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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

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Running through the empty halls， I race against the clock to reach my classroom on time. Stupid alarm clock...it was the sixth clock this month I“d unknowingly smashed to bits this month alone. Mum keeps on saying I pushed it off of the nightstand but I don“t see how it melted into a liquid this morning.

Turning the dial on my locker， quickly getting frustrated when the door won“t open， I stand back and run my shoulder into the rusty door. The door creaks open， rubbing my shoulder， I put in my jacket， my school bag and take out my things.

Slamming the door shut， I run to the second level for my first lesson， Chemistry with Mr Banks. I round the corner rushing to the last classroom down the hall. Not looking where I“m going， I slam head first into a wall and I fly back a few meters， groaning， I feel my cheeks heat up.

"Hey!" A deep enchanting male voice murmurs from above me."You alright?"

Warm hazelnut brown eyes that are shining in excitement stare down at me， bulging muscles straining against his thin black T-shirt， a long-fingered hand stretched out towards me.

Taking it， I feel a jolt of electricity go down my spine spreading a warmness through me as it travels leaving little tingles in its wake.

"Oh!" I gasp as he pulls me to my feet， my small， 5 foot 4 frame against his probably 6 foot 2 body. My breasts pressed against his muscular chest， my cheeks heat up at this realisation. "Sorry."

"It“s alright，" he mutters， the excitement in his eyes fading replaced by a coldness.

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