Claimed By The Husband's Ruthless Uncle

The morning light filtering through the heavy curtains did nothing to warm the massive breakfast room of Maxwell Manor. Diana sat at the long mahogany table. Her stomach churned, sending waves of nausea up her throat. She had not slept a single minute. Her skin was pale, and dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes.

Mrs. Holloway had woken her at dawn, informing her that Theodore Sr. demanded her presence.

Theodore sat at the head of the table. He cut his eggs with slow, deliberate motions. The silence in the room was suffocating.

Diana kept her hands folded in her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. She waited for the axe to fall. She waited to be thrown out onto the street.

"Miss Atkins," Theodore finally spoke. He did not look up from his plate. "I am aware that you are not Janessa."

Diana's heart leaped into her throat. She swallowed hard, forcing air into her lungs. "Yes, sir. My sister, she..."

"I do not care where your sister is," Theodore snapped, cutting her off. He dropped his fork onto the porcelain plate with a sharp clatter. "I only care that right now, the bride of the Maxwell family is you."

Diana blinked. Her brain struggled to process the words. She stared at the old man, her mouth slightly open.

Theodore picked up his coffee cup. "The marriage between the Atkins and the Maxwells has been announced to the public and the shareholders. There will be no changes. From today onward, you are Diana Maxwell."

A dizzying wave of unreality washed over Diana. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. She was not being kicked out.

An hour later, a man in a sharp grey suit walked into the breakfast room. He carried a thick leather briefcase.

"Madam, I am Mr. Davenport, the family attorney," he said, pulling a thick stack of papers from his bag. "Mr. Theodore instructed me to explain the key clauses of your prenuptial agreement."

He slid the document across the polished wood. Diana looked down. There, on the front page, was her signature. Her father had forced her to sign it in a dark office just hours before the wedding.

Mr. Davenport flipped to a specific page and tapped his manicured finger against a paragraph. "According to Section 7, Clause A, the marriage is effective immediately upon signing and cannot be revoked for five years, unless a specific breach of contract occurs."

Diana's throat felt dry. "For example?"

"For example, infidelity," the lawyer stated. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. "Once proven, the breaching party will be stripped of all rights and assets. You will leave with nothing."

A cold weight dropped into Diana's stomach. This was not a marriage. It was a modern-day indentured servitude contract.

"However," Mr. Davenport continued, closing the folder, "as long as you abide by the agreement, after five years, regardless of the state of the marriage, you will receive the trust fund and the Maxwell Group shares promised in the document."

Diana understood perfectly. The carrot and the stick. The Maxwell family accepted her as a fake, but they chained her to the floor with ironclad rules.

"My husband," Diana started, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "Mr. Julian. Is he bound by these same rules?"

Mr. Davenport adjusted his glasses. "Of course. The agreement is equally binding on both parties."

Diana let out a slow, shaky breath. That meant Julian could not easily throw her away for five years. Her position, however miserable, was secure.

She thanked the lawyer and watched him leave. She sat alone in the massive room. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. She could not stay in this manor. The air was too thin to breathe.

She found Mrs. Holloway in the hallway and made a request. She wanted to move into one of the family's other properties in the city. She needed space to adapt to her new identity.

Mrs. Holloway left to consult Theodore Sr. Ten minutes later, she returned with a nod. Theodore had agreed.

Theodore believed that separating them would give Conway the perfect excuse to step in as the mediating uncle.

By that afternoon, Diana packed her single suitcase and moved into a sprawling penthouse in the city center. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the skyline. Her chest expanded as she took a deep breath. She thought she had won a small piece of freedom. She had no idea she had just walked from a cage into a fishbowl.