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Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle
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."Review this divorce agreement and sign it if all is in order."
At the entrance of the Sunglow Hotel, Ashton Baldwin paused and looked at the speaker—his wife, Emalee James.
It was Bobby James' birthday today. Ashton had faced many challenges to find a perfect gift and to arrive on time.
Yet, instead of receiving a warm greeting, Emalee presented him with divorce papers.
Ashton managed a strained smile and gently lowered her hand that clutched the document.
"Emalee, it's your grandfather's birthday today. There are many guests around. This isn't the time for jokes like this," he said, chuckling nervously.
However, his smile froze immediately after he finished speaking.
A chill of coldness and repulsion in Emalee's gaze struck him, something he had never witnessed before.
"This is no joke. Sign the divorce papers and leave," she declared firmly.
Desperation crept into Ashton's voice as his hope dwindled. "Why? Is this about your old flame?"
Upon his question, Emalee merely nodded, and then handed him a bank card.
"You already know why. No more words are necessary. There's money on this card. Think of it as a settlement. Sign it, take the money, and we're done," she stated icily.
Ashton's mouth twitched, but before he could respond, a mocking tone interrupted him.
"Emalee! Just divorce him already. Why bother with a settlement? Does this loser even merit that?"
Tristan James, Emalee's younger brother, had come over, wearing a look of contempt.
Locking eyes with Ashton, Tristan raised an eyebrow and scoffed, "What are you staring at? Did I offend? Remember, the James family holds a notable reputation in Inewood. My sister, a CEO, is both skilled and stunning! And you, Ashton, have proven to be an utter nonentity. What have you contributed in these two years other than sponging off us? Do you really believe you deserve her?"
He turned to look at his sister and added, "Rather than wasting money on him, Emalee, you should let me use it for a new car. At least that would be of some use!"
Emalee exhaled softly, a hint of resignation in her voice. "Ashton may not have shown much capability, but we are married, after all. Just let him take this money as his compensation."
These words left Ashton feeling both sad and powerless.
It appeared he had merely been a substitute in Emalee's life.
How could she understand that his choice to underperform was intentional?
Ashton was fully capable of eclipsing others if he desired.
Yet, he feared his success might revive Emalee's insecurities, reminding her of her talented first love who had once left her.
Choosing to suppress his abilities, Ashton had supported Emalee, allowing her to be the one to shine.
Despite his efforts to cultivate their love over two years, it was not enough to touch Emalee's heart.
Now, with her first love back, she was ready to end their marriage?
The absurdity of it made his heart sink.
People's affections, he realized, could indeed be fleeting.
"Emalee, I must ask you one final time. Are you certain you want to end our marriage?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a chill.
Emalee nodded decisively.
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Secrets Of The Worthless Husband
For two years, Ashton had poured his heart into his marriage, yet Emalee's heart remained cold. Despite his dedication, Emalee presented him with divorce papers. She bluntly stated she could not remain married to a man whose net worth was less than a million dollars. Ashton signed the papers, closing one chapter of his life and stepping into a new beginning. Then, Ashton revealed his secret identities: a music mogul, a medical expert, and a martial arts master—each persona impressive enough to stun the world. As Ashton’s true capabilities came to light, Emalee was overwhelmed with deep regret./0/11663/coverorgin.jpg?v=20250115170815&imageMogr2/format/webp)
