Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Patient
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.
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Chapter 3
Kellie pushed open the door to her office and stepped inside. She shut the door firmly, cutting off the chaotic noise of the ER.
She leaned her back against the wood and exhaled a long, shaky breath. The cold, untouchable persona she had worn out in the hallway slipped off her shoulders like a heavy coat. Her heart was still racing, pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She pushed off the door and walked to her desk. Her eyes landed on the glossy cover of a business magazine sitting in her inbox. Deron Blanchard's face smiled up at her, the headline boasting about his company's latest acquisition.
A spike of pure, bitter acid shot up her throat. This was the reason. The catalyst for the worst decision of her life.
She snatched up the magazine and shoved it into the trash can under her desk, burying it under a crumpled coffee cup.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket.
Caleb: "Dr. Walter, patient is out of endoscopy. Mild GI bleeding, controlled with meds. Moved to Room 4B."
She typed back a quick "Received" and dropped into her chair, closing her eyes.
The silence of the office was deafening. And in that silence, Jeffry Alston's face floated behind her eyelids. Pale, sweating, and now, a massive, unforeseen complication. Her life's guiding principle was control, and this man-legally and now physically-had just become the ultimate uncontrolled variable.
She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to block it out, but the image persisted. The absurdity of it all crashed over her. She was married. To a stranger. A stranger who was currently lying in a hospital bed because he drank himself sick.
Meanwhile, out in the hospital, the digital world was on fire.
Caleb's text had ignited a powder keg. The intern group chat was exploding.
"Married?! To who?"
"The guy who came in drunk?"
"No way! Dr. Walter doesn't even date!"
"She signed the consent form as his WIFE. I saw it!"
Caleb was basking in the attention, typing furiously, adding dramatic flourishes to the story of the confrontation in the hallway.
A few hours later, in Room 4B, Jeffry Alston stirred. The fog of sedation was lifting, leaving behind a dull, burning ache in his stomach. He blinked against the dim light of the room, his throat dry and scratchy.
The door opened, and Caleb walked in, clipboard in hand. He tried to look professional, but his eyes were shining with barely contained curiosity.
"Mr. Alston," Caleb said, his voice pitched a little too high. "Welcome back. You're at Columbia University Medical Center. You were admitted for acute gastritis. How are you feeling?"
Jeffry frowned, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the night. "How... how did I get here?"
"An ambulance," Caleb said, checking the IV drip. "Did your friend Zara bring you in?"
Jeffry's brow furrowed. "Zara... is she here?"
Caleb leaned in slightly, unable to resist. "She was. But the person who signed your consent forms... that wasn't Zara."
Jeffry's gaze sharpened. "Who was it?"
Caleb dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It was your attending physician. Dr. Walter. She said... she said she's your wife."
Jeffry stared at Caleb for a long moment. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then, a slow, faint smile touched Jeffry's pale lips. It wasn't a look of shock or panic. It was a look of quiet amusement.
"Kellie Walter," he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like he was tasting it.
Caleb blinked, completely thrown off. This was not the reaction he had expected. Where was the surprise? The denial?
Before Caleb could probe further, the door swung open.
Kellie walked in. She had traded her blood-stained scrubs for a clean set, but the exhaustion was evident in the slight shadows under her eyes.
She stopped at the foot of the bed. Her gaze locked with Jeffry's.
It was the first time they had looked at each other clearly since the day they got married. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension.
Kellie broke the silence first. She fell back on her professional armor, her voice crisp and detached. "How are you feeling?"
Jeffry looked at her, his gaze traveling from her face down to the nametag on her scrubs. The smile lingered on his lips. "Much better, thank you. Dr. Walter." He paused, his eyes glinting. "Or should I call you... Kellie?"
The sound of her name on his lips sent a jolt through her system, a tiny spark that made her fingers twitch. She immediately looked away, focusing on the IV bag behind him.
"In a professional setting, it's best to stick to titles, Mr. Alston," she said, her voice cool.
Jeffry let out a low chuckle. It was rough from the breathing tube, but it held a warm, velvety quality that felt entirely out of place in a sterile hospital room. "That's funny. Dr. Fletcher here seems to think our relationship is a bit more than professional."
Kellie stiffened. She shot a warning glance at Caleb, who suddenly found the floor very interesting. She looked back at Jeffry, saying nothing. Her silence was an admission.
Jeffry watched her, his playful demeanor shifting into something softer, more vulnerable. He leaned his head back against the pillow, looking up at her with a pleading expression.
"I feel terrible," he said, his voice dropping. "The hospital food is going to kill me faster than this ulcer. I really want... I want some of your homemade chicken soup."
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8.9
For three years, Alana acted as the sole tactical brain for the Dawnbreaker squad, keeping them alive despite being labeled a useless "Dud" Conduit.
But right before the crucial Ascension Trials, squad leader Cash handed her a corporate sponsorship contract. The condition? She had to become the "private companion" to a greasy corporate heir just so the squad could get high-tier gear.
When she refused, the teammates she had bled for unanimously voted to kick her out.
"You're just window dressing, a liability."
They revoked her safehouse access, burned her belongings, and the academy advisor even tried to force her into a state-sanctioned breeding program. They left her to freeze in the slums, betting she would desperately crawl into the rich man's bed.
What they didn't know was that her inability to summon an Eidolon wasn't a lack of talent. Her teammate Dallin had been secretly sabotaging her rituals for years, crippling her potential just to keep her chained as their free tactician.
Stripped of everything and pushed to the absolute brink, Alana's despair morphed into a deadly resolve.
Using a million-credit black market loan and a forbidden blood matrix, she forcibly anchored an Apex-Tier cosmic wolf disguised as a harmless silver pup.
When her ex-squad tried to publicly humiliate her and burn her new "pet" alive in the cafeteria, a flash of silver light severed Dallin's hand instantly.
Looking at her screaming former teammates, Alana finally smiled.
7.7
Rory stood on the witness stand, forced by her father into an impossible choice: secure her dying mother's medical funding, or save her innocent boyfriend.
She looked Corbin right in his trusting eyes and lied to the court, testifying that he was the one driving the car during the fatal hit-and-run, sending him to a maximum-security prison for ten years.
The betrayal destroyed him. Corbin's father died of a heart attack upon hearing the guilty verdict. Six years later, Corbin returned as a ruthless billionaire and systematically blacklisted Rory from every job in the city. He cornered her into singing at his private club, humiliating her by forcing her to drink scotch—knowing she was severely allergic—and making her throw away his promise ring just to earn a stack of cash.
"Remember this moment. This is only the beginning."
She endured his cruel revenge because she was hiding a desperate secret: she was raising his five-year-old daughter, Willa. But when Willa's congenital heart defect suddenly worsened, requiring an impossible one-million-dollar surgery, Rory realized Corbin's calculated blockade had left her completely trapped with no way to save their child.
Staring at the sterile hospital walls, the last shred of her guilt burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He had destroyed her career and backed her into a corner, but he was the only one with the money. Wiping her tears, Rory turned and headed straight for Vance Tower.
8.1
I'd lived as a mafia queen, ruling with quiet strength, only to discover my entire life was a lie. My husband, Dante, secretly divorced me three years ago, then married our timid nanny. I wasn't just betrayed; I was a dead ex-wife walking, a ghost in my own home.
A mafia daughter, I expected routine at Rossi's law firm. But Rossi, pale and sweating, handed me an envelope: Dante's divorce judgment, signed three years ago, and his marriage certificate to Gia, our nanny.
Truth slammed me: Gia poisoned me for years, causing infertility, making her bastard son the sole heir. Hidden, I watched her force Dante, the Underboss, to kneel, drink hallucinogenic tea, and profess devotion. She smirked.
This was calculated murder: my existence, my legacy. Rage burned, but clarity struck: disappear, or vanish into the Long Island Sound.
From a hidden phone, I called Luca, the underworld's elite cleaner. "I need a top-tier scrub. Target is myself," I commanded. "Get me out of this hell. I'd rather die than be his taxidermy specimen."
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
7.6
I died as an MMA champion in an octagon halfway across the world.
But instead of finding peace, I woke up face-down in the cracked Ohio dirt, trapped in the severely malnourished body of an eighteen-year-old girl named Alissa.
Along with this frail, useless body came a flood of agonizing memories.
Her glamorous sister, Ainsley, treated her like a slave, starving her and working her to the bone while playing the perfect saint to the outside world.
Worse, her brother-in-law Kristopher, a highly respected high school teacher, was a disgusting predator.
He constantly cornered her in dark hallways, whispering sickening threats disguised as affection, waiting for the perfect moment to completely ruin her.
"You are meant to be mine, little bird. This is our secret."
The original Alissa had lived her entire life in suffocating terror.
She was completely powerless, eventually dying of sheer exhaustion and silent despair in a suffocating cornfield while her abusers lived comfortably.
They thought she was just a pathetic, broken toy they could crush without consequence.
But the dull, defeated glaze in Alissa's eyes is gone now.
In its place is the sharp, calculating focus of a killer.
My new body might be weak and starved, but my mind is a lethal weapon. The predators are about to become the prey.
7.1
After three years of marriage, Kasie's husband forced her to sign a divorce agreement leaving her with nothing.
He destroyed her academic career just to protect his adopted sister, Calista, from a lab accident she had caused.
Forced to return to her hometown, Kasie found her biological family had also been completely brainwashed by Calista.
Her brothers dragged her to a clinic to donate bone marrow for Calista's fake illness.
When Kasie struggled, they pushed her down the stairs, breaking her arm, while her ex-husband watched and called her pathetic.
They tore up her only job offer. When she was attacked by a drunk in an alley, her own brother drove right past her desperate screams just to answer Calista's phone call.
The final blow came when Calista stole Kasie's life's work, published the research as her own, and cried on national television.
"My own sister... she was jealous. She tried to claim my research as her own."
Penniless, publicly ruined, and evicted by her own brothers, Kasie was thrown out into a mob of angry reporters.
She didn't understand why her own flesh and blood treated her like a monster, or why Calista's fake tears were worth more than Kasie's actual life.
But as she unlocked the door to a secret apartment she had rented years ago—the one safe haven they didn't know about—the tears finally stopped.
She had nothing left to lose, which meant it was time to make them pay.