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Married My Ex's Hockey King Uncle: Now My Family Begs

Married My Ex's Hockey King Uncle: Now My Family Begs

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10 Chapters
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The last time I wore this wedding dress, my fiancé ran out on me. Twenty minutes before our wedding, Preston Vance got a phone call. His first love, Bri, had fallen at skating practice and broken her leg. "I have to go," he said. "Make up an excuse." In my last life, I begged him to stay. I cried until my throat bled. He left anyway. Three years later, my adopted sister framed me, and my own family threw me out into a Chicago blizzard. I called Preston with frozen fingers. I heard Bri giggling before he hung up. My mother left me a voicemail: "Die in the street, Wren. Just don't bleed on my carpets." So I died. Then I opened my eyes in my wedding dress, on the same morning, twenty minutes before the ceremony. This time, I didn't beg. I let him go. My sister told me to go apologize to the guests. I slapped her hand away. My mother told me to say the wedding was off, and that it was all my fault. "The wedding is not being postponed," I said. "I'm going to get a new groom." There was only one man in that cathedral Preston was afraid of. His uncle. Rhett Kincaid. Captain of the Chicago Wardens. The most feared man in the NHL. In my last life, he was the one who covered my frozen body with his own coat and buried me when my family wouldn't. "If you sign this, there's no backing out," he told me. "Ever." "I have nothing left to lose." Ten minutes later, every screen in the cathedral changed from PRESTON & WREN to RHETT & WREN. Six hundred guests watched him slide the Vance family ring onto my finger and kiss me in front of every camera in Chicago. Now my family wants me to divorce him and crawl back. Preston just saw the photo. And my new husband just told me: "Tear the house down if you want. No matter what mess you make, I will bury it."

Contents

Married My Ex's Hockey King Uncle: Now My Family Begs Chapter 1

Wren POV:

The heavy oak doors of the bridal suite could not keep out the sound. The grand organ of Holy Name Cathedral echoed through the thick wood, the wedding march vibrating against the floorboards.

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I stared at the woman reflected in the glass. The custom Vera Wang gown swallowed me in layers of pristine white tulle.

My eyes, usually soft and compliant, shifted. The fog of confusion evaporated, replaced by a clarity so cold it made my chest ache.

I dug my manicured nails into the center of my palm. The sharp, biting pain pierced my skin. My breath hitched.

I wasn't dead.

The freezing Chicago blizzard that had stopped my heart in my past life was gone. I was really back. Back to today. Back to the start of all tragedy, and also to the moment when everything could still be redeemed.

The suite door burst open. It slammed against the wall with a violent crack.

Preston Vance, my fiancé, rushed in. His phone was gripped tightly in his hand, his face pale and frantic.

He didn't even look at me. He yanked at his black bowtie, his signature tell when he was cornered or lying.

"I have to go," Preston blurted out, his voice tight. "Bri was at practice. She fell on a triple axel. She broke her leg. They just rushed her to Northwestern Memorial."

In my past life, I had begged him not to go to his mistress's place. I had cried until my throat bled, clinging to his tuxedo jacket.

Now, I just looked at him. My face was a mask of ice. I watched him panic like a pathetic clown performing a cheap trick.

Preston paused. My silence seemed to throw him. 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 the Tribune and ESPN. Keep my grandfather Gus 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 cathedral's rear exit without a single ounce of hesitation.

Gasps erupted from the hallway. The groomsmen, half of the Chicago Wardens roster, shouted his name. Preston's escape was already causing a scene.

I walked slowly to the window. I looked down at the alley. Preston's silver Porsche tore out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of exhaust.

A cold, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of my lips.

The sharp click of heels echoed from the open doorway. My adopted sister, Bianca Hale, 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.

My parents, Diane and Richard Hale, adopted Bianca when I was seven. From her first week in our house, she wanted to be the only daughter in it. She broke Grandma June's vase and cried that I had pushed her. She tore up her own homework and said I did it. Every time, my parents believed her, and every time, I was the one who got punished. By the time I was twelve, nobody in my family listened to a word I said. Today, if my wedding fell apart, Bianca would be the only Hale daughter anyone wanted to look at.

Bianca's face was twisted into a mask of deep concern, but the malicious gleam in her eyes gave her away.

"Oh, Wren," Bianca sighed loudly, making sure the bridesmaids in the hall could hear. "Preston is just too loyal to his friends. You can't blame him for leaving."

I turned around. I dragged my heavy skirt across the carpet. My eyes locked onto my adopted sister, sharp as broken glass.

Bianca took a step back, like a sudden, unexplainable chill had crawled up her spine.

She forced a smile and reached out, trying to grab my arm. "Come on. Let's go out there and bow to the guests. You need to apologize."

I didn't hesitate. I swung my hand and slapped Bianca's wrist away.

The smack was loud and crisp.

Bianca 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.

Diane pushed through the crowd at the door. She saw Bianca crying and rushed forward.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Diane screamed, pulling Bianca behind her.

Diane pointed a shaking finger at my face. "Hale Construction cannot lose every Vance contract just because you are too pathetic to keep a man in your bed!"

"Fix your makeup," Diane 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 my past life pressed down on my chest. But the reborn me only felt a deep, hollow sense of absurdity.

"The wedding is not being postponed," I said. My voice was flat, cutting through Diane's rant.

Diane and Bianca froze. They stared at me like the humiliation had finally snapped my mind.

I didn't explain. I grabbed handfuls of my heavy tulle skirt, lifted it, and walked straight past the two women.

"Where are you going?" Bianca yelled from behind. "All of Chicago is out there waiting to laugh at you!"

I didn't look back. "I'm going to get a new groom."

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