Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle
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On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle Chapter 1
The heavy oak doors of the bridal suite could not keep out the sound. The grand organ of Trinity Church echoed through the thick wood, the wedding march vibrating against the floorboards.
Anissa Roy stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She stared at the woman reflected in the glass. The custom Vera Wang gown swallowed her in layers of pristine white tulle.
Her eyes, usually soft and compliant, shifted. The fog of confusion evaporated, replaced by a clarity so cold it made her chest ache.
She dug her manicured nails into the center of her palm. The sharp, biting pain pierced her skin. Her breath hitched.
She wasn't dead. The freezing New York blizzard that had stopped her heart in her past life was gone. She was really back. Back to today.
The suite door burst open. It slammed against the wall with a violent crack.
Connor Snow rushed in. His phone was gripped tightly in his hand, his face pale and frantic.
He didn't even look at her. He yanked at his black bowtie, his signature tell when he was cornered or lying.
"I have to go," Connor blurted out, his voice tight. "Seraphina was on set. The wire snapped. She broke her leg. They just rushed her to Mount Sinai."
In her past life, Anissa had begged. She had cried until her throat bled, clinging to his tuxedo jacket.
Now, she just looked at him. Her face was a mask of ice. She watched him panic like a pathetic clown performing a cheap trick.
Connor paused. Her silence felt wrong. He frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes, but his panic quickly buried it.
"You need to go out there," he ordered, pointing toward the door. "Handle the reporters from Page Six and Vanity Fair. Keep my grandfather Aurthur calm. Make up an excuse."
"I'll make it up to you later," he threw the empty promise over his shoulder, already turning away. He sprinted toward the church's rear exit without a single ounce of hesitation.
Gasps erupted from the hallway. The groomsmen shouted his name. Connor's escape was already causing a scene.
Anissa walked slowly to the window. She looked down at the alley. Connor's silver Aston Martin tore out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of exhaust.
A cold, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of her lips.
The sharp click of heels echoed from the open doorway. Ashlee Roy walked in. She wore an ivory bridesmaid dress, but the custom tailoring and the excessive spray of diamond accents along the bodice made it far more luxurious than a standard attendant's gown, subtly designed to outshine the bride without crossing the line into obvious sabotage.
Ashlee's face was twisted into a mask of deep concern, but the malicious gleam in her eyes gave her away.
"Oh, Anissa," Ashlee sighed loudly, making sure the bridesmaids in the hall could hear. "Connor is just too loyal to his friends. You can't blame him for leaving."
Anissa turned around. She dragged her heavy skirt across the carpet. Her eyes locked onto her adopted sister, sharp as broken glass.
Ashlee took a step back. A sudden, unexplainable chill crawled up her spine.
She forced a smile and reached out, trying to grab Anissa's arm. "Come on. Let's go out there and bow to the guests. You need to apologize."
Anissa didn't hesitate. She swung her hand and slapped Ashlee's wrist away.
The smack was loud and crisp.
Ashlee gasped. She cradled her hand against her chest. The skin on the back of her hand turned bright red. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes.
Lorraine Roy pushed through the crowd at the door. She saw Ashlee crying and rushed forward.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lorraine screamed, pulling Ashlee behind her.
Lorraine pointed a shaking finger at Anissa's face. "The Roy family stock cannot crash just because you are too pathetic to keep a man in your bed!"
"Fix your makeup," Lorraine commanded, her breathing heavy. "Go out to the main hall. Announce that the wedding is postponed. Tell them it's your fault."
The suffocating weight of her past life pressed down on Anissa's chest. But the reborn Anissa only felt a deep, hollow sense of absurdity.
"The wedding is not being postponed," Anissa said. Her voice was flat, cutting through her mother's rant.
Lorraine and Ashlee froze. They stared at her, convinced the humiliation had finally snapped her mind.
Anissa didn't explain. She grabbed handfuls of her heavy tulle skirt, lifted it, and walked straight past the two women.
"Where are you going?" Ashlee yelled from behind. "The entire elite of New York is out there waiting to laugh at you!"
Anissa didn't look back. "I'm going to get a new groom."
She reached out and pushed open the heavy double doors leading to the Snow family's VIP corridor.
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Marrying My Ex's Powerful Billionaire Uncle of Contents
New Release Novels
8.2
Ten years as childhood friends and three as husband and wife ended in her husband's betrayal, and her brothers' indifference. Diagnosed with mid-stage stomach cancer, Roselyn saw the truth of her life.
She walked away from everything, rising from an overlooked office worker to a leading figure in the tech world.
She outplayed her husband into signing divorce papers. When they met again, he begged, "I was wrong... take me back. I'd give you my stomach if I could."
Her once arrogant brothers pleaded too, but she felt nothing. After all, love that arrived too late meant nothing to her now-she simply didn't care anymore.
As they stood desperate, a man stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. "Why waste time on them? Look at me instead."
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
9.8
Erica Murphy had spent three years rotting in a freezing prison cell.
She thought she was serving time for a tragic accident, but the truth was much darker. Her husband, Colten, had framed her for his mistress's drunk hit-and-run, stolen her fortune, and left her to take the fall.
The day Erica was finally released, a speeding car intentionally slammed into her, shattering her spine. As she lay dying on the emergency room table, flatlining on the monitor, Colten and his pregnant mistress didn't come to save her. Instead, they tossed a stack of divorce papers onto her bloody hospital blanket. They wanted her to sign away her last remaining shares and take on thirty million dollars of toxic corporate debt.
"Sign it," Colten demanded coldly, looking at her crushed body with utter disgust. "Consider this the last bit of dignity I'm giving you."
The original Erica died right there, suffocating in despair and betrayal, unable to understand how the man she loved could be so monstrous.
But when the flatline on the monitor suddenly spiked and her eyes snapped open, the traumatized victim was gone.
Replaced by the cold, calculating consciousness of a future special ops commander. With microscopic nanobots rapidly fusing her shattered bones together, Erica picked up the pen, preparing to burn Colten's entire empire to ashes.
8.2
In our beast world, females are treated as nothing more than precious breeding stock to keep the pack strong. As the pack's best Mender, I spent all my time focusing on my healing herbs, completely ignoring my maturity ritual.
But tonight, the blind pack elder grabbed my wrist and delivered a chilling ultimatum.
If I don't choose my mates by the next Full Moon, the Council of Elders will force a match and assign them to me.
The threat is already suffocating. Arrogant, elite warriors like Caleb Quinn are pacing outside my door like starving wolves, stalking my porch and using pack business to corner me. At home, the reality of multiple mates is even worse. My mother has two mates—my father, the strongest Alpha, and my cold, intellectual step-father. Their toxic, murderous jealousy turns our house into a daily war zone. They literally unleash suffocating killing intent on innocent cubs just for hugging my mother.
I am disgusted by this sick, possessive obsession. I refuse to let my life become a battlefield of jealous males fighting over who gets to guard my door, and I absolutely refuse to be forced into a harem by the Elders.
So, I made a declaration that shocked my entire family and broke every pack tradition.
"I will only ever take one mate."
And to make sure none of those predatory warriors can touch me, I set an impossible trap.
"Whoever wants me must defeat my father first."
8.5
I spent six months choking down bitter herbs to cure my silver poisoning, just so I could finally bear pups for my mate, Alpha Holden.
But on the day I got my medical clearance, I discovered he was cheating on me with a low-level Omega intern.
Worse, I overheard him and my own brother talking in his office. My four-year marriage was a grotesque trap. My fake sister, Kylie, was the one who hired a rogue to cripple my wolf, and Holden only mated me to protect her from being exiled.
My entire family knew the truth, yet they protected the culprit while treating me like a cursed, wolfless burden.
When my brother violently spilled boiling soup on my stomach at a family dinner, exposing my horrific scars, my parents just rolled their eyes.
"Stop the pity play, Ariana," my mother sneered.
Holden didn't care about my burns either. He abandoned me on a freezing mountain road in the rain the moment his mistress called.
I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could sacrifice me for a fake daughter, or how my mate could turn our sacred bond into a sickening lie.
But I didn't shed a single tear. I secretly secured my Pack Identification Papers and gathered ironclad proof of his infidelity. I just needed one month to execute the Rejection ritual and walk away forever.
9.2
Celestia woke up heavily sedated, her wrists bound tightly to the legs of a grand piano in a cold, opulent room.
Before she could even process the panic, a towering billionaire named Sterling Sinclair IV stepped in, looking at her like a possessed piece of art.
The head maid then handed Celestia a thick surrogacy contract with her perfectly forged signature.
"You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair," the maid stated flatly.
Celestia screamed that they had the wrong person, but her desperate cries bounced uselessly off the soundproof walls.
Stripped of her clothes, phone, and identity, she was trapped on an isolated island surrounded by high-voltage electric fences and armed guards.
When she furiously fought back, Sterling physically overpowered her, punishing her resistance with brutal, terrifying dominance until she lost consciousness on the marble floor.
She didn't understand who had kidnapped her from her normal life.
Why was her biometric data perfectly faked in a classified dossier?
Who had framed her as a willing, ten-million-dollar premium product for a ruthless billionaire?
Driven by pure survival, Celestia began aggressively consuming raw garlic and bathing in harsh white vinegar to destroy her fertility and repel his touch.
And when Sterling finally reviewed her bizarre, self-sabotaging dietary logs, the terrifying truth hit his calculating mind like a physical blow.
The broken, innocent woman he had been brutally tormenting all week was never his hired surrogate.
