Your Uncle’s My Husband Now Back Off, Ex! novel Chapter 16

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**TITLE: Through Unseen Doors We Step Into Untold Worlds Beyond by Sage Hunter Lane**

Nyla lingered at her desk long after the clock struck six in the evening. The once-bustling R&D department had nearly emptied, leaving behind an echo of hushed conversations and the faint hum of computers winding down for the day.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated against the polished surface of her desk, a persistent buzz that pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, her heart momentarily skipping as she recognized the name: Clark.

For a heartbeat, she hesitated, her finger hovering over the answer button. Finally, she pressed it, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.

“Hey, I’m downstairs at your office,” Clark’s voice crackled through the receiver, rough and ragged, as if he hadn’t stopped talking all day. “Weather’s supposed to get cold this week. I brought you some warmer clothes.”

Curiosity piqued, Nyla rose from her chair and made her way to the window. Peering down, she spotted Clark’s sleek black Mercedes parked in the lot below, its polished surface gleaming under the fading light.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she replied, her tone flat and devoid of warmth.

“The clothes are already here. Just come down and get them,” he insisted, his voice brooking no argument.

Nyla sighed inwardly, recognizing the stubbornness that defined Clark’s character. If she refused him, she knew he would likely storm upstairs, causing a scene that would leave her colleagues whispering. Reluctantly, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the elevator, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders.

Stepping outside, the October evening air nipped at her skin, cutting through her thin cardigan like a knife. She instinctively wrapped the fabric tighter around herself as she approached Clark’s car, her heart racing with a mix of irritation and anxiety.

As she neared him, Clark opened his mouth to speak, but his words faltered. His gaze fixed on her left cheek, where the bruises from Lucia’s attack had deepened throughout the day. Under the harsh glare of the parking lot lights, the dark marks stood out starkly against her pale skin, and she could feel the tension in the air shift.

A dangerous flicker ignited in Clark’s eyes, and she watched as his jaw clenched tightly. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the tension radiating from him palpable.

“Who the hell did this to you?” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper, each word laced with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Nyla instinctively took a step back, the sudden shift in his demeanor unnerving her. She had seen Clark angry before, but never like this—his eyes were icy, devoid of warmth.

“Nobody,” she blurted out, her voice rising in panic. “I just tripped and fell.”

“Bullshit.” He closed the distance between them, his expression darkening further. “You don’t get handprint bruises from falling down. Tell me who touched you.”

“This is none of your business,” Nyla retorted, backing away even further. “This has nothing to do with you.”

His face darkened further, the air thickening with unspoken threats. Clark inhaled deeply through his nose, clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

“Look, I know you hate me right now,” he said, his tone slow and measured. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. But don’t push me away when someone hurts you. Because I swear to God, Nyla, if you keep shutting me out, I might do something we’ll both regret.”

The weight of his words hung heavily between them, a chilling reminder of the unpredictability that came with Clark’s anger. Nyla felt a knot form in her stomach, the warning in his voice all too clear.

“Where are the clothes?” she asked quietly, her resolve wavering.

Clark reached into his car, pulling out several designer shopping bags, their expensive logos glinting in the dim light. “My driver will take you home.”

“I can take a taxi,” she protested weakly.

“No.” His voice turned sharp again, a command that brooked no dissent. “You’re getting in this car.”

Realizing she had little choice, Nyla slid into the backseat, the leather cool against her skin, while Clark settled in beside her. The ride unfolded in tense silence, each moment stretching out uncomfortably. When they finally reached her apartment building, Clark watched her enter the lobby, his gaze unwavering, and only when the elevator doors closed did he instruct his driver to leave.

Once they were in motion again, Clark pulled out his phone, his expression one of grim determination. He dialed his secretary, his voice cutting through the air with a sense of urgency.

“I need information,” he stated without preamble. “Someone attacked my wife at Park Pharmaceuticals today. I want surveillance footage, witness statements—everything. You have thirty minutes.”