Runaway Sugar Baby: The Billionaire Uncle's Secret

The year Weston loved me most, I became his uncle's kept woman.

The older, dominant man offered a careless smile. "Consider this your first lesson," he told Weston. "The things you care about are nothing but toys to everyone else." Weston hated my guts.

He finally agreed to leave the country and accept the corporate marriage. On the day of his extravagant wedding, I boarded a oneway flight out of the country.

Weston tied the knot, officially terminating my contract with his uncle. That cold, ruthless man would no longer protect me.

If I stayed, Weston would destroy me. — Chapter 1 [What?! @Fallon, girl, watch your back!] [Why would she care?

Doesn't she have him protecting her?] [No matter how much Weston hates Fallon, she's still his uncle's woman.] [True. Fair point.] I stared at the group chat on my phone.

My face turned pale. It wasn't like that at all. "What's wrong?" The man snapped his laptop shut. His hand slid to my waist, stroking it. I forced my gaze up.

I met those dark, bottomless eyes. "Is Weston coming back?" I whispered. A dark, unreadable smirk tugged at Cyrus's lips. "Why?

Miss him?" I leaned into his chest, letting the heavy silence stretch for a beat. I forced a playful smile, softening my voice. "What if he comes back to get revenge on me?

You have to protect me." Cyrus gripped my jaw, his fingers pressing into the soft skin. "He wouldn't have the heart to," he murmured, his tone entirely too casual.

My muscles locked. Impossible. I still couldn't erase the look in Weston's eyes from back then. It wasn't just agony. It was raw, visceral hatred. Directed at Cyrus.

And directed at me. I subconsciously shivered. I gently shook Cyrus's arm, clinging to him. "Just in case. If he comes after me, you have to stop him." Cyrus didn't answer.

His long, rough fingers traced the silk ribbon tied at the side of my waist. The heat of his knuckles scorched my bare skin. He gave a single, slow tug.

The ribbon unraveled. "Is this the gift you mentioned this afternoon?" A low rumble vibrated in his chest. He deflected the question. Which was an answer in itself.

But I was genuinely worried. I knew his ruthless nature well, and he never let a grudge go. I clamped my hand over Cyrus's wrist, trapping his fingers.

I stared into his eyes, desperate for a single ounce of reassurance.

The amusement instantly vanished from Cyrus's features, leaving behind a glacial void. "Know your place," he stated, his voice devoid of any warmth. Know your place.

Even though Cyrus was only seven years older than Weston, he was still Theodore's blood brother. Weston's actual uncle.

The only reason he even kept me around was to pave the way for Weston's future. I was collateral. The fight drained out of me. My fingers went numb, slipping off his wrist.

A second later, Cyrus hooked an arm around my waist, hoisting me off the floor.

He tossed me roughly onto the mattress. — Weston interlocked his fingers with mine, pulling me forward. "Uncle Cyrus, this is my girlfriend." Cyrus had been casually discussing business with a group of men.

At the sound of Weston's voice, he slowly turned his head. I mirrored the introduction. "Nice to meet you. I'm Fallon." The older man swept a dismissive glance over me.

He didn't utter a single syllable, turning right back to his conversation. Weston dragged me away, letting out a sharp scoff. "Don't mind him. My uncle's just like that.

Arrogant as hell." I nodded. "Seems to run in the family." Weston frowned, not liking the jab.

He pinched my cheek hard enough to sting. "I treat you like a goddamn queen, don't I?" I managed a faint smile. I didn't argue.

But the truth was, when Weston and I first met, his arrogance was absolutely insufferable. He never even looked at anyone who wasn't on his level.

At his birthday banquet, Weston kept a death grip on my hand. He flaunted me to every single guest. I was his girlfriend.

People dropped endless hints about Bianca, the perfect merger his family had already lined up for him. Weston completely tuned them out. So I tuned them out too.

Until the day I was escorted to the topfloor executive suite of the corporate tower. Morgan slid a thick contract across the mahogany desk, stopping it right in front of me.

Cyrus finally lifted his heavy eyelids, his gaze pinning me to the chair. "Weston is young. He hasn't seen the real world yet. You two aren't a match." He wanted me gone.

Chapter 2 I flipped to the payout figure in the contract and let out a soft laugh. "Not enough." I held up five fingers.

The older man's face remained a mask of stone. "You aren't worth that price." "Really?" I curved my eyes, dragging out the final syllable. "Truly not worth it, Cyrus?" The atmosphere almost froze.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes. After a long while, he tapped his knuckles against the desk. Morgan snatched the papers away.

The AC blasted ice against my bare arms, but it was Cyrus's overwhelming presence that made the room feel unbearably tight. I kept the bright, hollow smile plastered on my face.

For the first time, his gaze actually locked onto mine. Cyrus smiled coldly. His tone dropped to a chillingly smooth register. "Draft a new contract," he ordered Morgan.

A sugar baby agreement. Cyrus intended to use raw, physical proof to teach Weston a lesson. I wasn't worth the obsession.

Later that day, Weston shoved the heavy double doors open and burst into the office, vibrating with excitement. "Uncle Cyrus, Valentine's Day is coming up, what do you think I should get—" Cyrus had me pinned flush against his chest.

Weston's boots cemented to the floor. I tilted my head up from Cyrus's shoulder, offering an apologetic look. "I'm with your uncle now." Weston stared at me like I was a ghost.

Denial contorted his features. He couldn't accept it, violently shattering several vases in a row.

He let out a deranged, broken laugh. "Should I start calling you Aunt Fallon now?" Cyrus's rough thumb stroked the pulse point on my neck. "She doesn't deserve the title." Weston stopped breathing.

The older, dominant man offered a careless smirk. "Consider this your first lesson," Cyrus drawled. "The things you care about are nothing but toys to everyone else." Red rimmed Weston's eyes.

He shoved Cyrus back. His hands clamped down hard on my shoulders. His voice shook uncontrollably. "I cherished you... why would you betray me?" His fingers dug into my collarbones.

A sharp jolt of agony shot down my spine. I choked back a gasp. My hand trembled as I forced it up, brushing a hot tear from the corner of his eye.

I didn't ask the question burning a hole in my throat. If he cherished me so much, why was his tongue down another girl's throat when I was drowning in medical bills?

The look in Weston's eyes as he backed away would haunt my nightmares. The devastation melted into raw, suffocating hatred. Word spread fast.

He finally agreed to the Ivy League transfer he'd been dodging, and the corporate marriage to Bianca. I assumed Cyrus would toss me to the curb the second Weston's plane took off.

I ended up being his kept woman for four years. The realization hit me late. Cyrus was waiting for Weston to tie the knot.

Waiting for him to play the good heir, marry Bianca, and lock down the bloodline. As long as I remained Cyrus's collateral, Weston and I were a dead end.

Crystal chandeliers drenched the grand ballroom in liquid gold. Jazz drifted through the clinking of champagne flutes and the low hum of old money.

My jaw locked so tight my teeth ached. Weston's homecoming gala. Why the hell was the exgirlfriend on the guest list? But Cyrus refused to take no for an answer.

Suits flocked to Cyrus, kissing up to him at every step. He offered nothing but dismissive nods. Then, the crowd parted. The man at the epicenter of the room came into view.

My heels slammed to a halt. Cyrus angled his head.

His bottomless eyes locked onto my face, a mocking ghost of a smile grazing his lips. "Too scared to walk over?" My lungs tightened.

I hooked my arm tighter through his, and stepped into the firing line. Chapter 3 Weston swirled the amber liquid in his rocks glass. His gaze snapped up.

He tracked our every step as Cyrus and I closed the distance. Four years had hardened him. The reckless, arrogant boy was gone.

In his place stood a much more mature man, radiating an indescribable aura. "Uncle Cyrus," he stated. His tone was utterly calm.

Zero trace of the hysterical, suffocating hatred from four years ago. Just eerie calm. Blood was blood, after all.

Whatever hatred there was had dissipated over the four years. "Long time no see." Cyrus offered a clipped greeting. Weston gave a curt nod.

A ghost of a smile stretched his lips. "Yeah. It has been." The words barely hung in the air before a stunning, effortlessly elegant woman glided to Weston's side.

She rested a manicured hand on his bicep, murmuring something about pacing his drinks, before flashing a flawless smile at us. "Cyrus." Cyrus gave a fractional nod. "Call me Uncle.

Just like Weston does." Bianca didn't miss a beat. "Uncle Cyrus." A low hum vibrated in Cyrus's throat. So this was Bianca.

The perfect, handpicked merger to secure the family legacy. I kept my eyes glued to the marble floor. I just wanted to disappear into the background. Weston didn't say a word.

Instead, his fiancee practically beamed at me. "And you must be Fallon, right?

I've heard so much about you." She raised her crystal flute. "A toast to you, Fallon." Evan, a server in a crisp uniform, materialized with a silver tray.

Five heavy shot glasses sat perfectly centered, filled to the absolute brim.

A muscle feathered in my jaw. "Am I... supposed to down all of these?" Her smile turned saccharine. "Just a little thank you.

For taking such good care of Weston back in the day." I picked up a glass. The harsh fumes hit my nose instantly. Pure, unadulterated liquor.

This was definitely not something meant for a banquet. This was prepared specifically for me. My tolerance was pathetic.

Five shots of this industrialgrade poison wouldn't just make me hurl—it would put me in the ER with a burnedout stomach lining. Hundreds of eyes were burning holes into my back.

This was a public execution. She was asserting her dominance as the future Mrs., while simultaneously serving up petty revenge for Weston.

Weston swept a bored glance over the tray and looked away. Total apathy. I turned my head. My gaze collided with Cyrus's eyes. He didn't intervene.

His rough thumb lazily stroked the exposed skin at the cutout of my dress. He was giving her a free pass. He was letting his nephew's fiancee publicly humiliate me.

I tipped my head back and downed the glass. Liquid fire coated my throat. It felt like swallowing redhot iron nails, burning my throat raw.

A violent burn scorched the corners of my eyes. The edges of the ballroom blurred into smeared lights. Fuck. Acid clawed its way up my esophagus.

One shot, and my stomach was already convulsing. Evan shoved the second glass into my hand. My fingers trembled.

Spilling the liquor, I let my knees buckle and collapsed directly into Cyrus's solid chest.

His heavy arms instantly locked around me. "I'm so dizzy..." I breathed out, my voice entirely broken. Cyrus remained silent.

The rough pad of his thumb swept across my cheek, catching a stray tear. The remaining four shots stayed on the tray.

Bianca's smile tightened, turning brittle. "Weston and I are tying the knot next week.

You're more than welcome to attend." "Happy early wedding," I rasped, the burn still coating my vocal cords. But I wouldn't be anywhere near that wedding.

The day they exchanged vows was the exact same day Cyrus wired my final payout. My oneway ticket out of the country was already booked for that exact afternoon.

Chapter 4 For the rest of the gala, Cyrus kept his heavy arm clamped around my waist. I didn't utter another syllable.

By the time the crowd thinned out, my head was completely spinning. My heels dragged against the polished marble floor.

Cyrus effortlessly scooped me up and carried me straight to the penthouse suite. Absolute silence the entire way up. I didn't hate Cyrus.

Not just because of the massive payouts hitting my bank account. My hatred meant absolutely nothing to a man like him. Why waste the emotional energy? At least the payout was real.

The cold ex had transformed into warm cash. The thought pulled a dizzy, breathless laugh from my throat.

Cyrus stepped out of the master bathroom just as the sound left my lips. "What's so funny?" A low, gravelly vibration rumbled in his chest.

I propped myself up against the headboard and dragged my gaze up. The hotel robe hung loosely off his broad shoulders.

The deep V of the white terry cloth exposed the hard, damp lines of his chest and the sharp cut of his abs.

He sank onto the edge of the mattress, his dark eyes instantly locking onto my face. I definitely couldn't tell him I was daydreaming about taking his money and fleeing the country.

I reached out, lightly tracing the rough calluses on his long fingers. "If it wasn't for you, I would've passed out on the ballroom floor tonight." I forced a bright, sickeningly sweet smile. "Thank you." Catch the sarcasm, you bastard.

If I hadn't faked passing out into his chest, I would've drunk myself into an early grave. Cyrus froze. He stared at me for a long, heavy second.

His rough fingers suddenly gripped my jaw, tilting my face up. He crushed his lips against mine. The sharp scent of his expensive body wash invaded my senses.

The raw heat radiating off his damp skin swallowed me whole. A ragged, heavy breath tore from his throat as he dragged me closer. — I jolted awake hours later.

The digital clock blinked 3:00 AM. Acid still clawed at my stomach lining. I carefully slipped out of Cyrus's embrace. Luckily, he didn't stir.

A slight crease pinched his brow, his breathing heavy and uneven. I dragged my coat over my shoulders and slipped out the heavy oak door.

I planned to go down to the convenience store to buy some hot soup. A tall shadow leaned against the hallway wall. A lit cigarette burned between Weston's fingers.

His expression was stony and unreadable. He heard the click of the door and slowly turned his head. Our eyes collided. This floor only had two penthouse suites.

He must have booked the other one. I parted my lips, but the words died in my throat. I broke eye contact and walked straight toward the elevators, giving him a wide berth.

A brutal grip clamped around my wrist. My boots slammed to a halt. He didn't say a damn word. The palpable tension stretched between us.

I finally shattered the silence. "You never used to smoke." A hollow, cynical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "People change.

Nobody stays stuck in the past forever." "Right," I murmured. Weston lifted his heavy eyelids. His tone was utterly devoid of emotion. "Bianca was in a great mood tonight.

If you had downed all the liquor, she would've been even happier." My chest tightened. I didn't have a comeback for that. I violently yanked my arm, trying to break his grip.

His fingers dug in harder. "Where the hell are you going at this hour?" "My stomach is killing me," I bit back. "I'm going to get some soup." Pure, vicious mockery flashed in Weston's eyes.

A cold laugh tore from his throat. "You brought this on yourself, Fallon." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a toxic hiss. "You're absolutely nothing to Cyrus." Obviously, I knew that.

But I absolutely could not let him win. Cyrus was still signing my paychecks. I forced a bright, defiant smile.

I stared directly into Weston's eyes, dripping with fake sincerity. "You're completely misjudging him.

I didn't have to drink those last four shots because of him." I mean, the man hadn't shoved me onto the floor when I fakefainted into him.

That counted as saving me, right? "Is that so?" Weston scoffed, openly mocking my pathetic delusion. "Then I guess you know Cyrus is getting married?" My mind went blank. What?

Weston watched the blood drain from my face. A lazy, cruel smirk spread across his lips. "He didn't tell you? Makes sense.

Probably didn't want you throwing a tantrum and ruining his peace." Chapter 5 I froze, letting the words sink in. A heavy sigh lodged in my throat.

I always knew this day would come. My flight was booked for the exact afternoon of Weston's wedding.

As for Cyrus—whether he was tying the knot, or who he was marrying—it had absolutely nothing to do with me anymore. An oppressive silence stretched between us.

I suddenly realized Weston's dead, heavy gaze was anchored to my neck. I tipped my chin down. A stark, bruised hickey. He reached out.

I scrambled backward, my spine slamming into the freezing wallpaper. Weston planted a hand against the wall by my head, trapping me.

His rough fingers locked onto my jaw. "Does that old man even satisfy you?" he hissed, his voice pure venom. I gritted my teeth, shoving hard against his chest.

He instantly caught my wrists, pinning them. "You're insane!" The tip of Weston's nose grazed my cheek.

His breath scorched my skin. "Fallon, you are nothing but a fickle, twofaced woman." Yet, the second the words left his mouth, he crashed his lips down toward mine.

Suddenly, Cyrus's custom ringtone shattered the heavy silence of the hallway. Weston's movements instantly froze. The ringtone blared, echoing like a deadly symphony.

My fingers trembled slightly as I finally swiped to answer. "Get your ass over here," Cyrus commanded, his voice glacially cold through the speaker.

But the words didn't just come from the phone. They echoed down the empty corridor. My head snapped up. Cyrus stood in the open doorway of the penthouse.

His face was a mask of pure ice, his dark eyes fixed intently on me and Weston. I had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

No idea how much of that trainwreck he actually heard. Ice water flooded my veins. Cyrus just caught me tangled up with Weston. Was he going to dock my final payout?

I swallowed hard and started walking silently toward Cyrus. Weston watched me with hollow eyes, then spun around and disappeared into his own suite.

Cyrus's features remained entirely unreadable. Zero emotion. I forced a pathetic, strained smile, scrambling to explain. "My stomach was killing me.

I just wanted to go down to the lobby for some soup. I bumped into him.

I think he still hates my guts... he got a little aggressive." "Stomach?" Cyrus slowly lifted his heavy eyelids.

I nodded, letting a beat of silence pass. "That liquor was practically rubbing alcohol.

It burned a hole straight through my stomach lining." He parted his knees and opened his arms.

I instantly took the hint, straddling his lap and hooking my arms around his thick neck.

Cyrus pressed a large, warm palm flat against my bare stomach, rubbing in slow, soothing circles.

With his other hand, he grabbed the room phone. "Send up a bowl of hot soup." Shockingly, he didn't snap. "All these years, and he's still obsessed with you," Cyrus murmured, his tone entirely too casual. "Impossible!" I fired back immediately. "If he still cared, would he just stand there and watch his fiancee publicly humiliate me?

He wanted me to down every single drop of that poison just to keep her happy." "He just can't let go of his bruised ego," I continued. "Bianca is a massive upgrade in every single way.

There's zero reason for Weston to still be hung up on me." Cyrus's thumb stalled against my skin. "You're certainly selfaware," he noted dryly.

His calloused fingers resumed their lazy, agonizingly slow tracing over the fresh hickey on my collarbone. I scoffed mentally. Of course I knew exactly what Cyrus wanted to hear.

Feeding the boss his favorite narrative was step one of securing the bag.

Right on cue, Cyrus casually slid a black Amex from his wallet and pressed it into my palm. "Buy some jewelry you like.

I'm taking you to their wedding next week." I tucked the heavy metal card into my palm without missing a beat. The wedding was a hard pass, but I was absolutely buying the jewelry.

Taking the card, I finally realized Cyrus was staring dead at me.

He propped his knuckles against his temple, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous, unreadable intensity. "Aren't you afraid Weston will drag you out of there and run out on his own wedding?" Chapter 6 My breath hitched.

Weston despised me. I'd be lucky if he didn't ruin my life, let alone crash his own wedding just to drag me away. Delusional. But I kept my mouth shut. I leaned in.

My lips brushed the rough stubble along Cyrus's jawline. "Even if he tried, I'd never leave with him." His dark eyes carved into mine, searching for a lie.

I held his gaze. "The past is dead. I like exactly where I am right now." A ghost of a smirk touched the corner of Cyrus's mouth.

His voice dropped an octave, a gravelly rumble vibrating against my chest. "Why are you being so good for me lately?" "Do you like it?" I tipped my head, flashing a sweet, flawless smile.

I needed to keep the boss perfectly satisfied before my contract officially expired. "I do." His gaze darkened, heavy with unspoken intent.

Soon, I'd pack my entire haul onto a firstclass flight. My future was completely secured. I sank into a velvet booth at a highend cafe, my feet aching from walking.

I scrolled through Instagram and nearly choked on my iced latte. Cyrus had actually posted. I blinked, rereading the username twice. The man's Instagram feed was rarely updated.

No financial news at all. Nothing. But today? A single photo. My thumb tapped the screen. A candid, perfectly lit group shot. Pure, oldmoney aesthetic.

It was mostly Weston's extended family. Weston and Bianca anchored the exact center of the frame. The main characters of the century.

Weston looked effortlessly relaxed, his head tipped down as he murmured something to his fiancee. Bianca wore a flawless, cameraready smile, hanging onto his every word.

Cyrus stood off to the edge. He was adjusting his platinum cufflinks, his expression a glacial mask. I swiped away.

That post was a direct warning shot meant exclusively for my eyes. A blatant reminder to stay in my lane and not interfere with the perfect merger.

I twisted the heavy diamond tennis bracelet around my wrist, watching the stones catch the sunlight. A quiet sigh escaped my lips. Weston hit the genetic lottery.

And he had a fiercely protective uncle. Theodore—Weston's father and Cyrus's older brother—had taken a bullet for Cyrus years ago. He lost a leg in the crossfire.

His health permanently shattered, Theodore spent his days quietly recovering in a private Swiss sanatorium. Cyrus controlled every single asset across both family empires.

Driven by a lethal mix of blood ties and a crushing debt of gratitude, Cyrus treated Weston like royalty. He bulldozed every obstacle in his nephew's path.

Some people were just born on third base. I shook off the thought and glanced back at Knox and the other bodyguards.

They were loaded down with designer shopping bags. "We're done for today." I'd spent the last fortyeight hours secretly packing my gobag and liquidating any jewelry untraceable to Cyrus.

Every move was meticulously calculated. One slipup, and he'd lock me down. But the man had barely stepped foot in the penthouse lately, giving me room to breathe.

Then my phone buzzed. A text from Riley. [Did you know your sugar daddy is tying the knot?] My thumb hovered over the screen. I already knew.

Weston had dropped that bomb in the hallway. But if Riley was bringing it up out of nowhere, the news had leaked. I shot back a single question mark. An image loaded in the chat.

A paparazzistyle shot of Cyrus having an intimate dinner with a stunning brunette. I narrowed my eyes, studying Sabrina's face. She looked insanely familiar.

I quickly toggled back to Cyrus's Instagram post. I zoomed in on the edge of the family portrait. There she was. Hiding in plain sight.

So Weston and Bianca weren't the only power couple softlaunching in that picture. No wonder my bed had been empty all week. I let out a cynical scoff. Whatever.

It just made sneaking my luggage out that much easier. The night before Weston's wedding. I was kneeling on the walkin closet floor, gutting my jewelry box for anything solid gold.

The heavy oak doors to the master suite suddenly slammed open. Cyrus was home. Chapter 7