Submitting to my Ex Uncle-Chapter 171

Ronan sat in his dining hall with the lights dimmed, the heavy oak table drowning in scattered files and notes. The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to break his skull. Each second dragged longer than the last, a metronome to his exhaustion.

Grace slipped behind him like a shadow, her scent soft and steady, her silk robe brushing against his shoulder. She bent, pressing her lips lightly to the warm crook of his neck.

"Aren’t you going to bed?" she whispered.

Ronan didn’t look up. His pen scratched across paper, his jaw hard. "Not yet. Dominic said—"

"Enough."

The word cracked like lightning. She pulled away instantly, and the warmth of her lips vanished.

Ronan blinked, the pen falling silent in his hand. He turned just enough to see her face — sharp lines, blazing eyes.

"I hate the sound of his name," she spat. "Or anything that ties you to him."

A humorless chuckle slipped past his lips. "Trust me, Grace, the feeling is neutral. I’m not even sure he knows the color of your hair."

Her frown deepened. "Don’t play with me, Ronan." She stepped closer, her voice low, dangerous. "Your brother Dominic is a bad man. He does what bad men do. He drops guns in his house like it’s nothing. Do you remember when Landon was ten? When he walked into that wine cellar and found two pistols lying there like toys? What if I hadn’t been there?"

Ronan’s throat tightened. His eyes dropped back to the files. "Landon is a Cross. That’s what Cross men do."

The words left his mouth before he could swallow them.

Grace froze. Then she laughed, sharp and bitter. "That’s what Cross men do?" she echoed. Her voice rose, her anger a blade now. "So you excuse him? You measure yourself by him? Tell me, Ronan — since when did your brother become the compass for your decisions?"

He didn’t answer. His silence was heavier than words.

Her jaw trembled as she pressed on. "What about the bars? The restaurants Carlos runs? The ones you swore you’d take? You sat here, at this same table, and told me it was only a matter of weeks."

Ronan’s hand twitched. "Dominic said I should wait."

The admission dropped like stone in water.

Grace’s palm cut across his cheek before he could even breathe. The sound echoed through the room, louder than the clock, louder than the storm outside.

Ronan’s head snapped to the side. His cheek stung. His pride burned.

Her chest heaved, her eyes wet and furious. "Who should lead, Ronan?" she demanded, her voice breaking with rage and heartbreak. "You? Or Dominic?"

"You witch," Ronan insulted, and returned the slap. "Stop making me hit you. I’m trying to change. For you."

Ronan’s palm still tingled from the sting of her cheek, but it was nothing compared to the heat clawing up his spine.

He hated himself the moment he hit her, and hated her more for making him do it. His chest rose and fell, and his knuckles trembled around the pen he gripped.

Grace’s head was turned, with her lips parted, and her eyes wide and burning with disgust.

She wiped her cheek slowly, then she looked at him. She did not look at him like a wife, not even like a lover, but like she was staring at a stranger she wanted dead.

"Trying to change?" she hissed, "You still hit me and call it change?"

Ronan’s throat worked, his eyes narrowing. "You don’t understand—"

"No," she cut him off, stepping closer, her voice trembling but sharp enough to slice him open. "I understand perfectly. You’re weak, Ronan. You hide behind Dominic, behind the family name, behind the goddamn Cross curse. And when you can’t answer for yourself, you raise your hand to me like some street thug. That’s not a man. That’s not even a dog."

His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening. "Grace...."

But before he could finish, she spat. The hot, bitter sting of her spit landed on his cheek, rolling down slowly.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Something inside him cracked.

Ronan’s hand shot forward, faster than his thought. His hand clamped around her throat. He felt the delicate line of her pulse under his thumb, hammering. Her silk robe slid down her shoulder as he yanked her closer, his grip unyielding.

Her nails clawed at his wrist, but she didn’t beg. She glared at him, even with her airway narrowing, and her eyes burned with fire.

"Don’t you dare," she choked, her voice raspy but steady. "Don’t you fucking dare think you scare me. You can’t do that anymore."

Ronan’s breath came out ragged. He pressed his forehead against hers, and breather on her face. "You think you can spit on me and live? You think you can tear me down and I’ll just sit here?"

She smiled. "I endured all your shit for your money."

The blow landed harder than any slap.

His world tilted. His ears rang. Everything inside him shattered. Pride, love, and control, they all shattered.

With a roar, he slammed her back onto the dining table. Papers scattered, files ripped, a glass toppled and shattered to the floor. The oak groaned under the force as Grace’s back hit it, her robe slipping further, leaving her half-exposed, with her hair wild around her face.

The sight of her there drove him mad. He wanted to burn his pride, and immediately drive himself into her. However, he couldn’t. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Her head snapped back, but her eyes stayed locked on his. She mocked him with her gaze.

"You daughter of a bitch," Ronan growled, his hand still gripping her neck, pinning her down. "You think it’s about money? You think I bled for this family, and tore myself apart, just so you could sit in silk and spit on me?"

Her lips curved, blood painting the corner of her mouth from where she’d bitten herself on impact of his hold. "Yes," she whispered, almost sweetly. "That’s exactly what I think. Because that’s all you’re good for, Ronan. Money, not love. Not even loyalty. Just money."

He flinched.

Her words were a knife, twisting in his chest, deeper and deeper with every breath.

"You whore," he spat, pressing her harder into the table. The veins in his arm bulged, his eyes wild. "I gave you everything."

She laughed, bitter and cracked. "You gave me scraps of a man. You are Dominic’s shadow. That’s what you are, Ronan. Nothing more."

"Shut up!" he roared, slamming his fist beside her head, the table shuddering under the blow. "Don’t you say his name in my house. Don’t you put him in your mouth like he’s better than me!"

"He is better than you," she said, calm now, with tears threatening to leave her eyes, as breathing became difficult. "Everyone is."

Ronan froze. His chest heaved, his grip trembled against her throat. For a moment, he thought he’d kill her. He thought about the silence, and the after peace.

But then, she stared at him, unblinking, and daring. And then, he realized she wanted him to.

Grace wanted him to break, and wanted him to prove her right.

He released her throat suddenly, shoving himself back. She coughed, clutching her neck, her chest heaved as she drew ragged breaths.

Ronan turned, his hands dragging down his face, his body shaking. "Goddamn you, Grace," he muttered. "Goddamn you for making me this."

She smiled, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand. "No, Ronan," she rasped. "You were always this. I just stopped pretending not to see it."