The Bullyable Girl

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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"We understand death only after it has placed its hands on someone we love."

- Anne L. de Stael

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"Mia, wake up!" Whispered a soft, hushed voice.

In fact, it was so hushed I almost had thought I was just hearing things. That was until out of nowhere a loud door slam pierced through the silent hallway from the room right next to ours, creating enough force to vibrate the old wooden floors which we were laying on.

"Mia! Please wake up! I'm scared!" Panic flooding the little girl's voice.

I automatically knew who it was that was calling for me.

"Holly, where are you?" I whispered back, trying to look through the pitch black room. The foster people we live with don't allow us to have the lights on after 7:30. Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way. You see, if you have the lights on after the restricted time, you'll get punished.

The punishments are plainly decided on how drunk Mrs. and Mr. Rockwell were that night. On a good night, punishments usually consist of not allowed to go to sleep until they decide they worked you long enough or going a couple nights without dinner, sometimes both. But if they start drinking the punishments become more violent. Mrs. Rockwell has never psychically abused any of the kids here but better yet she sits back and watches her husband do all the work, smiling.

I remember the first time James Rockwell hit me, I wanted to drop to my knees and cry out for my mother, but I didn't. You see when you've been in the system as long as I have you learn how to control showing your emotions. Because people like James and Martha thrive on seeing you break down, they get off on it.

Flashback:

"Come here you stupid bitch!" Mrs. Rockwell sneered at me.

"No, I'm sorry, whatever I did wrong I won't do it again! I promise!" I begged her.

"Damn right you won't do it again!" Martha laughed, the malevolent smile on her face sent horrid chills up my spine. The smell of alcohol rolled off her thin body in waves that were even making me dizzy.

"James get your fat ass up here, we got a newbie." Mrs. Rockwell wrapped her hand in my long brown hair, that was dirty because we are only allowed one shower a week, and pulled as hard as she could, pulling my head closer to her body.

I thought my heart was going to beat out my chest when I heard Mr. Rockwell's heavy footsteps slowly come up to the second floor. My breathing started to increase, and my lungs started burning for more air.

When James finally got to the second floor he had to hold the walls on either side of him to prevent him from losing his balance. His dark long hair was dirtier than mine, and I didn't think that was possible.

As he walked over to me a crooked smile started to form on his face, showing his yellow teeth. And if I thought the smell of alcohol was nauseating on Mrs. Rockwell, James was on a totally new level.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" James laughed and gripped my wrist in his dirty, rough hands. His eyes raked over my body slowly, I could basically see the devil coming out of him.

"She's out of her room after curfew, honey. What should we do with her?" Martha's voice sounded entertained.

"I just had to go to the bathro-" I tried to explain but was quickly stopped by the hard slapped that was placed on my left cheek. I silently winced as my face began to sting.

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