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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A woman in a white T-shirt and jeans walked out of the train station in Douburgh with a suitcase.

Her delicate face turned slightly red as the sun hit her. She tucked wisps of curly hair behind her ears. Under her arched eyebrows were a pair of bright and pretty eyes, a slim nose, and cherry lips. She looked so beautiful even though she had no make-up on.

"Hello! You are Annabel Hewitt, right? I'm the driver sent by the Benton family."

Annabel nodded and followed the driver into the car casually. She was already worn out.

On the way, the driver stole glances at the woman, whose eyes were closed as she rested in the back seat.

This woman was Rupert Benton's fiancee.

Rupert Benton was the most eligible bachelor in the city. At just twenty-one years old, he was already the CEO of Benton Group. He was way ahead of his peers. He was a vigorous, resourceful and no-nonsense person, causing many in the business world to be afraid of him.

His grandfather, Bruce Benton, took it upon himself to find a wife for him. And he picked Annabel, a girl from the countryside.

With his hands on the steering wheel, the driver took another look at Annabel's innocent face and clicked his tongue. He envisaged that she would have a hard time with the Benton family.

At this time, Annabel slowly opened her eyes and looked at the strange city with a calm expression.

The car arrived at the Benton family's residence soon. The driver carried Annabel's luggage for her.

Annabel barely had one foot inside the house when a well-dressed woman appeared. She eyed Annabel from head to toe with a look of utter disdain.

"Tracy!"

"Yes, Mrs. Benton."

As soon as Tracy was given a signal, she began to spray the disinfectant all over Annabel.

The well-dressed woman was Erica Benton, Rupert's mother. With her hands akimbo, she ordered, "Her shoes and hair. Spray them, too."

Annabel's face and body were soon covered with droplets of disinfectant. The pungent smell made her nose a little itchy. She uttered coldly, "What is wrong with you?"

Erica flipped out immediately.

"I heard that you're from the countryside, but I thought you would at least be well-behaved. It appears you are the same as the wayward and rude girls they breed over there. I'm doing this because I don't want you to bring any virus or bacteria into this household. Do you want us to get infected with whatever you are carrying?"

Annabel wasn't one to take shit from anyone. She would have walked out if she hadn't made a deal with her grandfather.

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