Rebuked

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

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Corrine Holland stood moments away from marrying Bruce Ashton, her dream finally within reach.

The wedding march echoed through the hall as she glided down the red carpet in her immaculate white gown, moving toward Bruce who awaited her at the altar.

Bathed in streams of golden light, his white suit seemed to shimmer, highlighting the refined features that had first captured her heart years ago.

Their relationship had weathered countless storms over three years, and now, despite her family's refusal to bless their union, her cherished dream approached reality.

As Bruce stepped forward to present her bouquet, tears of joy threatened to spill from her eyes.

The priest's kind eyes settled on the couple as he spoke. "Do you, Bruce Ashton, take this woman to be your wife? Will you love her, honor her, respect her, and accept her, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"

Corrine's heart fluttered as she turned expectantly toward Bruce, awaiting his answer.

Instead of joy, however, his features twisted with uncertainty, an unsettling hesitation clouding his expression.

Suddenly, the doors burst open. Rita Ashton, Bruce's younger sister, stumbled in with tears streaming down her face. "Bruce, it's bad!" she cried, looking lost and desperate. "Leah... she... she..."

A cold wave of dread washed over Corrine. Her grip tightened around Bruce's hand as her heart hammered against her ribs.

The name awakened painful memories—Leah Burgess, the unreachable star in Bruce's firmament.

When the Ashton family had fallen from grace years ago, Leah had chosen opportunity abroad over love, prompting Bruce to sever ties and turn to Corrine.

Yet just a month ago, Leah had mysteriously reappeared.

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