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The Discarded Heiress: Marrying My Lethal Husband

Xiao Wang

The rain in Detroit was slick with grime when my family finally came to fetch me. They didn't want a reunion; they wanted a sacrificial lamb to marry into the Kaufman empire to save their failing business. I thought I was just being sold off, but the limo ride ended under a dark overpass where six hired thugs were waiting with chains. My own sister had ordered them to "break my spirit" so I’d be a shaking, pathetic mess by the time I reached the altar. They called me "Detroit trash" and sprayed air freshener when I sat on their leather seats. My stepmother wanted a video of me begging for my life, and my father was ready to trade me like a used car to a man everyone called a "vegetable." They expected a submissive country girl, unaware that I was a high-level "cleaner" who could snap a radius bone before they could even scream. When I finally reached the Kaufman estate, I found my fiancé, Barron, slumped in a wheelchair, drooling and silent. But as soon as the doors closed, the "invalid" grabbed my wrist with a grip of iron and whispered a command that changed everything. I didn't understand why my own blood was so desperate to see me destroyed. What had I ever done to deserve a hit squad and a forced marriage to a man they thought was a corpse? But Barron isn't a vegetable, and I'm not a victim. We just touched down at the Moon family gala in a matte-black helicopter, and as the doors slide open, the "broken" bride is about to show them exactly what happens when you throw away the wrong daughter. "If we're going to crash a party," Barron whispered, his eyes burning with lethal clarity, "we should make an entrance."

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I step back at the force of his slap on my face, muffling my cry to stay quiet.

"What the fuck did I tell you? I said a woman is not supposed to speak except spoken to." Father snapped with disappointment in his eyes.

"Do not test me, girl. I don't want to see you downstairs unless you're summoned." He growls at me.

My bottom lip trembles as I nod.

"And why do you look like a rag doll? It is almost lunch time." He looks at me from my head to my toes with disgust in his expression.

He turns around to our only maid and gestures to me while speaking to her.

"Fix this nonsense. It is your responsibility to keep an eye on this good-for-nothing girl." He says, shaking his head as he walks away.

I let out the breath I was holding and rushed upstairs, Maya right on my tail, closing the door behind her as we entered my room.

"I am sorry, Miss. I didn't know-"

"It's okay, Maya. We both know he hates everything I do." I say, giving a small sad smile.

It's not her fault he hates me.

Father has hated me since the day I was born because my mother died bringing me into this world. My father says I killed her, that I caused her so much pain to the point where she had to die.

Three hours later at exactly 1:45 PM, I rushed downstairs, not paying attention to anything but getting to the dining table before him.

I thought he would be happy today at least. His darling first daughter is going to be given to the Mafia boss for marriage.

Why was he upset?

I thankfully made it to the dining room first to see the improving preparations for tonight.

The Mafia boss is going to be coming tonight to take my sister's hand in marriage.

Father has been training my sister and I on how to 'please' a man. He made us take classes on mannerisms when I was 12 and my sister was 15.

When my sister graduated from the class and I didn't, Father started physically hitting me to 'learn my lesson.' He said I liked it the hard way.

Then the next class was etiquette and marriage counseling, then how a woman should behave and dress at all times.

My sister has graduated all her classes as she was now ready to be married while I was not, according to his words, 'not yet fit for a man.'

I'm told that this is the life of women in the Mafia. We must respect the men of the house, we have to keep our heads low and go from obeying our fathers to our husbands to not get hit or punished.

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