Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle
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.
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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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8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
9.5
The disgraced daughter of the Patton family is back from the countryside.At the news, everyone spurned her with contempt!
A good-for-nothing young lady, a crude village wench, a vicious devil...
Until one day--The world-famous life-saving medical sovereign is her.The enigmatic top forensic specialist is her.The grandmaster hacker hunted across the globe is also her.
One hidden identity of the young miss came to light after another.Shocked and dumbfounded, the crowd fell to their knees to beg for forgiveness.
In an instant, Evie was cornered by the mysterious powerhouse.Hartwell's voice lured and mesmerized:"Darling, you have countless secret identities. Would you mind taking on one more, being my wife!"
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
9.0
Once a pampered princess, Alaina now clutched a deactivated American Express card, staring out at Central Park. Her family’s fortune was gone, her life, over.
Her family's Hamptons estate, a four-generation legacy, was seized by Dyer Capital. The name hit her: Hardin Dyer, the poor boy she’d once scorned, had returned.
Hardin marched in, serving a divorce agreement. He'd orchestrated her family's downfall for revenge, giving her 24 hours to vacate his property. Penniless, her father faced prison, needing $50 million. Her mother forced her to beg Hardin, who sneered, offering the money for her body. Alaina ripped up the contract.
Hours later, her father had a heart attack. Desperate, she became "Lexi," a club girl enduring humiliation. In the Viper Room, Hardin's lackeys demanded she lick whiskey off his shoe for $10,000. Hardin watched. Outside, her brother Ashton's hand was threatened for a $3 million debt. Spirit shattered, Alaina returned, knelt on broken glass, offering to sign. But Hardin declared her family "dead," offering $10 million for her body, commanding her to use her mouth.
In a furious act of defiance, Alaina threw whiskey in his face, snatched the check, and fled. Yet, when he finally took her, a searing, foreign pain and blood on the sheets revealed a shocking truth: he had never touched her three years ago. Why had he let her believe such a monstrous lie?
8.7
Emerson worked grueling twelve-hour shifts just to keep her five-year-old son, Leo, alive. Her only lifeline was her partner Alden, who was willing to give up his wealthy family to protect them.
But when Leo's bone marrow completely failed, the doctor delivered a death sentence. The only way to save him was a two-million-dollar treatment, or having another child with his biological father.
That father was Finnegan Mcconnell, the ruthless billionaire who had accused Emerson of faking her pregnancy and abandoned her five years ago.
Desperate for the medical fees, Emerson submitted her designs to Finnegan's company.
Instead of advancing the money, Finnegan tore her portfolio to shreds and trapped her as a prisoner in his estate.
To force her complete submission, he systematically destroyed her reality. He framed Alden with federal charges, leaving him facing twenty years in prison.
Alden's mother stormed into the pediatric ICU, violently strangling Emerson against the wall.
"Beg Finnegan to let my son go! You are a curse!"
Even Emerson's own adoptive mother showed up at the hospital, just to publicly mock her dying child.
Emerson was suffocating in despair. Finnegan already had a beautiful new wife and a five-year-old daughter—absolute proof he had been cheating while she was pregnant and alone.
He had his perfect family. Why did he have to hunt her down and sever every lifeline she had left, just to watch her drown?
With her son's heart monitor fading and Alden locked in a cell, her pride finally shattered.
Emerson walked into the top-floor executive office and dropped to her knees at the devil's feet, but the desperate mother looking up at him was preparing for a devastating revenge.
7.7
I trusted the wrong people in my past life.
My supposed lover and my sweet sister conspired against me, locking me inside a burning warehouse to die.
But the man I had spent my life hating, my ruthless captor Damien Sterling, rushed straight into that inferno and burned alive just to try and save me.
In my past life, I was utterly blind. I believed Julian's forged documents and Scarlett's fake affection. I even tried to assassinate Damien with a silver dagger they provided, breaking the heart of the only man who truly loved me. I died choking on thick ash, realizing too late who the real monsters were.
Why was I so incredibly foolish? Why did I let their vicious manipulation turn me into a weapon against the one person who would sacrifice absolutely everything for me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom smell of smoke vanished.
I was sitting in the bloody water of Damien's bathtub, right after my staged suicide attempt.
When my sister sneaked into my penthouse suite and handed me the dagger to kill him again, I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed her hand tightly and plunged the sharp blade directly into my own shoulder.
"Please don't kill me, Scarlett!"
This time, I will ruthlessly ruin them both, and I will never let Damien go.