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

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Luna stumbled towards her hotel room, her vision blurred and her head spinning. She had just left the bachelorette party held for her best friend Vira, who was getting married the next day. Despite her protests, Vira had insisted on giving her three glasses of alcohol, which had left Luna feeling unsteady on her feet.

As she fumbled for her room key, Luna's eyes struggled to focus on the numbers on the door. She knew she was supposed to be staying in room number six, but her dizziness made it difficult to make out the digits. By mistake, she entered room number nine, which was unlocked.

Upon entering the room, Luna fell onto the bed, barely registering her surroundings. Meanwhile, Ethan, who had also been attending the bachelorette party, returned to his hotel room in a drunken haze. As he stumbled into his room, he was surprised to find a girl sleeping on his bed.

"Heyyy, who are you?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed as he gazed at the stranger before him. The girl lazily turned to look at him, seemingly unfazed by the situation.

"What are you doing in my room? Get out... Go away!" Luna exclaimed, pushing Ethan away from the bed. Even though he was slightly inebriated, Ethan was able to maintain his balance as he looked irritably at the girl who had disrupted his peace. He then decided to lie down next to Luna, much to her annoyance.

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