The Wolves of Vukasin Island

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

Download the Book on the App

The air smelled of blood before the first scream came.

It was faint at first-just a note on the wind. A copper tang beneath the scent of pine and storm-damp earth. The trees whispered restlessly, their branches swaying in rhythm with something ancient and disturbed. Rhea Voss stood at the ridge above the valley, her boots coated in dust, her breath shallow, her body still. Listening.

Not watching.

Listening was how you survived in Ashen Fang territory. You listened to the wind, the birds, the way silence settled like a predator. Sight could lie. Sound never did.

And right now... the woods were too quiet.

Behind her, the scouting party shifted impatiently. Four wolves in human form, each battle-tested, each older than her-and yet they waited for her signal. Because she was the one with the instinct. The one the Alpha trusted. The Ghost Wolf, they called her. Silent. Efficient. Lethal.

But tonight, something felt off.

The scent came again. Stronger now. Not just blood. Burning.

And something else.

Silver.

Rhea's lips parted, a curse barely forming. "Move."

She was already sprinting down the incline before the others reacted, her muscles moving like memory. She didn't need to shift. Not yet. She needed clarity. Precision.

The trees thinned as she descended into the valley, the undergrowth torn up in chaotic patterns-signs of a struggle, too recent for comfort. Her foot caught something soft, and she skidded to a halt.

A body.

Eyes wide. Throat torn.

Ashen Fang.

"Shit," muttered Jorik behind her, kneeling to inspect the fallen packmate.

"Burn marks on the wounds," Rhea murmured, voice flat. "Silver-lined blades."

"Poachers?" someone asked.

She didn't answer. Poachers didn't get this deep into Velmorra. Not without dying. No. This was a message.

She felt it in her bones before she saw the second body-this one wasn't Ashen Fang. This one wore the pale grey tunic of Silver Hollow.

Her breath caught.

This wasn't a random kill.

This was war.

---

They gathered the bodies before dawn. The others argued about whether to take them home or burn them. Rhea stood still through it all, her thoughts miles away.

Why was a Silver Hollow wolf here? Why was his blood mingled with one of their own?

More importantly, why had they killed each other?

Unless...

Unless someone else had orchestrated it.

Her jaw tensed.

Kael needed to hear this.

And she needed answers.

Read Now