Trapped In The Billionaire Uncle's Embrace

The key trembled in Hollis's hand.

It took three tries before it finally slid into the lock. The heavy oak door of the Buchanan mansion swung inward, spilling golden light onto the porch.

She stumbled across the threshold, her body a wreck of trembling limbs. A man's white dress shirt, far too large for her, was the only thing she wore. Its hem barely grazed her upper thighs, and the collar carried the unfamiliar, sharp scent of tobacco.

The living room was brightly lit.

Her stepmother, Beverley, and stepsister, Kyla, were seated on the velvet sofa. They looked as if they had been waiting for her.

Kyla's lips twitched, a flicker of triumph she couldn't quite hide as she took in Hollis's disheveled state.

Beverley set her porcelain teacup down on its saucer. The sharp clink echoed in the silent room. Her eyes, cold and sharp as splintered glass, raked over Hollis's body.

"Look who's finally home."

Her voice was smooth, but laced with ice. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back tonight."

Kyla rose from the sofa, her face a mask of false concern. She moved toward Hollis, reaching out as if to help.

"Hollis, what happened to you? That shirt... Aris will be so upset."

The mention of her fiancé's name was a deliberate twist of the knife.

Hollis flinched away from Kyla's touch, a wave of nausea rolling through her. The dull ache in her body and the fractured, nightmarish images in her head made her stomach churn. She braced herself against the wall of the foyer, fighting to stay upright.

Her gaze locked onto Beverley.

A bitter laugh escaped her raw throat. "My drink," she rasped, her voice hoarse with hatred. "You tampered with my drink, didn't you?"

A flash of panic crossed Beverley's perfectly made-up face before it was replaced by practiced indignation. She elegantly crossed her legs.

"Hollis, what nonsense are you talking about? I think you partied a little too hard and your brain has gone to mush."

Kyla chimed in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Sister, how can you say that about Mom? She was just worried you'd drink too much and embarrass yourself at the party."

Hollis ignored Kyla. Her eyes remained fixed on Beverley, a predator stalking its prey. She pushed herself off the wall and took a shaky step forward.

"Worried about me? Was sending me to an old man's bed also for my own good?"

The accusation hung in the air, thick and poisonous. Beverley's composure finally cracked. Her eyes darted away for a second, a telltale sign of her guilt.

She raised her voice to cover her unease. "If you say one more slanderous word, I swear I will tell your father!"

Just then, a phone vibrated violently on the coffee table. The screen lit up, displaying the caller ID: Clay Thorne.

Beverley's face went white.

Her hand shot out, a reflexive move to silence the call, but it was too late. She snatched the phone, trying to move away to answer it privately.

Hollis lunged.

With a burst of adrenaline, she closed the distance and slammed her finger down on the speakerphone button just as Beverley answered.

A greasy, furious man's voice erupted from the phone's speaker.

"Beverley! What the hell are you playing at? I waited all night! Where's the girl you promised me? Are you screwing with me? Do you still want that investment or not!"

A dead silence fell over the living room.

Kyla's face was a mask of chalky horror. She stared at her mother, her mouth agape.

Beverley froze, looking like a strangled duck, the blood draining from her face.

Hollis's heart plummeted. A tidal wave of grief and rage washed over her. The proof was there, undeniable. But as the man's grating voice echoed in her memory, a more terrifying thought surfaced.

The hazy figure from her nightmares—tall, powerful, with an oppressive presence—did not match the voice on the phone. Not at all.

Beverley's plan had failed.

She had been sent to the wrong room.

Delivered to the wrong man.

Looking at her stepmother's panicked face, Hollis felt no thrill of victory. Only a profound, chilling emptiness and a terrifying confusion.

Beverley finally snapped back to reality. She shrieked, lunging for the phone. Hollis stepped back, letting it fall onto the plush rug.

Frantically, Beverley jabbed at the screen to end the call. She then glared at Hollis, her eyes filled with pure venom, like a cornered animal.

"You ruined it! You ruined everything!" Beverley's voice was distorted with fury.

Hollis pressed her fingers to her temple, a fresh wave of dizziness washing over her. The drugs hadn't fully worn off.

She didn't want to speak to them, didn't want to even look at them. She turned to go to her room.

Beverley's hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. Her nails dug into Hollis's skin.

"Where do you think you're going? You think this is over?" Beverley hissed through clenched teeth.

Hollis tried to pull away, but her body was too weak. She couldn't break the grip.

Kyla stood by, her expression a complex mix of shock and something else, something unreadable. She made no move to help.

A grotesque smile spread across Beverley's face. "Hollis, since you refuse to be obedient, you can't blame me for what comes next."