Marriage with His Uncle!

Satisfaction

The agonizing silence that hung in the air was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest as I sat across from the man who was so determined to keep me trapped. After twenty excruciating minutes of eating soup in complete silence, I thought I was finally free. I'd finished my bowl, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and was just about to stand up when he spoke.

"Waiter," he called out, his voice smooth and commanding. The server, already anticipating his next move, was at his side in an instant. My heart, which had just started to lift, plummeted to my stomach. I watched in a horrified daze as he ordered a full-fledged meal, listing off an appetizer, a main course, and even a dessert.

The color drained from my face, and a cold dread seeped into my veins. I was utterly trapped. My manners, a curse in this situation, wouldn't allow me to abandon him mid-meal, no matter how much I wanted to.

He leaned back in his chair, a slow, infuriating smirk spreading across his face. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me struggle. I felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air while he seemed completely at ease, serenely amused by my obvious distress. The suffocating silence stretched on, an eternity of his predatory gaze. I couldn't meet his eyes, so I kept my own fixed on the intricate wallpaper of the private room, silently praying for him to look away.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the silence. "You can leave if you want," he said, his voice as smooth as silk. But the smirk remained, a silent taunt that told me everything I needed to know. He knew I wouldn't leave.

He was deliberately keeping me here, and I had no idea why. Just as I was about to give up all hope, the door opened.

A waiter came in, carrying a tray with his meal, but he wasn’t alone. My eyes widened in surprise as I saw Nash right behind him.

Nash's taunting smirk mirrored his uncle’s as he greeted him. "I heard you were here, so I came to greet you," he said, his tone dripping with mock affection. Nash's uncle, however, didn't even spare him a glance, his gaze still fixed on me. When Nash finally looked at me, his expression shifted from a confident smirk to pure, unadulterated fury.

He had never looked at me with such a gaze before, and it sent a jolt of alarm through me. Then it hit me: I had always made a point to avoid his uncle, so Nash had never seen me with him. Now, seeing us together in a private room, his eyes turned possessive and angry. He marched toward me and roughly pulled me from my chair, his fingers digging into my arm.

When he realized he was hurting me, his grip softened, but the anger in his eyes remained.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. I decided to play ignorant. Nash had never expressed his hatred for his uncle to me, so it was only fair that I pretended to be oblivious.

"I met your uncle at the wedding shop, and he invited me to lunch," I said, my voice calm despite my racing heart. Nash wasn’t impressed. His face twisted with suppressed rage, and for the first time, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction watching him swallow his anger. It was in that moment that a wild idea, a plan for revenge, began to form in my mind.

If the sight of me in the same room as his uncle infuriated him, what would happen if I shared a bed with him? What started as an impulsive thought took root, and I decided to go all in.

I wouldn't just share a meal with his uncle; I would become a constant throb in Nash's heart, a painful reminder of his betrayal. I would make him regret every single moment he had ever taken me for granted. He wanted to make me suffer? Two could play that game. And this time, I was going to win.

With a newfound sense of cold resolve, I spoke, my voice calm and collected, a stark contrast to the frantic turmoil in my mind. Hurting Nash, watching him taste the bitter tang of his own betrayal, gave me a strange and powerful peace I didn't know was possible. And it came to me so sweetly that I couldn't help but let a small, satisfied smile play on my lips. "Do you want to join us? Uncle ordered plenty of food."

Nash’s jaw tightened, but he swallowed his anger and took the seat beside me. He immediately shifted closer, his thigh pressing against mine, a possessive, territorial gesture. It was as if he were afraid Luther would somehow whisk me away. The sight of his panic was a balm to my wounded heart.

I made a point of ignoring his open discomfort, turning my full attention to Luther. I reveled in every flicker of pain and frustration that crossed Nash’s face as I actively engaged in conversation with his uncle. It was a sick pleasure, I knew, but in my hurt and broken state, it was the only thing that brought me any kind of joy.

"Uncle," I began, my voice light and innocent, "what did you get for our wedding?" I watched, a thrill of anticipation running through me, as Luther's eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam.

He had not received a wedding invitation, but he was quick to catch on. "I got a black suit," he said, playing along perfectly. "Although my wardrobe is full of them, I still chose to get another one just for this occasion."

"Woah, is that why you were at the Onyx Orchid?" I asked, feigning surprise as if we hadn't already had this conversation. Luther’s grin widened as he watched Nash's expression turn from grave to utterly furious with each passing second.

"Yes," he nodded, his gaze locked on Nash's. Nash, who had been listening intently, suddenly interjected. "Isn't that a bridal shop? They only make suits for grooms."

"Is that a rule?" Luther shot back, the question instantly silencing Nash. Nash was clearly distressed, his eyes darting between us. He wanted to probe deeper but knew he had no valid reason. Except, "Are you getting married? Is that why you got a suit from Onyx Orchid?" Nash's tone was laced with mockery. He knew Luther had no interest in ever getting married again.

Luther, however, didn't take his mockery personally. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and looked directly at Nash. "If I find myself a nice lady, then yes." He gave me a not-so-secretive glance as he said it, and my heart plummeted.

What did he mean by that? I didn't have time to ponder because Nash understood the underlying meaning of his words and shot up from the chair as if it had burned his ass.

"Good luck finding a nice wife," Nash said, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage. "My wife and I will take our leave now." He put a heavy emphasis on "my wife" as he grabbed my hand, a clear, desperate claim. As Nash dragged me toward the door, Luther's voice cut through the air. "Yet."

We both froze and turned around. Luther was looking directly at me, a profound look in his eyes that seemed to strip away all my carefully constructed plans. "She is not your wife yet," he announced, his voice low and steady. "Who knows, she might never become that."

My body went rigid. His words felt like a direct hit, a confirmation that he knew about my plan. A cold panic seized me, and this time, it was I who pulled Nash out of the restaurant, my mind whirling with a thousand new questions and wild new plots.

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