Bridgett

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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A luxury BMW was parked at the end of an old street in a small town.

A girl in shabby jeans stood in front of the car door expressionlessly, clutching an equally shabby suitcase.

A middle-aged man was sitting in the driver's seat. He looked at the girl standing outside from the corner of his eyes and frowned, seeming dissatisfied with her shabby ensemble.

"Get in the car," he barked.

The girl didn't flinch despite the harshness in the man's voice.

She calmly opened the door and got in the back seat.

"I'm Bill Jenkins. From now on, you're going to be my daughter. Although we're not biologically related, I'll arrange for someone to train you. You'll become a decent Jenkins lady in no time."

As the man spoke, he started the car and zoomed out of the small town.

In the river-view villa, as soon as Maria Jenkins got out of the car, she saw a middle-aged woman standing at the gate.

Judging from the woman's uniform and demeanor, Maria guessed that she was a servant.

"Mr. Jenkins, Miss Jenkins, welcome back. Lunch is ready."

Bill turned to Maria and said, "Since you're new here, Lily will show you around. You have to behave once you step inside this house. Don't even think about bringing your old bad habits to the Jenkins family. Do you hear me?"

Maria nodded indifferently, still as expressionless as a porcelain doll.

"Come with me," Lily said flatly, turning around and entering the house.

Maria didn't say anything. She quietly picked up her old suitcase and followed Lily into the house.

Lily then showed Maria around as she was told to. As soon as they climbed the stairs to the third floor, Maria caught a glimpse of an expensive-looking piano through the crack of a half-open door.

Maria couldn't help but stop in her tracks to take a closer look.

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