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Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

Chapter 4

Word Count: 807 | Released on: 16/04/2026

nsive lilies. It was a suffocating, sterile

mud and oil from her escape, but there wasn't time to clean

e doors h

cal bed into the center of the roo

ut the man in the bed was different. He was thinner, yes, but the structure was still there. Broad sh

l. So incre

as taped to his mouth, the machine breath

corner. "Don't expect

the bed and reached out, placing her hand on F

as a prisoner in his own skull, a ghost in the machine. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. He

ing pierced

sation. Not m

rm was touch

l away, to do anything at all - but the command died somewhere in the

began, checking his watch. He

onitor. The green line march

, do you tak

Her voice was stron

u, Fleet M

d, signing the paper on the

," the cha

velvet pillow. It was the Maxwell family cre

led slightly inward. She struggled to push the ring over

beep-

tor sped up. J

Darcie asked

y looked up from his chart. "Just a sympathet

cond, just a split second, she thought she

hed against his cheek. She put

hat even the microphones couldn't pick it up. "But

and rough, li

moment to resolve, "using me", and something flickered inside him. Not rage, this time. Curiosity. T

a long time, Fleet M

rling announced. "You ar

sound. "Show's over. Darcie, the guest ro

. She placed her hand

froze. "

shall act as primary caregiver.' I'm staying here." She pointed to the smal

. "You want to sleep with

e said, her eyes hard

e Darcie, but Sterling ushered her out. "Le

oom e

whoosh-click of the ventilator. S

kicking off her heels. "L

oint of light in the vast darkness-on his eye

was lis

Chapter End

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Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

Ming Yue Modern

“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.”