The Untouchable Widow's Ruthless Vengeance

I spent three years keeping the Baldwin tech empire from crumbling after my husband died. But his nephew, Haden, despised me, convinced I was just a gold-digging widow who stole his inheritance. The breaking point came when our biggest rival stormed into my executive office. His daughter slapped a sonogram on my desk, claiming she was pregnant with Haden's baby to force a hostile corporate merger. Instead of denying the obvious trap, Haden used the moment to completely humiliate me. He pointed down at his expensive leather shoe right in front of our worst enemies. "Come tie it for me. Auntie." After forcing me to kneel, he dragged me to his penthouse in a psychotic fit of jealousy, tore my silk shirt open, and violently accused me of carrying his dead uncle's bastard. Meanwhile, our rivals threatened to tank our stock and ruin the family name if I didn't approve the marriage contract in three days. They all thought I was completely cornered. They thought my cold silence meant I was a fragile woman finally broken by their ruthless power plays. They didn't know I had already spotted the doctored pixels on their cheap, fake ultrasound. I smiled and agreed to their three-day deadline. They thought I was preparing a press release for a Wall Street wedding. They had no idea I was preparing a superyacht, a heavy-duty crane, and a bucket of bloody chum to feed the fake bride's real lover to the Great Whites on a live broadcast.

Chapters

Chapter 2

Gage moved with silent efficiency. He shoved the remaining gawkers out of the VIP room, ignoring their protests. He stepped into the hallway and pulled the heavy double doors shut. The sound of the electronic lock engaging echoed in the sudden quiet.

The room was dead silent. The only sounds were the low hum of the ventilation system and the harsh, uneven breathing of the two people left inside.

Ember reached up and unbuttoned her leather gloves. She pulled them off finger by finger, the leather peeling away from her skin. She tossed them onto the glass-covered table.

"Go back to the penthouse," she said, her voice flat and businesslike. "You're grounded."

Haden stood up from the couch. Blood still dripped from his right hand—the one that had crushed the whiskey glass. He didn't wipe it. He didn't even look at it. The crimson drops splattered onto the broken glass as he took a step forward, the wetness making his grip slick but no less dangerous.

He kicked the solid mahogany coffee table. It overturned with a crash, skidding across the floor and slamming into the wall to block the only exit.

Haden moved toward her. The smell of cheap perfume and expensive bourbon rolled off him in waves. His bleeding hand left faint red smears on the velvet wallpaper as he passed. He looked like a predator closing in on its prey, wounded but all the more lethal for it.

Ember stood her ground. Her spine was ramrod straight. She didn't step back.

He shoved her backward, slamming her against the wall. Her head hit the velvet wallpaper with a dull thud, the impact knocking the air from her lungs as he caged her in. His bleeding hand hit the wall on either side of her head, leaving two crimson prints beside her ears.

He leaned down, his face buried in the curve of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his nose dragging along her skin, breathing in her scent.

"You smell like him," he growled against her skin, his voice rough and drunk. "You smell like that old man's money."

Ember stared at the wall over his shoulder. Her eyes were like ice. "Watch your mouth," she said coldly. "Remember your place. You're my nephew."

The word hit Haden like a physical blow. Three years of suppressed jealousy and rage exploded inside him.

He grabbed her chin with his uninjured hand, his fingers digging into her jaw. The metallic scent of his own blood mixed with her perfume as he forced her head up, making her look at him.

He crashed his lips down onto hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was an attack. It was brutal, punishing, and tasted like stale whiskey and blood—his blood, from the cuts on his hand that had transferred to her skin.

A sharp pain stabbed through Ember's chest. She immediately shoved the emotion down, locking it away.

She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing hard. His body was like a brick wall. Her resistance meant nothing.

She opened her mouth and bit down on his bottom lip. Hard.

The metallic taste of blood flooded both their mouths—fresh and warm, mixing with what was already there.

Haden flinched, but he didn't pull away. He pushed harder, deepening the kiss, mixing their blood and breath until Ember felt like she was drowning.

He finally pulled back when she started to choke. He stepped back an inch, his chest heaving. His bleeding hand left a dark smear on her shoulder where he'd gripped her.

He brought a thumb up to his lip, wiping away the smear of blood—hers or his, he couldn't tell. His eyes were wild, like a starving wolf. The cuts on his right hand had reopened, fresh blood weeping down his fingers.

"I'll make your life a living hell in this city," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I swear to God."

Ember raised her hand. She slapped him across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a whip. Her palm came away wet with his blood.

Haden's head turned slightly. He slowly looked back at her. He grabbed her wrist with his bloody hand before she could pull it back. He squeezed, his grip crushing the delicate bones together, blood smearing her skin.

Ember winced, her brow furrowing in pain.

Haden let go of her hand like it was burning him. He turned around, his shoulder slamming into the door frame as he walked out. He kicked the ruined coffee table out of the way and stormed into the hallway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the marble floor.

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