Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

Can we have this moment?

Christine's POV

My father steps forward, commanding attention as only he can.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. Your support and dedication to West View Hospital are invaluable. We are honoured by your commitment and look forward to the future,” My father announces, voice rich and deep. The crowd erupts into polite clapping, glasses chime, and the atmosphere softens. I release a long breath. Triumph sits heavy in my chest, a complex mixture of relief, exhilaration, and exhaustion. The room still vibrates with the tension of the night: the triumph of my announcement as the new head of the department, the silent animosity simmering from those who wanted it for themselves.

Mike and Emma leave almost immediately, their faces tight with frustration and disappointment. Mike’s jaw is set rigid, eyes darting toward me one last time before they disappear into the night. I catch a glimpse of Emma, hand protectively over her abdomen, whispering reassurances that I know are lies. Lies meant to keep Mike believing he still holds power over my life, but I don’t flinch. Their departure leaves a strange, palpable quiet behind, a vacuum that makes the air in the ballroom feel almost charged.

Jonathan steps closer. His presence always commands the space around him. Tall, broad, and impossibly intense, he moves with that careful precision that seems to pull the energy of the room into his orbit.

“Shall we go?” He asks, his voice low, smooth, with an undertone that makes my pulse quicken.

“You go ahead, I am going to stay behind with some of my friends,” My father says.

“Yes, I want to go home. I am tired,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart is still racing from the night’s events, and the unspoken electricity between us is almost unbearable.

“Okay, we will take my car. I had my driver bring it over, and we will leave the limo here for you, Dr Braxton. Let’s go, Christine. I will drop you off at your father’s house,” Jonathan says.

The drive to my father’s house begins in silence. The city lights blur past, casting fleeting gold and silver streaks across the leather interior. Jonathan drives with the calm precision of a man used to control, but there is a tension in the air between us that feels electric. Every subtle movement, every glimmer in his dark eyes, every faint brush of his arm against mine is magnified in the quiet, cocooned space of the car.

“You handled yourself beautifully tonight. You commanded the room, Christine. Every eye was on you, and you held them in your hand,” Jonathan finally says. His voice is low. I glance at him, catching the rare glint of admiration in his gaze.

“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without knowing you were here. It helps, having someone like you in my corner,” I reply softly. Jonathan keeps his eyes on the road, though I can feel the heat of his awareness directed at me.

“You don’t need me, Christine. You’ve always had the strength. Tonight, only proved it to everyone else,” Jonathan says. A shiver runs along my spine at the quiet intensity in his voice. Every nerve seems alive, drawn to the subtle, dangerous proximity of him. I shift slightly in my seat, the smooth leather under me cool and firm, and notice the faint rise of his chest as he exhales, the slightest tremor of restraint in his hands on the wheel.

“The night… It’s been overwhelming,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

“Triumph is sweet, but the tension, the anger, the past… It’s hard to ignore,” I continue. Jonathan glances at me briefly, and the weight in his gaze makes my pulse accelerate. Leaning slightly closer, the warmth radiating from him is impossible to ignore.

“Do not let the past consume you. Hate, anger, resentment, those things can destroy everything you’ve worked for. But desire and attraction can be dangerous if mismanaged,” Jonathan says. I wonder if he is warning me or himself about the desire and attraction between us. I meet his gaze fully, letting my words trail deliberately, testing the waters of the tension that hangs heavy between us.

“Dangerous,” I whisper, letting it hang. “Is that… a warning or… a temptation?”

Jonathan’s lips twitch, a hint of a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Perhaps both, I am not a man to fall again. Not easily. Yet …,” Jonathan admits, his voice roughened slightly with emotion. My heart hammers. Every nerve, every fibre of my body, feels alive, tuned to the electric tension that pulses between us.

“Yet?” I whisper, the tremor in my voice betraying more than I intend. Jonathan’s jaw tightens. The storm inside him is visible, though he fights to maintain composure.

“Yet… certain things demand attention, acknowledgement. Even a man like me cannot always ignore them,” He answers. The car slows as we approach my father’s driveway, the city fading behind us. Streetlights cast long shadows, highlighting the sharp planes of his face, the intensity of his eyes, the unyielding strength in his frame. The world beyond the car feels distant, and in the quiet intimacy of the moment, it’s just the two of us. He turns to face me fully, the tension between us now impossible to deny. Every inch of him radiates control and suppressed desire, and I feel my own pulse respond, quickening, my stomach tightening.

“Christine, you must promise me something,” Jonathan says. I tilt my head slightly, breathless.

“And what is that?” I ask.

“Do not let hate rule you. Not for him, not for her. Desire and temptation can be controlled if approached wisely. But bitterness that cannot be undone once it consumes you,” Jonathan says, and I know he is speaking from experience. I nod slowly, feeling the weight and the truth in his words.

“I understand,” I whisper, my voice heavy with anticipation and the heat of the tension between us. His hand lingers near mine, his presence so close I can feel the warmth radiating from him. The car becomes a private universe, the night quiet outside, and the air between us thick with something unspoken yet undeniable. He leans slightly closer, and the heat between us coils, tight and electric.

“Christine, there are moments, dangerous moments, that demand honesty. That demands acknowledgement,” He murmurs, voice roughened, low and deliberate. I feel my heart race faster, pulse thudding in my ears.

“Honesty about what?” I whisper, voice trembling slightly. Jonathan’s gaze locks onto mine, intense, unyielding.

“About what we feel, about what we want and what we cannot ignore,” Jonathan says.

The car seems to shrink around us. Every subtle movement, every breath, every glance draws us closer, until finally, without another word, he leans in. The world outside ceases to exist, the city lights, the distance, everything beyond this car dissolves as our lips meet in a kiss that is fierce, consuming, and impossible to resist. It is a kiss that speaks of desire, of long-suppressed tension, of the unspoken connection that has been building between us for weeks. If not longer. We have been working together for a long time. However, I was with Mike, and I ignored this thing between us. His hands brush against me, carefully, intentionally, and the restraint in him only fuels the fire between us. I respond instinctively, pressing closer, letting the moment take over.

Time itself seems suspended as the kiss deepens. Every inch of distance, every restraint, every careful wall we’ve built for propriety, for control, falls away. The intensity of the moment threatens to overwhelm us, but neither of us pulls back. Instead, we allow the kiss to exist in the space between passion and restraint, fire and control, danger and longing. Finally, we part slightly, breathing heavily, our foreheads nearly touching. The air is thick with the electricity of desire, the unspoken acknowledgement that this is only the beginning. Jonathan exhales, a deep, low sound, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“Christine… this… tonight… You must be careful. You are brilliant, strong, and capable, but you must not let desire or anger cloud your judgment,” Jonathan says. I do not know if he is warning me against myself or him. I nod, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at my lips.

“I know. But for tonight, can we just let this moment exist?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer verbally. Instead, he leans closer again, his breath warm against my cheek, and I feel the tension coil tighter, every nerve alight with anticipation. The city beyond the car is quiet, the driveway looming ahead, but inside, in this suspended bubble, nothing exists except the heat, the fire, and the undeniable pull between us. The kiss resumes, slower this time, more deliberate. Each touch, each press of lips and hands, speaks of understanding, of connection, of a longing neither of us can deny. The world beyond the car, the events of the evening, the complications of our lives, all of it fades as the intensity of the moment takes over completely.

By the time we pull into my father’s driveway, the night is deep and quiet. The lights of the house spill warmth across the driveway, but inside the car, the tension remains taut, electric, and unresolved. We linger in proximity, neither of us breaking contact entirely, the promise of what may come burning between us. I take a deep breath, heart still racing, as Jonathan finally releases me slightly, giving a fleeting, meaningful glance.

“Be careful, Christine,” He says, voice rough, low, filled with something unspoken yet profoundly intimate.

“Yes,” I whisper, knowing the tension between us is far from over. As I step out of the car, the night air cools against my skin, and I feel the electric pull, the fire, the promise of what this connection may hold. Tonight has ended, but the desire, the danger, and the tension are only beginning.