Flash Marriage To The Hidden Billionaire

The heavy silver fork slammed against the porcelain plate.

The sharp, metallic screech sliced through the low murmurs of the Cook estate dining room.

Hazel's spine snapped straight against the high back of her mahogany chair.

Mildred sat at the head of the table, dabbing her wrinkled mouth with a linen napkin. Her cold eyes locked onto Hazel.

"The arrangements are finalized," Mildred announced, her voice dripping with the kind of charity reserved for stray dogs. "You will marry Rudy Petrov next month. He is fifty, wealthy, and willing to overlook your lack of pedigree."

A violent wave of nausea surged up Hazel's throat. Acid burned her esophagus.

She gripped the edge of her cloth napkin under the table. Her knuckles turned bone-white.

"No." Hazel pushed her chair back.

The wooden legs scraped violently against the polished hardwood floor.

Her chest heaved, struggling to pull oxygen into her tight lungs. "I am not a piece of property you can trade to a real estate developer."

Her stepfather, Benton, slammed his meaty palm flat on the table.

The crystal wine glasses rattled. Red liquid sloshed over the rims.

"Watch your tone, Hazel," Benton warned, his face flushing dark red.

Hazel's gaze turned to ice. She stared at the man who had made her life a living hell for a decade.

Beside her, Janice, her mother, reached out with a trembling hand.

Janice's eyes were rimmed with red. She tugged weakly at the hem of Hazel's dress.

"Please, Hazel," Janice whispered, her voice cracking. "Just listen to them."

The weak, suffocating touch of her mother's fingers made Hazel's stomach twist into a painful knot. It was the touch of a prisoner begging another prisoner to love their chains.

Mildred let out a dry, rattling laugh.

"Defy me," Mildred sneered, leaning forward, "and I will cut off the funding for your mother's medical account tomorrow morning."

The words hit Hazel like a physical punch to the gut. The air rushed out of her lungs.

Her mother's anti-anxiety medications and therapy were the only things keeping Janice tethered to reality. Mildred knew exactly where to slide the knife.

Pushed to the absolute edge of the cliff, Hazel's mouth opened before her brain could catch up.

"You can't marry me off to Rudy," Hazel blurted out, her voice shaking but loud. "I already have a fiancé."

Dead silence fell over the dining room.

The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Mildred narrowed her eyes. Her gaze swept over Hazel like a police searchlight, hunting for the lie.

"Is that so?" Mildred said, her tone lethal. "Then you will bring him here tomorrow. If you don't, you belong to Rudy."

Hazel forced her jaw to unclench. "Fine."

She didn't wait for Benton to yell again. She turned on her heel and practically ran out of the suffocating room.

The mocking laughter of her relatives echoed against the high ceilings, chasing her out.

Hazel sprinted up the grand spiral staircase.

Her leather flats slapped frantically against the wooden steps. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She reached the second floor, bolted down the hallway, and threw herself into her bedroom.

She slammed the solid oak door shut and twisted the lock.

The heavy metallic click of the deadbolt sliding into place was the only thing that allowed her to take a full breath.

Hazel slid down the cold wood of the door until she hit the floor.

The chill of the floorboards seeped through her thin dress. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, a silent, tearing sob ripping through her chest.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out. The screen lit up the dark corner of the room.

It was a text from Rudy.

Can't wait to see what you look like under those cheap dresses, little bird.

Her stomach cramped violently. She gagged, tossing the phone away as if it burned her skin.

The device bounced harmlessly against the thick Persian rug.

Hot, blinding anger finally burned through the paralyzing fear.

Hazel pushed herself off the floor and walked to the large bay window.

Outside, the heavy rain lashed against the glass. The ten-foot stone walls of the estate were lined with security cameras. Physical escape was impossible. They would drag her back before she reached the gates.

She walked back and snatched her phone off the rug.

She opened her contacts. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Nothing. She had no one. The Cook family had isolated her perfectly. No friend could fight Mildred's lawyers.

A completely insane idea sparked in the back of her mind.

Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped the phone again as she opened Instagram.

She swiped to the Story camera.

Hazel took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse. She held the phone up, framing her pale, desperate face. Her eyes looked wild, cornered, and utterly resolute.

She snapped the photo.

Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, typing a frantic block of text over her face.

Need a husband. Tomorrow morning. Contract marriage only. Must be willing to sign papers immediately.

She paused at the bottom of the screen. Her teeth bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper.

Payment: $50,000.

It was every single cent she had secretly saved from her online tutoring jobs. It was the price of her freedom.

Her thumb hovered over the 'Share' button.

Logic screamed at her to stop. This was insane. She was inviting a predator into her life.

Heavy footsteps stopped outside her bedroom.

A fist pounded aggressively against the oak wood.

"Miss Hazel," Niamh, the head housekeeper, barked through the door. "Madam requires your passport. Open the door."

The demand was a death sentence.

Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and jammed her thumb onto the screen.

The blue progress bar shot across the top of the app.

A soft ding echoed in the quiet room. Published.

Her heart rate skyrocketed, pounding so hard it made her ears ring.

She stared at the view count at the bottom left corner.

Zero. Then three. Then ten.

A direct message popped down from the top of the screen.

Are you out of your mind?

Another one followed. Is this a joke?

Humiliation flushed her cheeks hot. She moved her finger to delete the story.

Suddenly, a new message notification appeared.

It was from a user with no profile picture and a string of random numbers for a handle.

City Hall. 8:00 AM tomorrow. Does that work?

Hazel froze. The cold, business-like tone of the text made her breath hitch.

She tapped on the profile. It was completely blank. Zero followers. Zero posts. A ghost.

The pounding on the door grew louder, the wood rattling in its frame.

"Miss Hazel! I will get the master keys!" Niamh yelled.

Hazel's jaw locked. Her fingers flew over the glass screen.

Yes.

She hit send.