman let out a soft, sharp laugh.

He twirled the keycard between his fingers, then suddenly flicked it. It struck Miller across the cheek with a sickening crack that echoed in the dead space of the room.

"Kit," Roman said, his eyes finally locking onto mine from behind those polished lenses. He ignored the trash on the floor. "Have you forgotten the family rules? Are you so desperate for cash that you're selling yourself in backrooms?"

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

I was desperate. More than desperate. My grandfatherthat old gargoylehad blocked every exit. My companys accounts were drained, a hollow shell. If I didn't find the capital to fill the hole by next month, Id be headed to a federal penitentiary for embezzlement.

But I couldn't tell Roman that.

I just lowered my head further, playing the part of the stray dog that had been caught in the trash. "I messed up, Uncle."

Roman stood up. He was a head taller than me, and his shadow seemed to swallow me whole. He reached out, straightening my disheveled collar. His fingertips brushed against my throat, as cold as ice.

"Mistakes require discipline."

He turned and walked out without a word about Miller. I knew Miller was finished. If Roman Blackwell showed up in person, it meant he owned the building, the street, and everyone on it.

I followed him into the back of a black Maybach. The AC was humming, but my back was slick with sweat. The privacy partition slid up, sealing us in.

Roman leaned back, eyes closed, his fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on his knee. The silence was worse than a lecture. I almost wished hed just hit me and get it over with.

"How much do you think youre worth?" he asked, not opening his eyes.

I blinked, caught off guard.

"What was that bottom-feeder offering you? Five million? Ten?" Roman opened his eyes and looked at me, his gaze dripping with mockery. "Youd unbutton your shirt for ten million in a public lounge?"

Shame burned up my spine like a fuse. I clenched my fists until my nails drew blood.

It was fifteen million. That was the price of my life. But I didn't have the courage to say it.

"It wasn't much," I rasped.

Roman scoffed. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my tie, jerking me forward until our faces were inches apart. I could smell his expensive colognesandalwood and cold rain.

"If you're so intent on selling, sell to me."

His gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips, then down to the collarbone Miller had almost touched.

"Blackwell money is still money. And while I don't usually collect trash, I can offer a premium for family."

The car screeched to a halt in front of the Blackwell estate. Roman let go of my tie, brushing his palms together as if hed touched something filthy.

"Get out," he commanded. "Were going to finalize this merger tonight."

The moment the library door locked behind us, I flinched.

This room was my personal hell. Growing up, if I missed a mark or failed to meet the Patriarchs impossible standards, this was where I was sent. But tonight, the executioner had changed.

Roman sat behind the massive marble desk, holding a freshly printed document. It was a contract his assistant must have drafted on the ride over.

A bill of sale. For me.

"Read it."

Roman tossed the papers onto the rug. They landed at my knees. I knelt there, the hard patterns of the carpet digging into my skin. I didn't dare move. I picked up the pages, my hands shaking so hard the paper rattled.

The terms were a masterclass in humiliation.

The Party of the First Part (Roman) has absolute authority over the Party of the Second Part (Kit).

Kit must be available 24/7.

Kit is prohibited from any private contact with third parties.

All social media and communications must be transparent to Roman.

Each violation: a one-million-dollar fine or equivalent physical penance.

This wasn't an investment. It was a leash.

"Read it aloud."

Roman unbuckled his watch and set it on the desk with a heavy clink. Then came the metallic slide of a belt buckle being undone.

I closed my eyes, my voice a broken whisper. "I, Kit Blackwell, voluntarily accept the support of Roman Blackwell, and during this period..."

Snap!

The leather belt cracked against my back. The pain was an explosion. I choked on a groan, collapsing forward, the papers scattering.

"Too quiet. I can't hear you."

Roman was standing over me now, the black leather belt dangling from his hand. He sounded as calm as if he were discussing quarterly earnings.

"Start over."

I pushed myself up, returning to my knees, trembling as I gathered the sheets. "I... Kit Blackwell... voluntarily..."

Snap!

Another one. This time, it landed right on top of the first welt. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt. Ive always had a low pain thresholdgrowing up in that orphanage before the Blackwells "found" me had made me pathologically sensitive to it.

But the twisted part? Under the agony, there was a sickening sense of security.

At least he was looking at me. At least I was here, and not thrown out into the cold. I was broken. I knew it. I could feel my body reacting to the sheer intensity of him.

"You like being hurt?"

Roman must have noticed the change in my breathing. He knelt, using the tip of the belt to tilt my chin up. "You were so bold in front of Miller. Why play the dead dog for me?"

The disgust in his eyes stung more than the belt. I bit my bleeding lip. "I'm not..."

"Not what?"

Roman slapped the contract against my face. "Sign it, and the fifteen million hits your account tomorrow morning. Along with all those 'misplaced' funds you've been hiding. I'll make the audit go away."

I looked up, startled.

He knew? He knew the Patriarch had set me up for the embezzlement charge?

Roman saw my expression and let out a cold laugh. "You think youre smart enough to hide anything from me? The old man is only senile enough to think this would kill you. I know better."

He stood up, looking down at me like I was a bug under a microscope.

"But this money isn't a gift, Kit. From today on, your body is an asset of Roman Blackwell. If you damage it, you're in breach. If you let anyone else touch it, Ill take their hands."

I looked at the contract and reached for the pen. I knew this was slow-acting poison. But I didn't have a choice.

The moment I signed, I became the bird in Romans cage. And somehow, as the cage door slammed shut, I felt a wave of relief. Because the person holding the key was Roman.

The next morning, I was woken up by a notification on the family thread.

The Patriarch was summoning me to the ancestral estate for dinner. Ostensibly, it was a family gathering. In reality, it was a forced introduction to Talia Sterling.

The Sterlings and Blackwells had been at each other's throats for years. The old man wanted to use a marriage to swallow their firmor maybe he just wanted to squeeze one last bit of use out of me before I was discarded.

I stared at the screen, my back still thrumming with the heat of last nights wounds.

Roman stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water tracing the lines of his abs. He saw me staring at my phone and snatched it away.

He glanced at the screen and smirked. "Looking forward to it?"

I went rigid. The contract said no contact with others. "Its a direct order from my grandfather. I don't have the luxury of saying no."

Roman dropped the phone onto the bed and leaned over me, pinning me with his shadow.

"Go if you must," he whispered. "But if you agree to that engagement, Ill break your legs before you can walk down the aisle."

7:00 PM. The Blackwell Manor.

The crystal chandeliers were blinding. The long dining table was filled with family members wearing masks of polite deceit. I sat across from Talia. Roman, being my "senior," sat diagonally across from me.

He was in a navy suit now, looking every bit the perfect gentleman as he charmed Talias father.

Only I knew that under the table, his shoe was sliding up my pant leg.

The hard leather of his custom oxford dragged against my calf, over my knee, and higher. I gripped my fork until my knuckles turned white, forcing a smile onto my face.

"Are you feeling alright, Kit?" Talia was sharp. She noticed the sweat on my brow.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just a bit warm."

"Kit has trouble sleeping in new beds," Roman interjected, his voice lazy and smooth. "He was at my place last night. We stayed up quite late... working."

The table went silent for a heartbeat. Talias father looked stiff; the Patriarchs face turned a shade of bruised purple. Everyone knew Roman was the "outsider" son, the one who didn't get along with me. Nobody knew what "working" actually meant.

Under the table, Romans foot became more daring, pressing into my inner thigh. Right where a small mole sata spot hed spent hours mocking the night before.

He was pushing me. He was forcing me to ruin this arrangement myself. If I didn't reject the marriage, he was going to cause a scene that would destroy us both.

But a spark of rebellion flickered in me. Why? Why did he get to own every breath I took? If I married Talia, could I use her family to escape him? Even if it was just trading one cage for another.

I looked up at Talia and gave her the most convincing smile I could muster.

"Talia, I think this union is an excellent idea. In fact, why wait? We should set a date for the engagement party."

The movement under the table stopped instantly. A gaze that could kill pierced through me. I didn't look at Roman.

"Uncle, you don't need to worry about my personal life anymore," I said, raising my wine glass toward him.

Roman didn't move. He stared at me for three long seconds, then he smiled. It was the kind of smile that made the hair on my neck stand up.

"Is that so?" He swirled his red wine, his eyes glinting. "I wonder if the bride-to-be knows about that mole on your inner thigh? The one that makes you shake the moment it's touched?"

Before the dinner was even over, Roman had dragged me into the second-floor powder room. The lock clickeda sound like a death sentence.

"Youre insane, Roman!"

He slammed me against the marble vanity. The edge hit my lower back, making me gasp in pain.

"I'm insane?" Roman pressed his body against mine, one hand crushing my throat, his grip nearly cutting off my air. "You've got some nerve, Kit. Agreeing to an engagement right in front of me? Did my words go in one ear and out the other?"

The mirror reflected us. It was a violent, suffocating tableau. My face was flushed from the lack of oxygen, but I stared back at him with everything I had left.

"I need... to get married," I choked out. "I need a normal life. I won't be your dog forever."

The rage in Romans eyes was nuclear.

"A normal life?" He let go of my throat, but before I could breathe, he grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back. "You think youll find that here? With Talia Sterling?"

He leaned in, his voice a lethal hiss. "You think the Sterlings are clean? Her father owes three hundred million in gambling debts. They aren't looking for a son-in-law; they're looking for a carcass to strip. Only I am willing to take you in."

I froze. The Sterlings were broke? The Patriarch hadn't mentioned that.

"Call it off," Roman commanded.

"No." I gritted my teeth. Even if the Sterlings were a bonfire, Id jump into it. Anything to get a mile away from Roman. "Im doing this to find out what happened to my mother"

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

Roman paused. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me. "Your mother? Youre still looking for the woman who dumped you at an orphanage gate?"

That was the wound that never healed. "None of your business!" I yelled.

"Youre right. Its not."

Roman smiled coldly and began to unknot his silk tie. The sound of the fabric sliding was deafening in the small room. He grabbed my wrists, yanking them behind my back and binding them tight with the silk.

"Since you don't want to call off the engagement, don't. I'll just carry you out there right now and announce our arrangement myself. Lets see how the Sterling girl feels about the Blackwell heir begging for mercy in his uncle's arms."

He reached for the door handle.

Terror flooded me. If he did that, I was destroyed. Not just my reputation, but any scrap of leverage I had left in this family.

"Don't!" I panicked, my body shrinking back. "I'll do it! I'll call it off!"

You coward, I told myself. You pathetic coward.

Roman stopped. He turned back to look at me, disheveled and broken. He patted my cheek, like one might comfort a frightened pet.

"See? That wasn't so hard. Just remember, Kityou have nowhere to go but here."

That night, Roman didn't take me to my room. He threw me into the basement of his private villa. It had been renovated recently. It wasn't a dark storage room anymore; it was carpeted, filled with stuffed animals, and held a single bed.

It looked like a cozy childs room. But as I looked at the furniture, I began to shake.

It was a perfect, one-to-one recreation of my room at the orphanage. Right down to the scratches on the baseboards.

It was my nightmare. And it was the place where Roman and I had met for the very first time.