My Black Suit King

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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♱ •⋅ 1750 A.C. ⋅• ♱

There was much to be said regarding history, but nothing left me as stunned as this. The strong and warm arms of the man I had always dreamt of were around me, and he looked at me with a smile in his violet eyes that I admired so much.

He seemed real.

"What's wrong?" he asked me with a rough and gentle voice.

"Uh... nothing," I replied, questioning whether all of this was a dream or not. But he was still there, his eyes now closed as he held me in his embrace.

Indeed, this was one of the best dreams I had ever had.

"Sir," a masculine voice called out to him, and I saw Calisto raise his face with displeasure.

"What the hell do you want?" he grumbled.

"We've learned something that might interest you, sir," the man said, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"I'm busy," he said, burying his face in my back. I could feel his breath on my bare skin, and it made my face warm.

"Sir," the man persisted, and by this point, I already knew what would happen. I had read and reread that scene thousands of times, so I mentally repeated it as he spoke in perfect synchrony: "A girl has emerged in front of the Cathedral of Samael."

Calisto growled, and I could feel his fangs against my skin, but he hadn't bitten me. He was displeased.

"Then kill her already," he snarled.

"We couldn't, sir," the man said, and I involuntarily smiled.

Whether it was a dream or not, he was staying true to the book I had read so many times. And if it was him, if it was that scene... then I was...

My gaze wandered around the room, searching for a mirror, and when I found one, I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

Red hair like blood, ruby eyes without pupils, and skin pale as a corpse. There was no doubt I was Asra.

The king's concubine, who attempted to go against the saint sent by God, would not only heal the king's son but also win his heart and make him good again, as well as the cause of his death.

Calisto seemed irritated as he let go of me and sat on the bed.

"They need your king to handle something so stupid? What good are the princes?" he was bothered, but my eyes were occupied with his sculpted body, with every feature of his face.

No matter how many fanatics I had seen or how many times I had imagined it, I would never come close to the true beauty of Calisto.

Black hair cascaded down his back in messy waves, thanks to what we had done before. But, to my unfortunate luck, I wasn't even dreaming of this beautiful moment. His eyes were rose quartz.

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