Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle
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My mother was dying and desperately needed a half-million-dollar deposit for an experimental heart surgery by tomorrow.
I swallowed my pride and begged my wealthy husband, Garrick, to save her life.
Instead of helping, he laughed coldly and threw a thick stack of divorce papers right in my face.
"A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered," he sneered, ruthlessly poking my flat stomach.
He revealed that his secretary, my supposed friend Lacey, was already pregnant with his heir.
To him, our three years of marriage was just a business transaction, and now that my family was bankrupt, I was nothing but damaged goods.
He flicked a humiliating five-thousand-dollar check at me as his final act of charity, then locked me out of our townhouse into the freezing, pouring rain.
I had spent years enduring agonizing hormone treatments for a fertility issue that wasn't even my fault, only to be discarded like trash when I needed him the most.
Was my dignity, my absolute devotion, and my mother's life really worth nothing to him?
Driven by pure, reckless desperation, I threw myself directly into the path of a moving Rolls-Royce Phantom on Fifth Avenue.
It belonged to Holden Tillman, the ruthless patriarch of the Tillman empire—and the uncle Garrick lived in absolute terror of.
I thought I was walking into my death, but instead, I became his fiancée, ready to make Garrick and Lacey pay for every tear I shed.
Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle Chapter 1
"I need the five hundred thousand dollars by tomorrow, Dr. Fletcher." Ariel Melton gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "Or she doesn't get the surgery."
Julian Fletcher's voice was tired, defeated. "Ariel, I've pushed it as far as I can. NewYork-Presbyterian needs the deposit. I'm sorry."
The line went dead. Ariel stood in the hallway of the Upper East Side townhouse, the silence ringing in her ears. Five hundred thousand dollars. It might as well have been five hundred million. Her chest felt like it was caving in, her lungs struggling to pull in air.
She walked to the heavy oak door of Garrick's study. Her knuckles were white as she raised her hand and pushed it open.
Garrick Tillman sat behind his massive mahogany desk, swirling a glass of amber whiskey. He didn't look up immediately. When he did, his eyes were flat, annoyed at the interruption.
"Garrick." Her voice shook. She hated the tremor, but she couldn't stop it. "I need your help."
He took a slow sip of his whiskey. "My help? With what, exactly?"
"It's my mother. The experimental heart surgery... they need a deposit. Half a million dollars. It's her only chance." Ariel stepped closer to the desk, her hands clasped together like she was praying to a stone idol. "Please. We're married. You promised to support me."
Garrick set the glass down with a sharp clink. He laughed. It was a short, cruel sound that made Ariel's stomach drop.
"Your family problems are not my problems, Ariel."
She took a step back, the coldness in his voice hitting her like a physical blow. "What? Garrick, she's dying. I thought... we're supposed to be a team."
"A team?" He stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He walked to the desk and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a thick document and threw it onto the desk. It landed with a heavy thud.
Ariel's eyes dropped to the bold black letters on the cover: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.
Her blood ran cold. "What is this?"
"It's exactly what it looks like." Garrick walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of her, looking down at her with pure disgust. "Three years, Ariel. Three years and your belly is still flat. Not a single heartbeat."
He reached out and poked a hard finger into her stomach. Ariel flinched, the shame burning through her veins like acid.
"A woman who can't give the Tillman family an heir is worthless," he said, his voice low and venomous. "A hen that can't lay eggs gets slaughtered."
Tears pricked Ariel's eyes. The deepest, darkest wound she carried, the one the doctors had confirmed was her fault, was now being thrown in her face. "I went to the doctors," she whispered, her throat tight. "They said it's me. My body is the problem. I'm taking the vitamins, I'm doing the hormone treatments..."
"I don't have time for your treatments." Garrick stepped back, his lip curling. "Lacey is already pregnant."
The name hit Ariel like a freight train. Lacey Thorne. Her friend. His secretary.
The room tilted. Ariel couldn't breathe. Betrayal and humiliation crushed her chest. "Lacey?"
"Yes. She's carrying my son. My heir." Garrick pointed at the divorce papers. "Sign it. Walk away with nothing. That's the only contribution you can make to this family now."
The despair inside Ariel curdled into a hot, sharp anger. "Three years," she choked out. "I gave you three years of my life! Was it all just a lie?"
"It was a transaction." Garrick's face was devoid of any emotion. "I married you because the Melton name still carried some weight, even if your father bankrupted the family. You were a good accessory. Now, you're damaged goods."
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a checkbook. He clicked a pen, scribbled something, and ripped the check out.
He flicked it across the desk. It spun and landed face up in front of Ariel.
Five thousand dollars.
Fifty thousand percent short of saving her mother's life.
"Take it and get out of my sight," Garrick said, turning back to his whiskey. "That's my final act of charity."
Ariel stared at the check. The numbers blurred through the tears she refused to let fall. Five thousand dollars. That was what her dignity, her three years of marriage, and her mother's life were worth to him.
She didn't touch the check. She didn't look at the divorce papers. She raised her head and stared at Garrick's back, burning his cold indifference into her memory.
Without a word, she turned and walked out of the study. Every step felt like she was walking on broken glass.
Bridget O'Malley, the housekeeper, stood by the front door. Her face was a mask of cold indifference, though for a fleeting second, Ariel thought she saw a flicker of pity in the older woman's eyes before it was swiftly replaced by a practiced, fearful neutrality. She reached past Ariel and pulled the door open.
The sound of the pouring rain outside was deafening. Ariel stepped over the threshold, the cold water instantly soaking through her clothes.
The door slammed shut behind her, locking her out into the dark, stormy night.
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Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
8.1
Elinor's frail daughter, Cece, died in a sterile hospital room while waiting for her father to take her to Disney World.
But her billionaire husband, Derick, never showed up. At the exact moment Cece's heart monitor flatlined, the hospital TV broadcasted Derick affectionately holding the hand of his mistress and he has booked a clearance of the entire Disneyland to celebrate mistress's daughter's birthday!.
When Elinor confronted Derick with their daughter's ashes, he sneered and accused her of hiding the child just to get his attention. Elinor's heart was torn to shreds. How could a father be so blind and ruthless? Did Kamryn use his power to steal the very kidney that belonged to Cece? Why did her innocent baby have to die for their sick affair?
The suffocating grief inside Elinor finally crystallized into a sharp blade. She wiped the blood from her lips, canceled the simple divorce, and began her ruthless revenge.
9.1
Waking up with a cold, scaly hand wrapped around my throat wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was realizing I'd transmigrated into the body of Terra Mason—the most despised woman in the entire Enclave. She drugged high-level beast-men and forced them into life-binding bio-contracts. She locked an aquatic warrior in a dry basement until his organs failed. She treated the most lethal males in the city like broken toys.
Zev, the Level 6 serpent who's currently choking me, would rather blow up his own heart than spend another day as my slave. His affection metric? Negative ninety. His trust? Zero.
Then my system activates: the Kore AI. It gives me exactly 500 credits, a medical nano-gel, and a recipe for neutralizing the radioactive poison in mutant meat. Real food. In this world, that's worth more than gold.
I save Rhys, the dying aquatic male everyone left for dead. I season a slab of purple mutant steak until Sam, a battle-scarred grizzly shifter, groans at the taste—and his trust points finally tick above zero. When my backstabbing ex-best friend tries to steal my males and destroy me, I don't scream or throw a tantrum like the old Terra. I dismantle her with the truth.
But earning their trust means more than grilling meat. A scorpion swarm ambushes us at midnight. Sam throws himself between me and a stinger the size of my arm. As he stands over the corpse, fur receding from his claws, he stares at me and whispers, "You were testing me."
Yes. I was. Because in this world, the weak don't survive. And I refuse to be weak again.
Four beast-men. Four contracts. One system. And a whole lot of steak. Let this dystopian wasteland know—I'm not the monster they remember. I'm worse. I'm the one who's going to feed them until they'd kill for me.
7.5
To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.
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.
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
7.2
Dr. Kylee Mcdonald was a brilliant medical examiner whose life was defined by cold, mechanical precision.
But that perfect control shattered when her phone rang in the middle of an autopsy.
It was her best friend, Dana, whispering their old college distress code.
"Curtain call."
By the time Kylee and Detective Justice kicked down Dana's door, she lay dead on her couch, her skin a horrifying cherry-red from cyanide.
The crime scene was clumsily staged to frame a billionaire suitor, but soon, every single suspect linked to Dana turned up violently dead.
Internal Affairs pointed the finger at Kylee, accusing her of using her medical expertise to become a vigilante serial killer.
But the encrypted truth Kylee uncovered was far more chilling.
Dana had been severely abused by her boyfriend, and driven to the edge, she manipulated him into murdering their tormentors before executing him and taking her own life.
To avoid a public scandal, the police chief buried Dana's brilliant, terrifying manifesto.
Kylee's flawless mind short-circuited. She was a genius at reading the dead, so why had she been completely blind to the living hell her best friend endured right in front of her?
Three days later, while attending a formal gala to numb her grief, a nearby apartment building exploded in flames.
As Kylee examined the charred bodies pulled from the rubble, she realized the male victim was strangled long before the fire started.
She looked at the surviving mother, whose baby had just died in the blast, but the woman's eyes were completely, terrifyingly empty.
The alarm bells in Kylee's meticulously ordered brain began to chime, signaling that a new, deadly script had just begun.
