Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

Chapter 7

Word Count: 620 | Released on: 16/04/2026

m hit at

anes of the East Wing, shak

, a storm meant leaks. It meant the

ilk pajamas, part of the "wardrobe"

t was wide enough for two, but she stuck to th

she muttered to the c

back to him and

CK-

e close. The room lit up

her body jerkin

which meant it was soft and slightly fluid. Her

id bac

lided with F

the first. Panic overrode logic. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder. She thr

had forgotten the shape of a human touch. Now a weight pressed against him. Soft curves. Trembling limbs. A liv

as sh

distant and cut cleanly through the stati

d across his neck. His brain, starved of input for what felt like a lifetime, s

her voice thick and slurry, hanging somewh

to something heavier. A strange, protective ache took shape insi

him, a desperate and silent roa

nd squeezed him tighter. Her hand pressed fl

seemed to jump from the air

ght hand. Every ounce of willpo

n, it h

x finger

asm. But against her palm, i

. Her eyes s

room was dark, lit only

" she w

red at

," she begge

d. One mi

hand lay as s

d laughed at herself. "I'm losin

away. The storm was

ead back down

ispered. "Thanks for the twi

fire through dry brush. A savage, bl

epened, and steadied aga

night, a silent se

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.”