GIORDANA

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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Maggie Johnson took pains to steer her wheelchair to the bedroom door with a gift in her hand. It was a mug she made by herself. In her mind, a DIY gift was the best, and the mug represented her sincerity.

It was Kevin Brown's birthday today, and she prepared a surprise for him.

He worked so hard every day and should still be asleep now. She wanted to see him in sleep. It had been half a month since she saw him last time.

When she reached the bedroom door, a woman's voice suddenly came out, "Kevin, are you really going to marry Maggie? She only has one leg left..."

Stunned, Maggie saw through a crevice that her fiancé, Kevin, and her stepsister, Tami Johnson cuddling each other on the bed...

"Yes, of course. Only through marriage would she give me the ring passed down from her mother." Sneered Kevin.

"Well, could you divorce her after getting what you want?" Tami looked up at him expectantly.

Kevin sneered, "Rather than a divorced wife, I only have a dead wife."

Tami giggled, "You are bad."

"Don't you like it?" He asked in a hoarse voice.

"No..." There was another round of passion.

Crack.

The mug slipped from Maggie's hand and smashed on the floor. In a fluster, she steered the wheelchair, but it was stuck and wouldn't move.

"Who's there?" In the room, Kevin asked suddenly, jumped off the bed, wrapped a towel around his lower body, ran out, and stiffened at the sight of Maggie.

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