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.

Modern Scheming Contract marriage Billionaires CEO Flash Marriage Revenge Age Gap

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Three years ago, the world's strongest pack fell to a single blood crazed wolf. Nobody knew how one person could topple an entire territory. Or what he done to emerge victorious in the bloodshed that ensued. Nobody talked and nobody knew much of the one who became a tyrant seemingly in the blink of an eye.

One thing was for sure, and that's that in a mere few hours, the leading pack of the world had fallen. The Roman Empire wasn't built in a day. But it certainly fell in one.

After this wolf out of the shadows gained the title of Alpha, he held it quietly. Connections were cut off with his new pack. What happened within those borders were a mystery to the rest of the world. But rumors seem to have their way of spreading.

People talked of the new Alpha spilling blood at every turn. How he would slaughter dozens without even being provoked. That this one wolf was so absurdly powerful that he ruled by himself: no Luna, no Beta, no adversaries. Yet nobody knew what drove him.

Three long years this went on. Eventually any more news of the pack fell silent. Until one day, it becomes loud. That day, something happens that shakes every werewolf to their core.

The tyrant Alpha is exiled.

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