09/06/2026
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 co**se 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."
✳️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.
✳️CHAPTER 2:
Anissa stood in front of the carved wooden doors of the VIP suite. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her hands were steady.
Two men in black suits stepped in front of the door, blocking her path.
"Mr. Harding Snow is in a closed-door meeting with Mr. Aurthur Snow," the guard said, his voice devoid of emotion. "No interruptions."
Anissa looked him dead in the eye. She recited a specific sub-clause number. It was a highly classified emergency loophole regarding the Snow family trust fund succession-a closely guarded secret she had overheard Connor drunkenly bragging about.
The guard's jaw tightened. He pressed two fingers to his earpiece and whispered into his hidden microphone.
Three seconds passed. A heavy mechanical click echoed from inside the wood. The door unlocked. The guards stepped aside.
Anissa walked into the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the sharp scent of black coffee and expensive cigar smoke.
Harding Snow sat in a single leather armchair. His long legs were crossed. He was casually flipping through a thick stack of merger documents.
Aurthur Snow sat opposite him. The old man's face was purple with rage. He already knew about his grandson's disgraceful exit.
Harding looked up. His deep, gray-blue eyes locked onto Anissa through his gold-rimmed glasses. His gaze was an abyss, giving absolutely nothing away.
Aurthur gripped his cane. "Are you here to cancel the ceremony, Anissa? I am deeply sorry for what Connor did."
Anissa straightened her spine. She looked at the two most powerful men on Wall Street and dropped the bomb.
"The wedding proceeds as planned," Anissa said clearly. "But the groom's name changes."
Aurthur gasped. His knuckles turned white around his cane. "Are you insane? Do you want to drag a random groomsman to the altar?"
Anissa shifted her gaze. She looked directly at the silent man in the armchair. "I am marrying Harding Snow."
The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Aurthur sucked in a sharp breath. Harding's fingers stopped turning the page.
Harding slowly closed the folder. He leaned forward. "Do you have any idea what you are saying right now?"
Anissa took a step closer. "The mutual benefit agreement we briefly discussed at the gala last year."
She looked at him with absolute, unwavering certainty. "You need a wife to pacify the board and handle the family's pressure regarding your succession. I need a fortress to survive the fallout of today. Your name is the only one strong enough to shield me, and I am the only woman in New York desperate enough to sign away my freedom without asking questions. It's a win-win."
A dark, imperceptible ripple crossed Harding's eyes. He stood up. His massive frame instantly swallowed the light in the room, radiating pure dominance.
He walked until he was inches from her face. He looked down, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "If you sign this contract, Anissa, there is no backing out. Ever."
She didn't flinch. She tilted her chin up. "I have nothing left to lose. I am not afraid of the dark."
Aurthur suddenly stood up, his cane trembling. "Do it, Harding! This saves the family face. And it completely cuts that ungrateful bastard Connor out of the trust fund succession!"
"If you agree, Harding," Aurthur breathed heavily, "I will have the lawyers alter the documents and the church screens immediately."
Harding stared into Anissa's unwavering eyes. The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds. Finally, he gave a single, slow nod.
He turned to his executive assistant standing by the wall. "Initiate Plan B. You have five minutes to replace all physical and digital materials."
A sudden commotion erupted outside the door. Ashlee shoved past the guards, stumbling into the room.
She saw Anissa standing dangerously close to Harding. "What are you doing?" Ashlee shrieked. "Are you trying to seduce your elder? You are disgusting!"
Anissa didn't say a word. She closed the distance between them, raised her hand, and delivered a brutal backhand across Ashlee's face.
The sharp crack echoed off the walls. Ashlee crashed to the floor, clutching her stinging cheek, screaming in shock.
Harding didn't blink. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and handed it to Anissa.
"Don't dirty your hands," Harding said softly.
✳️CHAPTER 3:
The corridor leading to the main hall was dark and narrow. Harding bent his arm, offering it to her.
Anissa slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Her fingers brushed against the bespoke fabric of his suit. The sudden, intense heat of his body radiated through the material.
The warmth hit her like a physical blow. Her brain misfired. A violent wave of PTSD crashed over her.
The dim wall sconces blurred. The hallway twisted, morphing into the freezing, snow-covered streets of New York from her past life.
She remembered the agonizing cold. Ashlee had framed her. The Roy family had thrown her out without a dime. The temperature was twenty below zero.
She remembered dialing Connor's number with frostbitten fingers. She remembered hearing Seraphina's sweet, giggling voice on the other end before the line went dead.
She remembered Lorraine's voice on the voicemail. Die in the street, Anissa. Just don't bleed on my carpets.
The phantom ice clawed at her lungs. Her chest tightened. She couldn't breathe. Her knees buckled, and she stumbled forward.
Harding's arm shot out. His large hand clamped around her waist, gripping her tight. He pulled her flush against his solid chest, stopping her fall.
"Are you afraid?" his voice rumbled right against her ear, deep and incredibly grounding.
Anissa looked up. She stared at the sharp, perfect lines of his jaw. The memories shifted again.
She remembered floating above her own dead body.
She saw Harding. The ruthless tyrant of Wall Street, standing in a sterile morgue. He had taken off his own wool coat and draped it over her frozen co**se.
She saw his private armed security storming the Roy estate, taking her ashes by force.
She saw him standing alone in a private cemetery in Long Island, hosting a funeral for a woman he barely spoke to in life.
She remembered the suffocating weight of the dirt, the terrifying finality of death. She remembered the sheer, incomprehensible shock of waking up today, breathing, her heart beating in her chest. Why was she back? How was she back? The universe had given her a second chance, a miraculous reversal of fate that defied all logic. And in this new life, the only man she knew she could trust was the one who had shown her mercy when she was nothing but a memory. He had stood in that freezing cemetery, a solitary figure of absolute power, giving her the dignity in death that her own blood had denied her.
In the present, Anissa's fingers dug into his arm. Her knuckles turned stark white.
She took a ragged breath. She shoved the vulnerability deep into her stomach and shook her head. "I just realized it's too late."
"Too late to see them for who they are," she whispered, her voice hardening into steel. "But early enough to destroy them."
Harding looked down at her. His eyes dropped to the faint redness at the corners of her eyes. A violent, terrifying darkness flashed in his pupils.
His assistant's voice crackled over the radio. "Sir. The main hall screens are rebooted. The press is in position."
Harding lifted his hand. He gently adjusted the edge of her lace veil. The softness of his touch completely contradicted the lethal aura surrounding him.
"Once we push these doors open," Harding said in a low gravel, "you are the hostess of Manhattan. No one will ever make you lower your head again."
The organ music abruptly stopped. A second later, the grand, imposing chords of a royal wedding march shook the walls.
The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall were slowly pulled open by two ushers. Blinding white light from hundreds of camera flashes spilled into the dark corridor.
Anissa straightened her spine. She lifted her chin, her eyes turning into chips of ice. She looked like a queen stepping onto a battlefield.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Uncle," she whispered.
Harding heard the word. His jaw twitched. A dark, possessive smirk touched his lips.
"According to the legal documents being drafted right now," Harding corrected her, "you will call me husband."
The doors opened completely. A thousand eyes and camera lenses snapped directly onto them.
