Married to My Mate's Ruined Uncle

Stella

The suffocating weight pressed down on my chest before consciousness fully returned.

My eyes flew open to darkness.

A man I didn't recognize was on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hand sliding up my bare thigh with deliberate, possessive intent.

The scream tore from my throat.

"Who are you?" My voice came out strangled with panic. "How did you get in my room?"

He didn't answer.

His hand continued its unwanted exploration, sliding higher up my thigh while his other hand pinned my shoulder harder into the mattress. The silence was somehow worse than any words could have been—as if my questions, my terror, my very existence didn't matter to him at all.

Helplessness crashed over me like a wave, followed immediately by a despair so profound I could barely breathe.

"Help!" I screamed with everything I had. "Dad! Mom! Someone—please!"

His breath was hot against my neck, reeking of expensive whiskey and something darker.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Don't make this difficult."

His hand slid higher, fingers digging into my flesh.

Panic surged through me like ice water.

I thrashed violently, my knee coming up hard, but he anticipated it, shifting his weight to trap my legs beneath his.

"Get off me!" My voice cracked as his lips grazed my collarbone.

This was my room.

"How did you get in here?" The question came out as a terrified whisper.

The man above me let out a low chuckle, as if my confusion amused him. "How did I get in? Through the front door, of course. Walked right in."

My heart hammered with confusion and fear. I always locked my bedroom door before going to sleep—it was a habit I'd developed years ago in this house. So how did he get in? Did someone give him a key?

My mind was still reeling from that horrifying possibility when the man's hands became even more brazen. His fingers fumbled with the clasp of my bra, working to unhook it with practiced ease.

The touch snapped me back to the present crisis.

"Help!" I screamed again, thrashing beneath his weight with renewed desperation. "Someone please help me!"

I twisted violently, trying to throw him off, my hands pushing against his chest with all the strength I could muster, but it was utterly useless.

The house remained silent.

No one answered my cries for help.

Were they asleep?

I couldn't let this happen. I had to save myself.

Terror gave me strength.

My fingers scrabbled desperately across the nightstand, knocking over something that clattered to the floor, until they finally closed around something solid and blessedly heavy.

A vase.

I didn't think.

I grabbed the vase with every ounce of strength I possessed and swung it toward him.

The porcelain connected with his head with a sickening crack. He jerked back with a sharp hiss of pain, his hand flying to the injury as blood began to trickle down the side of his face.

For a split second, his weight shifted off me, his grip loosening.

"You're dead," he snarled, his handsome face twisting with rage.

Moonlight streaming through the massive windows caught his features for the first time—a man in his forties with greasy hair slicked back, bloated features that spoke of indulgent living, and cold eyes that promised violence.

I didn't recognize him, but the expensive watch glinting on his wrist, the custom-tailored shirt I'd nearly ripped, told me everything I needed to know.

Someone powerful. Someone dangerous.

I bolted.

The staircase opened onto casual domesticity that felt like a nightmare. My father sat reading his paper, my mother scrolled her tablet, and Jason leaned against the fireplace with whiskey. They looked normal. They weren't asleep. So they must have heard me screaming.

The scene before me crystallized into horrifying clarity. I finally understood how that man had gotten through my locked bedroom door. They were accomplices.

"I was calling for help," I said. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Of course we heard you," Jason said. "The question is, how did you escape? You weren't supposed to come down yet. Mr. Whitmore should have had another hour."

The words hit like a blow.

"You knew and you just sat here!" The words tore out of me in a raw shout that made my mother flinch.

"Don't be dramatic," my mother said. "Mr. Whitmore is important. His family controls a major resource allocation seat within the pack. We need this protection agreement."

"Protection agreement?" My laugh came out broken. "So you just let a complete stranger climb into my bed? Trade my body for a seat at the pack's table?"

"Like a smart investment," Jason cut in. "The Whitmores are offering us full pack protection rights and resource access that will change our standing in this territory entirely. All you have to do is go back upstairs. Make him happy. Secure the deal. After all these years, it's time you did something for this family."

"But I already have a fiancé!" I grabbed my engagement ring. "I'm engaged to Liam Sinclair!"

Silence fell heavy. My parents exchanged looks.

"Oh, sweetheart." My mother set down her tablet. "Liam isn't suitable for you. We think Chloe and he are a better match."

The room tilted.

"It makes sense," my father said. "Chloe is a Full Moon Child—her scent is extraordinary. A match with Liam would elevate our pack standing in ways your engagement never could. I'm sure Liam would prefer Chloe anyway."

"And what about me?" The question came out nearly broken.

"Stella, you need to face reality. You were born with a defect. The Sinclairs control the entire Silver City pack empire—every business within this pack, every alliance, every resource flows through them. Do you honestly believe they would ever let someone like you through their door?"

Each word confirmed every insecurity I'd carried since puberty. Growing up, Chloe had been the blessed Full Moon Child while I was the curse. Every good thing went to her first. Year after year, the same message drilled into both of us until Chloe started believing it was what she deserved.

"So what?" My voice cracked. "So I deserve to be abandoned? I deserve to take Chloe's leftovers for everything? And now even my fiancé has to be handed over to her? I'm your daughter too."

My mother's nose wrinkled with disgust. "You're damaged goods, Stella. That mutation makes you smell like something acrid and wrong to most werewolves—like a warning no one can ignore. Do you know how many complaints we've fielded? How many pack gatherings we've endured with people stepping away from us?"

"Liam loves me. We've been together for three years. He proposed to me."

"As long as he hasn't marked you, none of it counts," Jason said. "Liam is an Alpha heir. He deserves a mate whose scent will enhance his standing within the pack, not drive members away. Chloe can offer him that. You never could. He'll make the smart choice. He probably already has."

My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

My mother waved dismissively. "Chloe invited him to dinner today. They seemed quite engrossed when we left. You know how persuasive she is, and her Full Moon scent must be irresistible to Alpha heirs. I'd say they've probably reached an understanding by now."

The image of Liam and Chloe together made my vision blur.

"You've all been planning this." The pieces fell into place. "How long?"

"Does it matter?" My father stood. "You have two options. Go back upstairs and crawl into Mr. Whitmore's bed, or refuse and we cut you off completely. No more living expenses. Get out of our family completely. No more connections at Moonridge. No pack backing. You'll be on your own."

For a moment, fear tried to take hold. Then I thought of the man upstairs, his hands on my body. Something inside me snapped.

"I won't do it." My voice came out firm despite the trembling. "I don't care what pack standing you lose. I'm not going back up there."

"Then you're no longer our daughter," my mother said coldly.

I looked at the three people who'd never truly been my family. Clarity settled over me.

"I've been on my own my whole life," I said quietly. "I was just too stupid to realize it."

I walked to the door, bare feet silent on marble. Behind me—Jason's snort, their muttered complaints calling me an ungrateful wretch. I didn't look back.

Night air hit like a slap, sharp and cold. No shoes. No phone. No wallet. Just a nightgown and an engagement ring that felt like my only lifeline.

But I had to find Liam—now. I needed to reach him before Chloe's scent clouded his judgment, before my family's poison turned him against me. I had to make him mark me—now. Once he marked me as his mate, I could finally break free from this suffocating pack for good.

I started running, bare feet slapping pavement as I raced toward what I hoped was salvation.