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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On a quiet, summer night in Wragos, Rosalynn Fuller sat on the sofa in her home, browsing through some news on her phone.

"Brian Hughes, CEO of Hughes Group, attended a social event with the famous actress, Eleanor Hilton. They later retired to a hotel and spent the night together. Intimate pictures of the two have been captured..."

This particular article was among the trending topics online, and it spread all over the Internet like wildfire.

Rosalynn pushed her black-framed glasses against the bridge of her nose and peered at the photos published with the article, her face devoid of any expression.

The pictures were blurry, but one could make out the silhouette of a man and a woman kissing by the window.

This man, Brian Hughes, was none other than her husband, and the heir to the wealthiest and most influential family in the city.

He was a powerful man who had control over the economic lifeline of the entire city.

As ridiculous as it would sound to most people, Brian had never set foot in their home since they got married two years ago.

In fact, he hadn't even shown up when their marriage was registered.

Instead, he had sent his lawyer to represent him, completing the entire process by proxy.

Rosalynn was aware from the start that Brian was against their union.

The only reason he had relented was because of his grandmother, Debora Hughes.

By some twist of fate, Rosalynn's grandfather had once saved Debora. When she expressed her desire to repay him for the favor, he had boldly requested her grandson to marry his granddaughter in hopes of giving her a comfortable and carefree life.

At first, Rosalynn had harbored some hope for her marriage.

But over the last couple of years, Brian had constantly seen dating various actresses. It was more than enough to disappoint her and shatter her naive illusions.

Rosalynn pursed her lips as she finished reading the article, then she went over to her contact list, searched for Brian's number, and called him.

This was the first time she had ever called Brian.

Soon, the call connected.

"Hello, this is Rosalynn."

"Rosalynn? Which Rosalynn?"

Brian's voice was deep and smooth. Although his tone was unmistakably cold, listening to him was quite a pleasant experience.

His words, however, were another matter entirely. Rosalynn sneered and clenched her fingers tightly around her phone.

He didn't even remember his own wife's name.

"This is your wife. At least on paper, anyway."

"Ah. What do you want?"

Brian's tone became even colder.

"I want a divorce," Rosalynn answered as she jabbed her glasses against her face.