undefined

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

Download the Book on the App

Pain.

Disgust.

Unloved.

These words explain what I have felt for so long it has become part of me.

The pain I feel each time I wake up, knowing that no one wants me, not even my parents give a shit about me.

The disgust I feel each time I look in the mirror and see what I look like. Fat. Ugly. Disgusting. The cellulite on my thighs, the stomach, the dark stretch marks on my hips and everything, the oversized breasts that surprisingly have no stretch marks, the fat are that looked like that of a heifer.

The love I craved for everyday but never got it. I never really had friends because upon being fat and black, I was socially awkward. Very awkward. It was difficult to strike up a conversation with someone and when someone does it or when I manage to do it, I can't maintain it. So I never had friends to listen to me or a shoulder to cry on when I couldn't hold it all in anymore or a friend to at least lie to me and say "You are pretty, you don't look as disgusting as you think you do."

My parents weren't ever there. My mum was a big shot model who never wanted a child because it would ruin her perfect figure. Yes. Upon being all gross and fat, I am an accident. So when she gave birth to me, she went back to her normal life until cancer claimed her when I was 9. My dad, yeah. Another person that saw me as a mistake. He wasn't ready to be a dad when I was born but because he will need an heir in future, he didn't tell her to get rid of it or anything but he didn't want any more accidents, so he told my mum to do something to prevent further accidents, thus she tied her tubes. They didn't want me, never did. So they never cared enough to check if I ate, if I stayed out till 3 am, if I didn't even come back at all. I was just there in their uselessly big mansion which they used to show off, which never felt like home, which looked more like a museum (which was definitely not childproofed) than a home.

I hated mirrors so much, they showed me what I felt everyday. How heavy I am. I have tried a lot of times to lose weight but after each attempt, I got more depressed and went back to eating almost more because after working out for a while, who doesn't get angry when she doesn't see results?

Did it hurt? Yes. Did I stop eating? No. Did I get bigger? Hell Yes!!

Most times, whenever I see people celebrating their birthdays, I can't help but wonder what it feels like to do that. Yes, in case you are wondering, I have never ever celebrated my birthday. Today being one of those days, I am, as usual holed up in my room and thinking about my life and crying my eyes out. In all my 19 years on earth, my birthday has never been celebrated because uhm hellooo. Have you met my parents? But it's all good though. I plan on making my next birthday a memorable one, one I won't forget anytime soon, have all the fun in the world, love myself and stuff like that.

My name is Danica Maya Roberts. I'm 19 years dark skinned black girl and yeah, probably the biggest and most insecure black girl of them all.

*****************************************

"Miss Maya, your father requests your presence in his office." Mr Howard said through my room door. Mr Howard is the butler and has been with us since as far back as I can remember. He is a greying old man with the cutest granddaughter, Angel, who was the apple of his eyes. I smoothed my hands down my sweater which was big and mid thigh length. I put on my slippers, hoping that maybe he remembered it was my birthday. The sad thing is, even though I knew my parents, I still couldn't help but hope each year that maybe they'd remember my birthday. Up until my mum died, I kept hoping. Last year, I hoped. Every other year, I really hoped.

I knocked and patiently waited for him to invite me in. When I heard the distant "Come in", I walked in. There he was, the king sitting on his iron throne and reading the paper as he usually does all morning while sipping coffee. At 47, he didn't really look a day older than he did when he was 45.

Read Now