I Married the Billionaire Uncle!

Airport terminal. Oversized shades hid my face. It didn't matter. The exfiancé who ghosted me two years ago to watch African elephants spotted me anyway. Tristan.

He closed the gap. His eyes locked on mine. "Genevieve. I came back to marry you." I lowered my shades. My brows knit together. "Who are—" A smirk tugged his lips.

He chuckled. "Come on, Gen. Drop the grudge." He waved a hand. "I never planned to stay away this long. After Brynn saw the elephants, she demanded to shoot a documentary.

I only have one sister. I had to cave." A starkwhite grin flashed across his sunbaked face. "But look! Two years of filming wrapped.

I caught the first flight back to fulfill our engagement." I stared at him. The sunbaked stranger finally clicked into place. My exfiancé. Wait a second. Did nobody tell him?

The exact day he bailed on our wedding, I married his uncle Evander. Chapter 1 Brynn perched atop a massive piece of designer luggage.

Tristan rolled her through the crowded arrivals terminal. Two years under the relentless African sun had baked their skin a deep, leathery bronze.

They looked less like glamorous jetsetters and more like they had just crawled out of a coal mine. Tristan used to be sharp.

Handsome with an aristocratic elegance and a sculpted build. Honestly, his visual appeal was the only reason I ever agreed to the corporate merger disguised as a marriage.

Now… I swallowed a laugh. Thank God I didn't actually marry him. I took off my oversized shades. A tight, polite smile stretched across my lips. "My apologies. It's been a while.

You two look… entirely different. I almost walked right past you." Brynn scoffed. The familiar, grating edge in her tone instantly set my teeth on edge. "Drop the act, Genevieve.

You’ve been desperately waiting here for Tristan." She crossed her arms, her chin tilting up in defiance. "If we hadn't trashed our SIM cards and gone off the grid, your obsessed ass would have stalked us all the way to the savanna." Brynn shot Tristan a sickeningly sweet look before glaring back at me. "I still don't understand why Tristan insists on marrying someone who brings absolutely nothing to the table but a pretty face." She ripped her gaze away, puffing out her cheeks in an exaggerated, petulant pout.

Tristan simply chuckled. He reached out, threading his fingers through her hair before affectionately tapping the tip of her nose. "Play nice, Brynn.

Once Genevieve and I tie the knot, she’ll be your sisterinlaw.

Show a little respect." He leaned in, his voice dropping into a teasing register. "Or I'm canceling our European art tour next year." Having successfully coddled his grownass adopted sister, Tristan finally leveled his gaze on me. "She throws tantrums.

You know how it is." He sighed, stepping dangerously close into my personal space. "Mark died pulling me from that wreck. She lost her father to save my life.

Once we're married, we become a united front.

I expect you to step up, protect her, and treat her like your own sister." Did the man even hear the absolute garbage spilling out of his mouth? An elegant eye roll escaped me.

I lifted my left hand.

The blinding, multicarat diamond on my ring finger caught the harsh terminal lights, practically screaming my marital status. "Tristan," I let his name drip from my lips with sheer icy detachment. "I actually owe you a huge thank you.

Ditching me was the greatest favor you ever did.

It cleared the way for me to marry a man who outclasses you in every conceivable metric." I took a deliberate step back, severing the proximity. "So, reel in the ego.

I'm not here for you. I'm waiting for my husband." Tristan went rigid. The breath stalled in his chest. His dark eyes narrowed, sweeping over my face for any trace of a lie.

A slow, arrogant smirk crawled back onto his face. "Genevieve." He let out a harsh, patronizing laugh. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?" He stepped closer, attempting to tower over me. "The merger between our families dominated every headline in high society.

The city's elite showed up to that cathedral two years ago.

Every single person in this city knows you are my fiancée." Tristan shoved his hands into his pockets, brimming with unchecked male audacity. "Look, I get it.

Me bailing humiliated you. I own that. But let's look at reality. Your reputation took a massive hit. You became damaged goods.

If you don't marry back into the Sterling family, who the hell else is going to take you?" The sheer audacity knocked the breath right out of me. This was his twisted logic.

He genuinely believed that by abandoning me at the altar, he branded me as a pathetic, discarded woman. A pariah nobody else would ever touch.

He severely overestimated his own worth. And he catastrophically underestimated me.

To clean up the massive PR nightmare Tristan left behind, Wallace—the ruthless patriarch of the Sterling family—had to pay a heavy financial and social price.

To extinguish my family’s absolute fury, Wallace legally transferred every single corporate share meant for Tristan’s inheritance directly into my name.

Judging by the smug look plastered on Tristan's face, he remained entirely clueless. Of course he did.

He threw away his phone and ghosted his entire bloodline for two solid years just to play safari guide for Brynn. He had zero intel on the nuclear fallout back home.

Let's see if he can maintain that arrogant smirk when he finally drags himself back to the Sterling estate tonight. Memories clawed at the back of my mind.

Tristan had relentlessly pursued me for over six months, burying me in grand gestures.

I only caved and accepted his ring because he possessed a spotless reputation—no scandals, no string of broken hearts. A safe bet.

But almost immediately after the engagement, Brynn materialized. The orphaned, adopted sister he worshipped and treated like royalty. Then came the wedding day.

The memory hit me—a sharp, stinging flash of the bridal suite. Tristan’s phone buzzing.

The panicked look in his eyes when he answered her call. "Tristan," her frantic, breathless voice had echoed through the receiver. "Remember your promise?

You swore you'd take me to Africa to see the elephants. I'm standing on the edge of the airport roof.

If you don't come right now, I'm jumping." Chapter 2 Tristan shot me a fleeting, apologetic glance. His fingers slipped from mine.

He sprinted down the aisle, abandoning a cathedral packed with New York's elite. Two text messages hit my phone. Then, complete radio silence. [Mark saved my life.

Brynn is his only daughter. I can't let anything happen to her!] [Relax. I'll watch the elephants with her and fly right back. One week, tops.

We'll finish the wedding and head to the Maldives. Promise.] Wallace was absolutely livid.

Desperate to extinguish the massive PR fire and salvage the family alliance, the Sterling patriarch cornered me in the bridal suite. "Genevieve. I failed to raise a real man.

Name your price. Any compensation you want, it's yours." I pointed a single finger straight at Wallace's youngest son. Evander.

The ruthless CEO who was the actual head of the Sterling empire. "Give him to me," I demanded. "I've already bought the dress, and this cathedral needs a groom, and he's going to be my compensation." Just like that, I married my exfiancé's uncle.

The memory faded. I checked my Apple Watch. Evander's flight should have landed by now. Before I could type out a checkin text, my screen lit up with his name. [Babe.

The airline delayed the flight. Just boarded. Landing late, so don't wait up. Tell Asher to bring the car around.] [Love you. ❤️] The tension drained from my shoulders.

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Suddenly, staring at my garbage exfiancé—my current nephew—didn't feel quite so annoying. Tristan crossed his arms.

He stared at my lit screen, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Cute. Where did you hire the fake boyfriend? Saved him as 'Hubby' too? And a convenient flight delay?

Drop the act, Gen. You know I hate it when you try to make me jealous." He stepped right into my personal space. The stifling scent of stale terminal air mixed with his cologne.

His rough fingers reached out, aiming to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I quickly stepped back. His hand froze in midair. "I told you.

I'm married." I shot him a cold glare. "Touch me again, Tristan, and I guarantee someone will shatter both your legs before midnight." Tristan barked a harsh laugh.

He pointed a long finger right at my collarbone. "That emerald pendant." He raised a triumphant eyebrow. "Wallace explicitly reserved that heirloom for the Sterling family bride.

You're wearing it right now, and you expect me to buy this secret husband crap?" The man possessed half a brain. Wallace did handdeliver the heirloom to me.

He just gave it to his daughterinlaw, not his grandson's wife. "I married—" "Is that the Imperial Phoenix emerald?" Brynn shrieked, slicing right through my sentence.

She scrambled off her designer luggage. She shoved her way right between Tristan and me. Her eyes locked onto the flawless green stone resting against my skin.

Instant, manufactured tears pooled in her eyes. She latched onto Tristan’s bicep, her voice dropping into a pathetic, trembling whisper. "Tristan.

I begged Wallace for that piece for years. He always refused. And now he just hands it over to an outsider?

Does Grandpa… does he even see me as real family?" She buried her face in Tristan's shoulder. "I guess I'm just the dead chauffeur's charity case.

I don't have Gen's trust fund or her perfect pedigree. Of course Wallace plays favorites." Tristan's features softened into a puddle of toxic guilt.

He shot me a pleading, exasperated look. "She's young, Gen. Her trauma makes her incredibly insecure. Just be the bigger person and let her have this.

She obviously wants the pendant. Take it off and give it to her. I'll buy you a massive, flawless diamond to replace it tomorrow.

Something ten times better." Chapter 3 "Tristan, I highly recommend you get your head checked." My voice dropped to an icy, deadpan drawl. "If my memory serves me right, Brynn is twentyfive.

She’s literally months older than me. I despise entitled brats, and I absolutely loathe manipulative pickme girls who try to steal what isn't theirs. Congratulations, Brynn.

You check both boxes." Brynn’s face crumpled. Crocodile tears spilled over her lashes right on cue. "Tristan will spoil me no matter how old I am!

You're just insanely jealous!" She jabbed a finger in my direction. "You aren't even married to him yet! What right does an outsider have to take Sterling family heirlooms?

You're the shameless one!" Brynn paraded around as the Sterling family’s adopted daughter, but it was all smoke and mirrors. She never took the Sterling last name.

Wallace had flatout refused to add her to the legal trust or officially adopt her. Strictly speaking, she was just an outsider crashing at our estate.

Tristan had fought Wallace tooth and nail to make her an official Sterling heiress, but Wallace shut him down instantly. Tristan carried that guilt like a cross.

And right now, watching her weaponize those tears, his toxic savior complex flared up. He pulled his brows into a miserable knot. "Brynn isn't like you, Gen.

She doesn't have parents. She only has me.

Wallace refused to legally adopt her, so of course she has crippling anxiety…" "Fixing her legal status is incredibly simple." I cut him off. "Just marry her." I reached behind my neck, unclasping the cold chain. "If you do, I'll happily hand over the emerald as a wedding gift.

It officially belongs to the Sterling grandson's wife, anyway." I let the flawless stone dangle from my fingertips, holding it out to Brynn. Her eyes blew wide.

Undisguised greed flashed across her face. Her hand shot out to snatch it. "Stop!" Tristan lunged.

He snatched the pendant from the air, clutching it tightly in his fist. "What kind of nonsense are you talking about?" A frantic edge bled into his voice. "Brynn is just—she's my sister!

You are the woman I'm spending my life with!" He reached out, desperate to grab my wrist. "You can't be jealous of Brynn. She's family. You're my fiancée.

Drop the attitude, Gen, or I'm actually going to lose my temper." He poured every ounce of manufactured devotion into his gaze. It didn't make my heart flutter.

It made my stomach violently turn. I didn't waste another breath. I pivoted on my heel and walked away. Tristan's voice barked my name, echoing against the terminal glass.

I tuned it out. I hit the automatic sliding doors. The muggy night air slammed into me, accompanied by the silent arrival of a jetblack Maybach.

Asher stepped out, pulling the rear door open with a crisp nod. "Ma'am. The boss said to get him later.

Should I drop you at the estate first?" Evander had been grinding out a twoweek business trip in London.

Wallace knew his flight landed tonight and had practically mandated a large family dinner at the main compound. Someone rudely shoved past me.

Brynn threw herself into the Maybach's plush leather seats. She settled in, flashing a venomous smirk. "Thought you were married? Why are you freeloading in a Sterling family car?

Go call your imaginary husband for a ride." Brynn recognized the Maybach instantly. It belonged to Tristan’s ruthless uncle, Evander. Tristan clocked the license plate too.

A wave of awe washed over his face. Evander practically ruled New York and never concerned himself with minor errands like airport pickups.

Tristan slid into the backseat right next to Brynn.

He leaned over, clicking her seatbelt into place before shooting me a dismissive look through the open door. "Grab the passenger seat, Gen. Brynn needs to sit next to me.

You know her anxiety. I'll have the driver drop you off at your parents' place." "Pass. I brought my own ride." I looked at the driver. "Asher, take them back to the estate.

I have errands." I dug into my Prada bag, pulling out a sleek, carbonfiber key fob. I pressed the button.

Fifty yards away, the aggressive headlights of a matteblack Lamborghini Veneno flared to life. The monstrous roar of the V12 engine echoed through the dropoff lane.

Envy flashed in Brynn's eyes as I pulled away. Back in the Maybach, Tristan let out a heavy, selfsatisfied sigh. "She drove that absolute beast here just to pick me up.

She's definitely throwing a fit because I didn't get in her car." Chapter 4 Inside the Maybach, Tristan turned to the driver. "Wait, did Evander actually send you to pick me up?" Asher checked the rearview mirror, his expression neutral. "No, sir.

I’m here for the boss." The air in the luxury sedan immediately turned thick and awkward. It took Tristan a good five seconds to process that burn. "…Oh. Right.

Weird coincidence," Tristan muttered, shifting uncomfortably against the leather. "So, where is he?" "Delayed," Asher shot back, cutting off the conversation.

Instead of engaging with their pathetic circus, I treated myself to a long, luxurious spa day. By the time my massive blowout and facial were done, it was pushing dinnertime.

I grabbed my keys and made the drive out to the main Sterling estate. I pulled into the grand cobblestone driveway.

Right outside the towering iron gates, two figures were kneeling on the hard concrete, rigid as stone. Asher had obviously done exactly as instructed.

He dropped them off, and the second Wallace, the formidable patriarch, heard that Tristan and Brynn had returned, he exploded in rage.

He slammed his ivory cane against the marble floor and banned them from crossing the threshold. "Get out!" Wallace had roared through the intercom. "I’d rather you both rot in Africa.

Why the hell did you come back?" Tristan, banking on Wallace’s nonexistent soft spot, collapsed onto his knees outside the gate in a pathetic show of contrition.

Brynn, the everfaithful sidekick, knelt right beside him. When my Lamborghini roared up the drive, Tristan scrambled to his feet.

He planted himself right in front of me, his kickeddog expression vanishing, replaced by a wave of smugness. "I knew it," he gloated, crowding my space. "I knew you couldn't stay away.

You heard Grandpa punished me, and you rushed over here, didn't you? You came to save me." I turned my face away in disgust, trying to step around his massive, sunbaked frame.

He moved again, blocking me. His tone dropped into that nauseating, fauxprotective register. "Don't go inside, Gen. Seriously. Wallace is on a warpath.

I'm just looking out for you. I don't want him taking his anger out on you too." Before I could shove him out of the way, Brynn appeared at his side.

She got right in my face, jabbing a manicured finger at my chest. "Are you serious right now? Are you still holding that stupid grudge because Tristan dumped you for me?

That was years ago, get over it! You’re the one who caused this, aren't you? You gaslit Wallace. He worships Tristan.

He’d never bar him from the estate unless some manipulative bitch was pulling the strings. You only showed up to laugh at us! To enjoy the spectacle!" Brynn completely snapped.

She lunged, clawing at my arm. I simply pivoted, letting her momentum carry her. She stumbled forward, landing hard on the concrete.

Brynn shrieked as her knees smacked the pavement, instantly scraping raw skin. Manufactured tears spilled from her eyes before she even looked up. Tristan winced.

The cocky smile vanished. He didn't even look at me; he instantly knelt over Brynn, inspecting the damage.

His fingers swept over her legs with practiced ease, cooing soothing words.

He swept her up in his arms, cradling her like a child until her dramatic sobs subsided into a pathetic pout. Then, finally, Tristan remembered I existed.

He shot me a heavy, disappointing sigh. "Genevieve. Honestly? I don't even recognize you anymore." He held Brynn tighter against his chest. "Brynn speaks before she thinks.

She’s impulsive. You know this. If you’re going to be my wife, you have to learn to tolerate her, to rise above it.

You’re going to apologize to Brynn right now, and we’ll call it even." He leveled an intense, controlling gaze at me. "But going forward, I seriously expect you to work on this attitude." I stared at him.

Was he absolute human garbage? Did he really just demand I apologize for his sister assaulting me? A dark, lethal chuckle escaped my lips. "Oh, absolutely.

Would you like some compensation with that apology? Maybe something to mend her delicate glass heart?" Naked greed flashed in Brynn’s eyes.

She lifted her head from Tristan’s shoulder. "I actually am in the market for a new car. The ride you drove here today… it’s actually acceptable." The Lamborghini Veneno.

One of only three in existence globally. I had paid over four million dollars for that car, and it was now worth ten. Brynn possessed some serious nerve.

Tristan, ever the benevolent dictator of my life, nodded in agreement. "There you go. Since Brynn likes it, just sign the title over to her.

Consider it payment for the emotional distress and that injury you just caused." I stood perfectly still, looking at him.

God, he was small. "Tell me something, Tristan." My voice was eerily calm. "Do you know what my answer is?" Tristan’s brow furrowed.

He actually paused to think about it. "What?" "I’m saying," I snapped, the ice finally breaking, "No. Way. In. Hell." I shoved past Tristan, sending him stumbling back a step.

I didn't glance back as I headed straight for the estate’s main entrance. "Stop!" Tristan realized he had just lost control of the situation.

His face contorted, twisting into a mask of cold fury. "Genevieve, I am laying down the law right now!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "You do not apologize to Brynn, you do not sign that title over, then don't even dream of becoming my wife.

Forget about marrying me, and forget about ever setting foot inside the Sterling family ever again!" Chapter 5 Thwack—A solid, handcarved mahogany cane sailed through the air.

It cracked squarely against Tristan’s skull. Wallace’s booming, authoritative voice echoed across the grand courtyard, ringing clear as a gunshot. "You absolute bastard!

That is your aunt!" Tristan winced, aggressively rubbing the back of his head. "What the hell, Grandpa?

You're terrifying Brynn!" He looked around the courtyard, genuinely confused. "And who the hell is Anne? Did you hire a new maid?" Dead silence dropped over the driveway.

Edgar, the head butler supporting Wallace’s arm, stared at me. The entire lineup of estate staff slowly shifted their eyes in my direction.

Completely oblivious, Tristan snapped his fingers at the row of staff. "Well? Which one of you is Anne?

Get a damn medic out here for Brynn's knees." "You dense idiot!" Wallace was vibrating with sheer rage. He violently shoved Edgar’s supporting hands away.

He snatched his cane off the pavement and brought it down hard, repeatedly striking Tristan’s calves. Veins pulsed dangerously against Wallace's temples.

Worried the old patriarch might actually collapse from anger, I quickly stepped forward. "Dad. Breathe. He's not worth the blood pressure spike." A tremor seized Tristan’s frame.

The ringing in his ears must have been deafening. His arms instantly went slack. Brynn hit the concrete with a pathetic, sharp yelp. He didn't even blink.

His fingers shot out, clamping down on my wrist like a steel vice. "Gen. You misspoke." His voice was a raw, frantic rasp. "That's my Grandpa.

He's your future grandfatherinlaw, not your Dad." "Genevieve is Evander's wife!" Wallace roared, striking the asphalt with his cane. "Show some respect to your elders!

Take your hands off her!" Tristan’s pupils blew wide. His face went completely pale.

He stumbled backward, releasing my wrist as if my skin had burned him. "No." He shook his head in a visceral denial. "Evander would never marry her.

That's impossible." I couldn't entirely blame him for shortcircuiting. Evander was notoriously untouchable.

Wall Street rumors swore he either possessed impossibly ruthless standards, or he simply wasn't into women at all. Before the wedding, Evander and I had interacted exactly twice.

Once at the engagement gala, when he accepted a champagne flute from me. And once at the altar, when he took my hand.

Honestly, when I demanded a groom swap to save face, I fully expected a cold, humiliating rejection. Tristan practically lunged at a terrified maid.

He dug his fingers into her shoulder and pointed a violently shaking finger at me. "Tell me!

What is her relationship with Evander?" The girl cowered beneath his unhinged glare. "TTristan," she stuttered, her voice trembling. "She is Mr. Evander's wife." The Boss.

Evander. "Liar!" Tristan violently shoved the maid aside. He whipped his manic gaze toward the head butler. "Edgar. You practically raised me. You wouldn't lie to my face.

Tell me the truth!" Edgar held a suffocating, heavy silence. He finally offered a slow, pitying nod. "It is the absolute truth, sir.

She is your aunt." "Liars!" Tristan’s voice cracked into a desperate screech. "Every single one of you is lying to me!" His face turned extremely grim. Desperation clawed at him.

He ripped his phone from his pocket, frantically dialing Camille—his older sister based in London. The FaceTime connected.

Camille’s flawless, sarcastic sneer filled the screen. "Well, well. Aren't you busy playing safari guide? Shocked you remembered how to dial my number.

I figured you completely replaced your actual sister with that charity case." She paused, taking a slow sip of her martini. "Then again, you threw your own wife away too, so it tracks." Normally, Tristan would launch into a defensive screaming match.

Not today.

He shoved the glowing screen directly into my face. "Camille," he choked out, his breathing erratic. "Who is she?" Camille’s icy demeanor instantly melted into a bright, genuine smile. "Aunt Genevieve!

Oh my god, your skin looks absolutely glowing—" The screen went black. Tristan had abruptly ended the call. He stood completely paralyzed. His chin dropped to his chest.

His knuckles turned a stark, bone white. Chapter 6 Wallace exhaled, thinking the harsh reality had finally set in. He opened his mouth, likely to offer a shred of comfort.

Tristan cut him off. "Grandpa.

Why did you force the entire staff to play along with Gen's sick prank?" Tristan stared up, desperation clawing at his throat. "I know dropping off the grid for two years was wrong.

You beat me. I'm kneeling. But you cannot joke about this." He was still suffocating in his own delusion. Wallace’s knuckles turned bonewhite on his cane. He raised it high.

I reached out, wrapping my fingers around the polished wood, stopping the strike. I locked eyes with Tristan. My voice dropped to a dead, clinical flatline. "Google it, Tristan.

The day you ran, Evander and I taking over the cathedral hit the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Walk upstairs to my suite in the east wing.

There's a massive wedding portrait hanging over our bed. Look at it yourself.

If that doesn't cure your delusion, I’ll happily fetch the marriage certificate." The words marriage certificate physically broke him. His knees gave out.

He slumped hard against the concrete. Bloodshot veins fractured the whites of his eyes. He stared at me with pure betrayal, as if I was the one who destroyed us.

The multicarat diamond on my left hand. The Imperial Phoenix emerald resting against my collarbone. The delayed flight for the actual head of the family.

The devastating truth finally clicked into place in his fractured mind. I hadn't been waiting for him. I hadn't even known he was landing today.

A chaotic, dark storm swirled in his pupils. Without another word, he mechanically adjusted his posture and dropped back onto both knees, facing the wroughtiron gates.

Even as the night air turned biting cold, Tristan remained stubbornly kneeling on the asphalt.

Inside, with Evander's Maybach still nowhere to be seen, dinner devolved into a suffocatingly quiet, twoperson affair in the cavernous formal dining room.

Wallace strictly enforced a "no talking during meals" policy. Tonight, the silence shattered. He set down his sterling silver fork and let out a heavy, rattling sigh. "Genevieve.

I am so sorry for the absolute hell he put you through," he rasped, staring blindly at his untouched wagyu. "I raised that boy.

His parents died in that crash when he was young, and I overcompensated. I spoiled him.

I never realized I was molding him into an entitled fool." In his prime, Wallace built his empire on ruthlessness. He ruled his two sons with an iron fist.

But losing his eldest son in that horrific wreck broke something in him. He poured all his leftover affection into the orphaned Tristan.

That toxic leniency was exactly why Wallace turned a blind eye when Tristan relentlessly begged to move Brynn into the estate.

He never predicted Tristan would actually abandon the altar, nuke a billiondollar corporate merger, and run off to the savanna for two solid years.

If Evander hadn't stepped out of the shadows to take the groom's place, the decadesold alliance between our two powerhouse families would have been instantly destroyed.

I placed my linen napkin on the table. The sharp edge in Wallace’s voice had dulled into pure, exhausting grief. Tristan was still his flesh and blood.

Two years of radio silence had eroded the old man's heart. "Dad." I kept my tone perfectly even. "Evander is ten times the man Tristan could ever hope to be.

You transferred five percent of the corporate shares into my portfolio. Legally and functionally, I am his aunt now.

As long as he stays out of my lane, I won't hold the past against him." Out at the gates, the lethal glare Wallace had aimed at Brynn before storming inside still crawled under her skin.

The absolute terror of her first day at the estate came rushing back. Wallace had seen straight through her pathetic facade instantly.

He slid a crisp fivemilliondollar check across his mahogany desk and gave her an ultimatum. Take the cash and vanish forever.

Or stay in the guest wing, live off the family trust, but absolutely never entertain any parasitic delusions of climbing the social ladder. Obviously, she chose the estate.

Marrying Tristan and cementing her status among the ultrawealthy elite was her only endgame.

Two years ago, she engineered that pathetic airport suicide threat to nuke my wedding and humiliate me.

She never predicted I would instantly pivot and marry the man who actually owned the entire chessboard. The pure, venomous jealousy was eating her alive.

Brynn instantly masked her rage.

She smoothed her features into a portrait of tragic devotion and crawled over to Tristan. "Tristan," she cooed, resting a hand on his trembling shoulder. "You still have me.

I will never leave you." Tristan didn't even blink. He stared blindly at the asphalt, frantic, incoherent whispers slipping from his lips. Chapter 7 Brynn leaned in close.

The frantic, broken whispers finally hit her ears. "Why?" Tristan muttered, his voice cracking. "Gen, why didn't you wait for me?" Brynn ground her teeth. "She married Evander!

You literally have zero chance!" "No." Tristan’s thumb obsessively traced the intricate carvings of the Imperial Phoenix emerald—the heirloom he had snatched out of the air earlier. "I still have a shot." His eyes locked onto the empty driveway, burning with a delusional fire. "Even if they signed the papers, it's just a sterile corporate merger.

There is no real connection. I'm the one she actually loves.

Evander can never give her happiness." He gripped the cold emerald tighter. "I'm taking her back." "You're unhinged!" Brynn shrieked, stomping her designer heel against the asphalt.

But Tristan’s face settled into stonecold determination. He was mentally preparing to go to war with the most ruthless man in New York. He fully believed I wouldn't let him lose.

That night, I found my path blocked right outside my bedroom suite. Tristan stood there. The edges of his eyes were raw and bloodshot, as if he had been weeping.

He cradled a pathetic head of raw broccoli in his hands. He let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Congratulations, Gen. You got your revenge.

The entire New York elite knew, and I was the absolute last to realize I'd been blindsided." His voice dripped with bitter, manufactured tragedy. "But you shouldn't have sacrificed your own life just to make me jealous.

Forcing yourself to marry Evander… it’s a mistake." He dropped heavily onto one knee. He held the vibrant green broccoli up to my chest. I stared at the vegetable.

Wallace’s mahogany cane had clearly caused severe, irreversible brain damage. "I'm sorry. I rushed over here.

I raided the estate kitchens and this was all I could find." His voice trembled with sheer earnestness. "But my heart is entirely yours." "Divorce him," he pleaded.

Suddenly, a familiar voice drifted down the carpeted hallway. It was a cold, flatline drawl. Zero inflection. Lethal. Tristan instantly recognized it.

Pure terror violently seized his frame. His hand spasmed.

The broccoli slipped from his grip, bouncing twice across the Persian rug before coming to a dead halt against the toe of a handcrafted Italian leather oxford.

The heavy, measured footsteps stopped. Tristan froze, effectively paralyzed. He didn't even dare to lift his chin.

Every single heir in the Sterling bloodline lived in absolute, suffocating terror of Evander's ruthless methods. Tristan most of all.

Evander towered over him, casually cradling a massive bouquet of ninetynine pristine pink roses. He didn't even glance down.

He simply stepped right over the broccoli. "Your aunt prefers roses," Evander murmured, the low baritone vibrating through the quiet hall. "Don't bring the wrong thing next time." I caught the dark, possessive edge beneath his calm tone.

Two years of marriage had taught me exactly how Evander operated. He projected an untouchable, icy exterior, but underneath? He was a complete jealousy monster.

Tristan surviving in the African bush for two solid years wasn't just Brynn's doing. Evander’s invisible hand had definitely kept him exiled.

And now, my husband had just caught his nephew actively trying to poach me. If I didn't extinguish this fire immediately, I’d be the one facing his relentless demands tonight