Marry My Rival's Uncle for Revenge

A stolen moment.

Jonathan's POV

I walk over to Claire. The ballroom fades behind me as I lead Christine away, keeping us in the shadowed corridor just off the main hall. The noise, the laughter, the shocked whispers of doctors and guests, all diminish to a dull hum, replaced by the rapid beat of my own pulse. She is just ahead, poised, elegant, controlled, but I see through the armour she wears.

“Everyone carries secrets in their heart,” she said earlier, her voice calm, almost teasing. That line plays over and over in my mind as we step into the dimly lit lounge adjoining the corridor. I close the door behind us, the click sounding impossibly loud. The air between us is tight, electric. Her scent, subtle, warm, hits me first, and I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to.

“You are dangerous, you know that?” I say, keeping my tone neutral, controlled. I shouldn’t be speaking like this. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I have made a rule: no attachments, no women, no mistakes. But standing here, with her, I feel that rule slipping. She doesn’t flinch. She meets my gaze evenly, green eyes flashing, emerald fire reflecting the low light.

“I could say the same about you, Jonathan. You’re dangerous and unreadable. But somehow, I feel safe in your presence,” Claire says. The honesty of her words unsettles me. My chest tightens. Safe? No woman has ever felt safe around me. My ex destroyed everything, left me for another man, and left me hollow. I am not supposed to let anyone in again. Yet, here she is, Christine, standing in the middle of this room, her hand lightly brushing against her own glass of champagne, and I want to throw caution to the wind.

“You have fire in your veins, but fire can burn everything in its path, including yourself,” I say, taking a step closer. She tilts her head slightly, curious, daring.

“I know how to control it. Unlike you, perhaps,” She smiles.

The words hit me harder than I expected. My control slips, and I can feel it, raw and urgent. She is testing me, pushing me, and part of me, no, all of me, wants to yield. I take another step, closing the distance. The heat from her body reaches me, intoxicating, and I swallow the warning that screams in my mind: no attachments, no mistakes. She lifts her chin, unwavering, but I see the subtle catch in her breath. The tension between us is almost unbearable. I can no longer fight it. My hand lifts, almost unconsciously, and brushes a strand of her hair from her face. She doesn’t pull away. Her eyes lock on mine, searching, questioning, daring me to cross the line. I see the fire, the strength, the vulnerability all mingled together in that gaze, and I lose what little restraint I had left.

“You’ve been hurt. Yes, we all have, but I can see it in you. The way you handle it, the way you hide it, mesmerising,” I murmur, my voice low, almost a growl.

“I’ve survived worse,” she replies, her voice steady. But her lips part slightly, just enough for me to see that edge of doubt, that vulnerability beneath her control. The distance between us shrinks until we are mere inches apart. Every rational thought leaves me. Every old rule of mine about avoiding women, about never falling again, evaporates. The way she stands there, unyielding yet unafraid, draws me in like gravity.

“I shouldn’t …” I begin, but the words die in my throat. There is no ‘shouldn’t’ that applies anymore. Her hand rises, almost instinctively, resting against my chest. I feel the rapid beat of her heart, fast and steady, alive under my fingers. My hand moves, lightly at first, down her arm, tracing the curve of her wrist. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t stop me. She lets me close the last inch between us.

“I don’t want to fall,” I whisper. My lips are so close I can feel her breath, warm and tempting.

“Maybe that’s not for you to decide,” Clair murmurs, and her words ignite something fierce inside me, something I’ve denied for years. I don’t hesitate anymore. My hands slide around her waist, pulling her slightly closer, my lips brushing against hers. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she tilts her head, giving me access, letting me in. The kiss starts slow, almost testing, almost gentle, but the moment it deepens, it becomes something more. Something urgent, dangerous, consuming. Her hands find their way to my shoulders, gripping lightly as if grounding herself, as if warning herself, but not warning me. I taste her, feel the warmth of her lips, the strength beneath her control, and I realise the line I promised myself I’d never cross has already been obliterated. I press closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine, the rhythm of her breath syncing with mine. Every rational thought screams at me, every memory of betrayal warns me: stop. But I don’t. I can’t.

“Jonathan…” she whispers against my lips, and that single sound makes every nerve in my body ignite. I tilt her head, deepen the kiss, finally surrendering to the storm I’ve tried to contain for so long. All the anger, all the caution, all the self-imposed rules are now gone. When we finally part for a breath, we are still pressed together, foreheads touching, breaths mingling. Her eyes shine with something unreadable: desire, challenge, or admiration. I see the fire in her still, the strength, and it draws me in further.

“Christine, do not let them fill your heart with hate. Not Mike, not Emma. You are stronger than that,” I murmur, my voice hoarse but steady.

“I know,” she whispers back, but I see the smouldering intensity, the spark that refuses to be tamed. I know that whatever comes next, whatever battles or temptations await, she will face them head-on. I will be drawn into her orbit whether I like it or not. I kiss her again, more fiercely this time, and the world outside disappears entirely. Just Christine, and just me, and a fire that refuses to be denied. For a long moment, it is just the two of us, caught in a storm of restrained desire finally unleashed, and I don’t fight it anymore.