The final Game

Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

Ming Yue

Twenty minutes before the "Wedding of the Century" at The Plaza, I stood outside the Presidential Suite in a fifty-thousand-dollar Vera Wang gown. I was the girl from a West Virginia trailer park about to marry Hugh Maxwell, the golden heir to a billion-dollar defense empire. I pushed the door open only to find Hugh pinned against the bed with my own stepsister, Floy. She was wearing my bridal diamond necklace, and the sounds of their laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I didn't scream; I listened as Hugh grunted that once the wedding was over and the trust fund unlocked, he'd dump "that hillbilly trash" on a bus back to the mountains. They weren't just cheating; they were planning to steal my family's land deeds and leave me with nothing. When I set off the sprinklers and exposed their naked bodies to the paparazzi, the Maxwell family didn't apologize. They called me a "greedy peasant" and threatened to ruin my life unless I signed a new deal to save their crashing stock. I realized then that I was never a bride to them. I was a transaction, a rounding error in a ledger to be used and discarded. They thought my poverty made me weak and my silence made me a victim. "If we don't have a marriage certificate by midnight, the bank freezes thirty percent of our liquidity," their lawyer warned. So, I gave them exactly what they wanted. I used a loophole in their hundred-year-old family covenant and married the only other direct heir available. I didn't marry Hugh. I walked into the ICU and married his uncle, Fleet Maxwell-the legendary war hero who had been in a vegetative state for months. Now, I am the matriarch of the Maxwell dynasty. I've suspended Hugh's executive powers, exiled my mother-in-law to the Swiss Alps, and taken control of the family vault. They think I'm just a gold-digger waiting for a "corpse" to die so I can collect a fifty-million-dollar widow's payout. But last night, as I lay beside my comatose husband, the man they called a vegetable gripped my hand back.

Modern Scheming Contract marriage Billionaires CEO Flash Marriage Revenge Age Gap

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The sun, previously beating down on the battlefield with its heat, was now blotted out by many dark clouds. Even its majestic energy was overshadowed by a sea of pungent mist.

Filling the air was the smell of rancid blood and iron, sickening enough to make your stomach churn.

It was the smell of rancid blood and iron. But it was that smell that helped him focus in the fog.

There he stood. The figure of a man could be seen, alone, looking onwards. His name was Jacender Ashfield. Proud son of the Ashfield line and guardian of the gate.

The mist slowly dissipated, revealing dozens of strewn bodies laid all around him. It was apparent that Jacender remained the last man standing.

"Khak!! Khak!!" he coughed fiercely into his hand.

He had become exhausted from the raging battle against the demon hordes. So much so that he fell to his knees, blood on his glove.

"D-Damn it!!" He grunted, propping himself up with the hilt of his sword.

Just as he started to rise, a domineering voice came from overhead.

"Stay down…or die."

Peering up toward the voice, all Jace could see blood red skin. And it's wearers were a seemingly endless army of demons.

'Ravishers. And even more than before…' he thought, tight-lipped.

They were all ready to devour him with their jagged teeth, however they maintained their distance.

It was clear why.

Above them, perched on the hill above, dressed in white, a figure--presumably the boss, stood, looking down at Jace.

The ravishers would not attack unless given the permission.

Outfitted in a white overcoat as if to directly contradict Jace's black one, the figure also donned a white mask with carvings of an apple under one eye, and a book underneath the other. Two swords were also equipped on his waist.

Jace stared the man in the eyes with a fierce determination.

"Yeah…?" He panted mockingly as he pushed himself up.

"Ngghhh!!" his heart thumped, reverberating through his ears as he faced his enemies.

He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword and faced it at the man.

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