Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle

Three days. Ariel had spent three days sitting in the sterile waiting room of NewYork-Presbyterian, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights. Holden's money had bought the best surgeons in the country, and they had operated immediately. But it wasn't enough. Dr. Fletcher walked out of the double doors. His scrubs were damp with sweat, and the look on his face told her everything before he even opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, Ariel. We did everything we could. Her heart was just too weak." Ariel didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just sat there, the numbness she had felt in the rain returning, spreading through her chest like frost. Her mother, her only family, was gone. The next week was a blur of funeral arrangements and silence. Holden didn't attend the service, but K. Holloway was a constant, silent presence. He handled the logistics, the bills, and the press, giving Ariel the space she needed to shatter in private. But grief eventually burns itself out, leaving only ash. And as Ariel sat alone in her vast, silent room at Serenity Estate, staring at the gray ocean, that ash began to harden. She thought of her mother's last pained breaths, and then she thought of Garrick's cruel laughter. The two images fused in her mind, and the profound sadness began to curdle into a cold, diamond-hard rage. Her mother was gone because a man had deemed her life worth less than his convenience. Tears wouldn't bring her back. But justice... justice might quiet her ghost. A week after the funeral, Ariel walked up to Holloway in the foyer of Serenity Estate. "I need to go back to the townhouse," she said. Her voice was hollow, but steady. "I need to get my things." Holloway nodded. "Mr. Tillman has authorized it. I'll have a team accompany you." "No," Ariel said firmly. "This is my fight. I don't need him to fight it for me. Not yet. But I want your men outside. Just in case." Holloway hesitated, then nodded. "They'll be across the street." Ariel drove herself. She parked the Bentley on the wet street and looked up at the brick townhouse. It looked the same, but it wasn't her home anymore. It was a tomb of lies. She walked up the steps and pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. The light blinked green. Garrick hadn't even bothered to revoke her access. She pushed the door open. The latch didn't click shut behind her, leaving a small gap. She barely noticed. Bridget O'Malley appeared in the hallway, her eyes widening in shock. "Mrs. Tillman-" "Move," Ariel said. Her voice was ice. Bridget stepped aside, intimidated by the dead look in Ariel's eyes. Ariel walked up the stairs, her footsteps echoing. As she reached the top, she heard laughter coming from the master bedroom. Garrick and Lacey. She ignored the sound and walked into her old dressing room. Three large boxes sat in the corner, already packed. She had prepared them the week before Garrick threw her out. She didn't touch the jewelry. She didn't touch the designer bags. They were Garrick's leash. Instead, she opened a smaller box. Inside were her mother's belongings. A few old photo albums, a string of real pearls, and a small, unassuming ceramic vase. Ariel picked up the vase gently, wiping a speck of dust off the glaze. It was one of the few things her father had left her, an object of quiet beauty that Garrick had always dismissed as a worthless piece of junk. But Ariel knew its true significance, a secret shared only between her and her late father. As an afterthought, she grabbed her everyday makeup bag from the vanity—a reflex from years of traveling—and shoved it into the box alongside the vase. She held it close, feeling the smooth, cool ceramic against her skin. "What the hell are you doing here?" Garrick's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He stood in the doorway, his face flushed with anger. Lacey was right behind him, draped in one of Garrick's silk robes, her hand resting possessively on his arm. "I'm taking what's mine," Ariel said calmly, not looking up from the vase. "You're taking garbage," Garrick sneered. He stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing. "Get out. Before I call the police." Ariel finally looked up. She met his glare with a steady, unnerving calm. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen. A voice filled the room. Garrick's voice. "Marrying you was a transaction... You're a hen that can't lay eggs... Take the money and get out of my sight..." The recording was crystal clear. Garrick's face drained of color. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. Ariel stopped the recording. "I can leave quietly today, Garrick," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "But if you or Lacey come near me again, I promise this recording will be the main event at the next Tillman family gathering." She knew exactly how much Garrick feared Holden. This recording would destroy the little respect he had left in the family. Lacey's eyes flashed with malice. She couldn't stand seeing Ariel in control. Without warning, Lacey moved toward the side table where a silver coffee pot sat, still steaming from the morning brew. Ariel stepped back, thinking Lacey was going to throw it at her. But Lacey's target wasn't Ariel.