Craving the Man She Calls Uncle

The day Angela Watson learned about Oliver Kingston's engagement, she knew it was time for her to go. She had tried to ignore the growing knot in her stomach, but the news clarified everything.

It was time to leave Springfield City.

Without overthinking, Angela grabbed her phone and dialed her Aunt Joanne's number.

"Auntie, I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving Springfield City and moving back to my hometown."

On the other end, there was a long pause, followed by a burst of joy. "When’s your flight, Angela? We’ll come pick you up at the airport."

Angela sighed, trying to figure out the best way to explain. "I still have a few things to take care of. It’ll probably be in about two weeks."

"Two weeks, huh? Alright, well, your uncle’s been taking care of you for twelve years now. You’d better take this time to say a proper goodbye to him."

Angela barely whispered, "Mm-mm," before hanging up.

——

She dropped back into her chair, staring blankly at her desk. Her fingers absently traced the edges of the photo frame in front of her as though it could offer some comfort. She lifted the frame and looked at the photo inside.

There she was, eight years old, holding a bunch of colorful maple leaves. She'd been tossing them up into the air while Oliver, at sixteen, stood just a few feet away, surrounded by the golden swirl of falling leaves. He'd caught one in midair, casually holding it close to his chest with that warm, easy smile. The kind of smile that made everything feel safe.

That day, the world had felt so simple and perfect. Her whole family had been there, including Oliver.

She turned the frame over.

On the back was a family photo—the Watson family. Oliver was right there in the front row, holding her hand. Behind them stood her grandfather and parents. The image seemed to capture a moment frozen before everything went wrong.

Her heart clenched as she looked at it. All of them were gone now. Her parents, her grandfather—they were all gone.

And now, it was just her and Oliver, but they could never return to what they once had.

When she was five, her grandfather adopted Oliver, making him her uncle.

A few years later, Oliver's family took him back to Springfield City, far away from here. And then, when Angela was eight, everything had fallen apart. Her family's business went under, and soon after, there was a tragic car accident that took her parents and grandfather from her.

Oliver had come rushing back, all the way from Springfield, to attend the funeral and bring her home with him. The grief was unbearable, and at such a young age, she hadn't known how to process it. Some people suggested sending her to a sanatorium to take care of her fragile mind.

But Oliver, maybe out of gratitude for the family who had adopted him, or maybe just because they had known each other since childhood, had refused to let her go anywhere else. He had taken it upon himself to care for her. He ensured she ate, drank, and stayed healthy, even staying by her side while she slept.

As time passed, Angela had healed, but it wasn't just her physical health that had improved. Oliver kept caring for her, patiently guiding her through the worst, helping her grow into the person she was today. And as he did, she realized he was her life's most important person.

At first, she didn't really understand what that meant. But over the years, something in her had changed.

On her eighteenth birthday, Oliver had thrown her a big coming-of-age party. She'd worn a beautiful strapless dress, holding her birthday cake as she walked toward him. He was a little tipsy, leaning against the table, when he asked her what wish she'd made.

"I want us to become a real family, Uncle Oliver."

He'd smiled, a little confused. "You're my niece. We're already my family, Angela."

But then his fingers brushed against her forehead, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Without thinking, she had stood on tiptoe, kissed the cream off his lips, and said, "No, I mean the kind of family between a man and a woman."

For a split second, his face froze, and that gentle look was replaced by something else—something darker.

He shoved her away from him, his voice rising. "For god sake, I’m your uncle!"

"But we don’t share blood," Angela reasoned.

Oliver replied, his voice edged with desperation, "You're a Watson, Angela. Even if we're not blood-related, what really sets us apart from being family?"

It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her. There had been a brief silence, and then he added, in a softer tone, "When you were taken away, they already removed you."

The heat had rushed to her face. She had felt embarrassed yet still longed for Oliver's affection. Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Oliver's hands had slowly pried her fingers away from him, one by one.

His voice was quiet, filled with regret. "Angela, I... I failed you."

She didn't understand it then, but as she pulled back, she asked, "What does liking someone have to do with being taught?"

It was the first time she'd ever stood up to him. The two of them had left that conversation on bad terms.

From then on, Angela threw herself into her studies. She worked hard, earning top marks and winning awards in competitions. Each time she gained something, she brought it to Oliver, hoping he'd see how much she had grown and learned.

She repeated the same confession every time, hoping that this time, he'd understand. She was showing him that he had taught her well. She could finally tell the difference between affection and love.

Despite his rejection, she never gave up.

And then, that one night happened.

Oliver stormed into her room, his eyes impassioned and blazing. Before she could ask him, he ripped her nightgown open, and as he did, she didn't push him away. Angela drew him near, pressing her lips against his—surrendering her body and soul to the man she loved most.