The CEOs Beloved Secretary Chinese Short Drama

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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In the CEO's lavish office on the 38th floor of the Powell Group building.

"No, Mr. Powell, please, not here."

As soon as Raegan Dixon entered, attempting to deliver a report to Wesley Powell, he pushed her against the door, sealing her lips with a fervent kiss.

In a husky, teasing voice, he whispered into her ear, "How's the wine in Sladena?"

"I only had a little," she managed to reply. Days earlier, a business trip to Sladena City had demanded social drinking for a successful deal. The pressure from her collaborators left her with no choice but to partake.

Unsatisfied with her response, Wesley's frustration manifested physically as he aggressively began to undress her.

His breath, heated and erratic, grazed her neck. "I want you," he stated plainly, marking her neck with a possessive bite.

Raegan's expression remained stoic, yet her body reacted involuntarily. She clenched her teeth, refusing to give voice to her discomfort.

The fear of discovery by any employee weighed heavily on her, given the clandestine nature of their relationship.

Wesley's persistence left Raegan with no choice but to reciprocate his embrace, a tacit acknowledgment of her situation. She understood that resistance was not only futile but would also provoke further intensity from him.

Following their encounter, Wesley nonchalantly adjusted his attire before cautioning Raegan against future attendance at less significant social gatherings.

She understood his directive; he wished to keep her from the public eye. Submissively, she agreed.

Wesley raised his eyebrows a bit when he looked at her. "Next time, don't let just anyone in. Did you not notice the Buckley Group's female CEO was wearing aphrodisiac perfume?"

This revelation hit Raegan like a ton of bricks, helping her piece together the puzzle behind Wesley's earlier behavior.

Her fingers tightened into fists, and her face lost its color.

"I'm sorry," she said, her head bowed in apology, hiding the pain coursing through her body.

For nearly three years, Raegan had been juggling roles as Wesley's secretary by day and as his companion by night.

"You'll see half your bonus gone this month," Wesley declared, his voice devoid of warmth, before gesturing for her to leave.

Stepping outside his office, Raegan's phone rang with a call from the hospital.

"Miss Dixon, the funds you deposited are nearly depleted. Given your grandmother's condition, it's critical she continues her medication. Please, arrange for additional payment soon."

Raegan remembered then that she had neglected her grandmother's medical bills for days.

She quickly transferred what money she had to the hospital, emptying her account.

Yet, it was a drop in the bucket, barely covering two days of care.

Recently, Wesley had stopped sending her money after their nights together, leaving her puzzled and worried.

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