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Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

Chapter 6

Word Count: 849 | Released on: 16/04/2026

suite was bigger than Darci

nd added a few drops of sandalwood

the mirror. Dark circles

ctor," she told her reflection. "You've f

the bowl bac

eptively strong. Years of hauling water buckets

itch of muscle beneath her fingers. the way the nerves, dormant for so long, stirred at the unfamiliar sensation. For Fleet, the warm water was a map. It traced

the muscles in his forea

o a knot near his elbow. "What are you made o

ickered in response. MREs and gravel, sweetheart. Special Forces diet. The thought wa

is shoulder. Her fingers trac

she s

he base of his neck, disappearing beh

the scar with her thumb, gently

ave hurt," s

tion. It was a s

y down to where Fleet floated. They struck him with more force than a physical blow. Nobody ever said that. They as

head and snapped herself out of the moment. "Whatever. You have

rp, annoying surge of disappointment that flared behind F

ottom of the bed and

started on his calves, pushing t

motion erupted

to see m

blood r

e sheet back up over Fleet, tucking

ld him. "I need to

to the door and

urity guard. She was holding a bas

t smile. "I brought a wedding gift.

the hall and closed

he basket from

s," sh

metal trash can next to the nurses' sta

awked. "That co

rcie said, crossing her arms. "No c

was taller than her by three inches,

ontrol the household budget now, Floy. Hugh's credit cards? I can freeze

pale. The money

would

et out. Before I have securit

nd, and marched away, her heels

breath, counting

d back to

p and cold, the voice of someone drawing a line in the sand-had cut through the static. A strange sense of satisfaction settle

ed he li

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.”