Flash Marriage To The Hidden Billionaire

The sharp, sterile smell of bleach pulled Hazel out of the darkness.

She slowly opened her eyes. The morning sun sliced through the blinds of a massive, luxurious hospital room.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. The terrifying memories of the guest room and Rudy's weight crashed into her brain. She gasped, looking down at herself.

She was wearing a clean, soft hospital gown.

The door clicked open. Brennan walked in carrying a paper bag. Dark purple circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He hadn't slept a single minute.

The moment Hazel saw him, the tight knot of panic in her chest dissolved.

"You saved me," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her eyes filled with hot tears.

Brennan set the bag on the bedside table. "The nurses changed you," he said, his voice flat, avoiding her emotional gaze. "The IV flushed the drugs out of your system. You're clear."

Hazel looked around the room. There was a velvet sofa, a massive flat-screen TV, and fresh flowers. This wasn't a normal hospital room.

"Brennan," Hazel said, her brow furrowing. "How much is this costing? And last night... I remember a really expensive car. And men in suits."

Brennan poured a glass of water from a plastic pitcher. His hand didn't tremble, but he paused for a fraction of a second.

He turned around and handed her the water.

"I panicked," Brennan lied smoothly, his face a perfect mask of calm. He kept his posture relaxed, though his mind was running a dozen calculations a second to ensure the cover story held water. "My best friend from college comes from a family that runs a private security firm. I told him what happened, and he brought his team without a second thought. The car is his too. The hospital room is booked under his family's private network, but I put the deductible on my credit card. I owe him a massive favor for this, but it was the only way to get you out."

Hazel stared at him. The lie was seamless.

Instead of suspicion, a massive wave of guilt crashed over her. She looked at his exhausted face and realized he had gone into debt and risked his job for her.

"I'll pay you back," Hazel said fiercely, gripping the plastic cup. "Every cent. I'm applying for jobs today. You won't carry this debt alone."

Brennan stared at her. He had expected her to dig for the truth, to demand to know his net worth. Instead, she was trying to protect his imaginary bank account.

The words he had prepared died in his throat.

He looked away, clearing his throat. "Don't worry about it. Let's get you discharged."

Thirty minutes later, they walked out of the hospital lobby.

The black Maybach was gone. In its place sat a completely ordinary, slightly dented blue Ford sedan.

"I gave the car back," Brennan said, opening the passenger door for her. "Rented this one."

Hazel nodded, completely convinced.

Brennan drove them into the city, pulling into a quiet, tree-lined street in a high-end neighborhood. He parked the Ford in the driveway of a stunning, modern townhouse.

Hazel stepped out of the car, looking up at the expensive brick facade and the manicured garden.

"Brennan," she said, her voice tight. "This isn't the cheap apartment you told me about."

Brennan pulled the brass keys from his pocket and walked up the steps.

"The pipes burst in the apartment," he lied, sliding the key into the lock. "A rich friend of mine from college moved to Europe. He's subletting this to me for dirt cheap."

Hazel walked inside. The living room was massive, filled with minimalist, clearly expensive furniture.

She turned to Brennan, crossing her arms. Her face was dead serious.

"We need to talk about our budget," Hazel said, slipping into full survival mode. "Even if the rent is cheap, the utilities here will be insane. We can't live beyond our means just to look good."

She pulled a small notebook from her bag and started calculating the square footage and estimated heating costs.

Brennan leaned against the back of the sofa. He was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire, and this girl in a cheap trench coat was lecturing him about the electric bill in his own house.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"The lease is signed," Brennan said, playing along. "I'll pick up extra shifts."

Hazel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But I'm doing all the cleaning. We are not hiring a maid."

She rolled up her sleeves and marched toward the kitchen to inspect the appliances.

Brennan watched her go. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest.

He pulled out his phone and texted his assistant: Remove all the Rolexes from the master bedroom safe. Hide the vintage wine collection. Now.

He put the phone away and walked into the kitchen.

Hazel was staring at a massive, complicated Italian espresso machine, looking completely lost.

Brennan stepped up right behind her. He reached around her waist to press the power button.

His chest brushed against her back.

Hazel gasped, pulling her hand away as if the machine had shocked her. Heat flooded her cheeks.

Brennan looked down at her flushed face, the smell of her vanilla shampoo filling his lungs. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt very thick.