Chapter 1

The day I found out my uncle, Edward Blake, was marrying my sister, Christina Francis, I dropped out of school and left the country.

On the plane, Edward kept blowing up my phone with messages: [It's not what you think. Come back, and I'll explain. Please, don't be so stubborn. Reply to me. I'm begging you.]

I'd been in love with Edward for ten years, and every time, he'd shut me down with, "We can never be together." But then, out of nowhere, he married my sister.

I stared at the screen, at the man who always had everything under control, and for the first time, he begged me.

My finger hovered over the power button for ages, but in the end, I yanked out my SIM card, like pulling a thorn straight out of my heart.

Three years later, if it hadn't been for my father's grave being moved, I never would have set foot in that city again.

The very first day I got back, one of the members of the Francis family intercepted me at the airport. Actually, it was Edward himself, the current head of the Francis family and my so-called uncle.

Three years had passed, and he looked a lot thinner now, his jawline sharp enough to cut. But his eyes were harder to read than before, like staring into a bottomless well.

He stood in the middle of the arrivals hall, his presence so intense that his assistants didn't dare breathe.

When he saw me, his lips moved, and he called out, "Charlie."

It wasn't "Charlotte." He called me "Charlie." When I was little, he always called me that. He said my name sounded nice. But after I confessed to him at sixteen, he never called me that again.

I dragged my suitcase past him without so much as a glance, like he was nothing more than an obstacle in my way.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist. "The car is outside. I'll give you a ride."

I glanced down at his hand, at the plain platinum band on his ring finger, glinting under the harsh airport lights.

I stared at that wedding ring for a couple of seconds. Three years later, it was still there, like it had grown into his skin.

I gave a small smile and looked up at him. "No need to trouble you, Uncle Edward. I've already called a ride."

When I called him "Uncle," his grip on my wrist tightened, digging into my bone and making it ache.

"Charlotte," he said, his voice low and rough, with a kind of weary vulnerability I'd never seen in him before. "Three years. You've been avoiding me for three years. What else do you want?"

I turned and looked at him. I'd known that face for twenty years. Ever since I could remember, Edward was always hanging around the Francis family.

He was a distant relative on my grandma's side, and after his parents died, my grandfather, Everett Francis, took him in and raised him. Technically, I was supposed to call him "Uncle."

When I was four, the first time I went to the Francis residence with my parents, I hid behind my nanny, too shy to talk to anyone.

Edward crouched down, dropped an orange candy into my hand, and said, "Don't be scared. I'll look out for you from now on."

And for all those years, he really did. When the Francis cousins bullied me, he'd stand up for me and fight my battles.

When I got an F on my math test and was too scared to go home, he'd pretend to be my parent and sign my report card.

When I was twelve and burning up with a fever, and my mom was busy with Christina's heart checkup, he drove back overnight from out of town and stayed by my side for two days straight.

When I was fourteen, I realized my feelings for him weren't the kind of dependence a kid had on an older relative. They were the kind of feelings a girl had for a man.

At sixteen, I confessed. It was pouring that day, and I stood at the door to his study, drenched, finally letting out all the words I'd been bottling up for two years.

He stayed silent for a long time, then draped a towel over my head and said, "I'm your uncle, and that's never going to change. You need to accept that."

When I was twenty, in my junior year of college, my dad had an accident. He was inspecting a newly purchased property when a falling object struck him, killing him on the spot.

Outside the hospital morgue, my mom was clutching Christina, crying as if her whole world had collapsed. I stood there, frozen in place, like I was stuck in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

My dad was the best person in my life. Ever since I was little, because of Christina's heart condition, my mom gave all her attention to her.

But my dad would always cut his business trips short to make it back for my graduation. The words he said to me most often were, "Charlie, you don't need to compete with anyone."

But now, the man who said those words was lying in a cold metal drawer, never going to say another word to me again.

I stood at the morgue entrance, trembling, silent tears streaming down my face. Then someone wrapped their arms around me from behind.

It was Edward. He pulled me close to his chest, his voice low and rough. "Charlie, don't be scared. I'm here. I'll take care of you." His words fell gently over me. "Always. No matter what happens, I'll never leave you."

I believed him.

But then, on the seventh day after my dad died, at the Francis family's memorial dinner, Grandpa stood up and announced to everyone that Edward was going to marry Christina.