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 CEO Flash Marriage Revenge Age Gap

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“Poor bride. She’s been standing there for hours waiting for the groom,” I heard a woman’s whispering voice.

“It’s truly so sad. I can’t imagine how sad she’s feeling,” Another woman replied in a hushed tone.

“Do you think the groom has ditched her?” A man whispered in a low voice.

“That would be too sad. Please don’t say that…” Another woman replied with what seemed to be genuine sadness in her voice.

I stood silently in front of the altar in a white wedding dress that was far too elegant for my tastes and far too heavy for my comfort. The overly high-heel shoes that I was wearing was starting to hurt my feet and my legs were starting to feel sore from standing still for too long. I clenched and then unclenched my hands together for the hundredth time, or something along those lines since I had already lost count.

The sequined lace fabric of the dress that covered my arms in a long sleeve was itchy, not that anyone cared. I didn’t choose this dress. I have never met my groom. I was in love with another man. Most of all, I didn’t want to get married.

Yes. Me, Malissa Maxford is being forced into a contract marriage with the heir of the largest global mafia syndicate.

It was cold inside the white marble church; however, I was sweating in discomfort. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here just waiting for my future husband to arrive. It must have been at least a couple of hours and everyone else have gotten restless and anxious.

If this had been a wedding that I wanted, I would have felt so worried that the groom has not shown up. However, the truth is, I didn’t care if he never shows up. Actually, it would be for the better for us all if he never showed up. Then the wedding would be called off and my grandmother and I can return to our normal and peaceful life.

I glanced sideway to see my frail and very sick granny sitting in a wheelchair with a nurse standing close behind her. I wish this wedding or whatever would be over quickly so that she can return to rest at the hospital. My grandmother was very old, and recently, I had discovered that she was very sick. The doctors couldn’t tell me how much longer she had left but even my untrained eye could tell that it wasn’t very long.

“Where’s the groom?” a man asked in a hush voice.

“Good questions. We’ve been waiting for almost three hours already…” another man replied before yawning.

“Shhhh…be quiet. The boss will kill you if he hears,” another man hissed to the other two.

“Has someone found him yet?” another voice asked seriously.

“I sent a bunch of men from my squad already. It shouldn’t take much longer…” someone else replied but I couldn’t sense much conviction from his voice.

“Don’t stare at the boss. He’ll kill you if he sees you staring…” one of the men hissed.

“That’s right. He’s definitely not in a good mood,” another one said with a sigh.

“What is that damn son of his doing?” the other said in a very soft whisper.

“Exactly, it’s his wedding and he’s not even here…” another man replied in agreement.

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