Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

A final showdown at the ball.

Christine’s POV

The ballroom feels different now. The chandeliers cast a warm glow, and yet every laugh, every whisper, feels distant. I walk beside Jonathan, my head held high, heels clicking against the polished floor, but I can feel the heat of the moment we just shared, burning along my skin like a secret fire. He keeps a steady hand, lightly brushing the small of my back, just enough to anchor me, to remind me that the storm between us isn’t over. The crowd of doctors, philanthropists, and socialites swirl around us, oblivious to the private tension crackling between us, but I can’t stop noticing the way his presence bends the room, the way people instinctively step aside for him, or the way his eyes occasionally drift to mine, sharp, unreadable, intense.

I try to focus on my speech, the words I rehearsed, the professional composure I’ve cultivated over the years. I am now the head of the surgical department. It is my triumph, my victory after months of manipulation, betrayal, and silent struggle. Yet, with Jonathan beside me, I feel something more dangerous than pride. I feel desire, attention, and the thrill of being seen by someone who both respects and challenges me.

“Keep your chin high. Do not let them see what you feel, not now,” Jonathan murmurs, leaning just enough for his lips to brush against my ear. The shiver that runs through me is both startling and familiar. I nod. The ballroom suddenly feels like a minefield. Across the room, I notice Mike and Emma. Their eyes find me immediately, and I sense the storm before I see the expressions, anger, disbelief, and a hint of fear. Mike’s jaw tightens as if he has suddenly realised he underestimated the consequences. Emma’s hand instinctively rests on her abdomen, her fake concern poorly masking the tension. Jonathan’s grip on my back tightens slightly, and I sense his controlled anger simmering.

“Let them approach, I want to see how they behave now that the truth is unavoidable,” Jonathan says under his breath, his voice low, almost a growl. I step forward with measured confidence, addressing my team, who have gathered around Jonathan and me.

“As the newly appointed head of the surgical department, I am honoured to lead a team committed to innovation, excellence, and compassion in medicine. I hope we can work together as a team. I will always be there for whoever needs me,” I say. My voice is clear, strong, and every word deliberate. Yet beneath the professional veneer, I feel Jonathan’s presence like a silent reassurance that I can hold this public image without crumbling. Mike approaches first, his face hard, his pride bruised.

“Christine, this isn’t right. I should be …” He starts, trying to command attention.

“You should have been, but the decision has been made, and it is final. I am the head of this department, and I intend to uphold the responsibilities and the vision entrusted to me,” I interrupt smoothly, letting my words land like steel against his stunned expression.

“Mike, Christine, please, let’s not make a scene. Think of the baby,” Emma says. She steps beside him, her eyes wide, lips trembling in forced concern. I suppress a smirk. The words taste bitter to me because I know the truth she hides. Her baby is not his. Mike believes it is, and he clings to that illusion like a shield. I let him suffer in ignorance. This is not the time to reveal the truth, not when so much is at stake. Jonathan’s hand brushes against my arm again, subtle but grounding.

“Keep your composure. Do not let their deception tempt you to react in anger. You are stronger than that, stronger than him, stronger than her,” Jonathan whispers. I breathe, steadying myself, channelling every ounce of restraint I possess.

“Mike, your attempts to intimidate me, to reclaim what you never rightfully earned, will fail. Emma’s manipulations will not work here. You were given a chance to prove your worth, and it is no longer relevant. Respect this decision, or step aside,” I say evenly.

Mike’s fists clench. Emma tightens her grip on his arm. Their presence looms, toxic and oppressive, but I stand taller, letting the fire of my triumph radiate outward. Every guest in the room senses the tension, the stakes, the drama, and I let it linger just enough to remind them who holds control. Jonathan steps closer, slightly shielding me, his jaw tight, eyes sharp. “

Do not let them bully you. Your power lies not only in your position but in your mind. Use it wisely. Do not let hatred consume you. It will blind you, as it blinds most who chase revenge instead of justice,” Jonathan says quietly, so only I can hear. I nod, feeling the weight of his words seep in, grounding me in both power and caution. His presence is a paradox, intensely protective, yet intoxicatingly personal, a silent tension that simmers beneath the surface of professional composure. Mike steps forward again, anger flaring, voice loud enough to draw the attention of the nearest tables and those standing next to us.

“This is unfair! I was promised …” Mike says.

“You were promised nothing. All I asked was respect for my position and for my work. That promise does not exist for anyone who seeks to manipulate their way to success,” I interrupt again, my voice firm, unwavering.

Emma’s lips part in protest, but I see the falter in her eyes, the slight slip in her performance. She tightens her hand over her abdomen, clearly aware that I know the truth about the baby. It’s a secret I hold close, and it fuels my controlled satisfaction. Mike’s anger is personal, but his ignorance about the child gives me an advantage, one I will maintain until the time is right. Jonathan’s presence behind me is a constant reassurance. His energy, restrained yet potent, keeps me grounded even as the tension escalates around us. I sense the heat of his gaze, the unspoken approval, the restrained desire, and it fuels my own control.

“You may have thought you could intimidate me, but this department, this team, and the patients we serve will always come first. Manipulation, deceit, and anger will not earn respect. They will only ensure your irrelevance,” I continue, voice carrying across the room. Mike’s face flushes with frustration. Emma squeezes his arm, attempting to calm him with her false pregnancy story. But I remain unreadable, composed, immune to their theatrics. Jonathan shifts slightly, his presence a reminder that I am not alone, that I have allies in both influence and power, and that their attempts to challenge me are meaningless against both my preparation and my resolve.

“You’ve underestimated me for far too long. This position is not about favouritism, about promises, or about manipulation. It is about capability, dedication, and integrity and qualities I have earned, and qualities I will protect fiercely,” I add, stepping slightly closer to Mike and Emma, letting my presence fill the space between us.

The room seems to hold its breath. Whispers ripple through the gathered crowd, eyes darting between the triumphant new head of the department and the disgruntled pair who have tried, and failed, to intimidate her. I allow myself a moment of private satisfaction, a quiet acknowledgement of the long path that led to this moment. Jonathan’s hand brushes mine ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, grounding me in this triumph while hinting at the private tension simmering beneath.

“Control your power. Do not let them steal it with their anger or their lies,” Jonathan whispers. I nod subtly, sensing the mutual understanding between us. The tension is thick, almost palpable, but I keep my expression professional, the public face of the newly appointed head of the department untouchable. Mike exhales sharply, realisation and frustration mixing in his eyes. Emma’s eyes widen slightly, fear briefly flashing. The moment lingers, charged, but contained. I have won this battle, maintained my composure, and protected the truth I carry close. Jonathan steps slightly closer, protective, intense, and I feel the heat between us, the unspoken connection, the desire and mutual understanding. In this public space, in front of all these witnesses, it remains unspoken, simmering, an unresolved tension that neither of us can ignore. The room gradually exhales as the attention shifts back to the ongoing celebrations, but for me, for Jonathan, for the two of us standing in that charged space, the electricity remains, a reminder that even in triumph, desire and danger intertwine. I glance at Jonathan, feeling the weight of his eyes on me.