Flash Marriage To The Hidden Billionaire
My abusive step-family isolated me completely, holding my mother's medical funds hostage to control my every move.
Yesterday, they finalized my sale.
"You will marry Rudy Petrov next month. He is fifty, wealthy, and willing to overlook your lack of pedigree."
Pushed to the absolute edge, I did the insane. I posted an ad online offering my life savings of $50,000 for a contract husband. A stranger named Brennan agreed.
But my family wouldn't let me go. They forced me back for a dinner by threatening my mother's life-saving prescriptions.
At the table, they relentlessly mocked my new "poor IT guy" husband and intentionally burned my hand with boiling tea.
Worse, the housekeeper locked me in a guest room and forced drugs down my throat so Rudy could come in and assault me.
I lay there paralyzed on the floor, bleeding from Rudy's slap, utterly terrified. I couldn't understand why my own family would throw me to the wolves, and I felt a crushing guilt for dragging an innocent, ordinary guy into my nightmare.
Until a pitch-black Maybach smashed through the estate's wrought-iron gates at eighty miles an hour.
My "poor" husband kicked the solid oak doors off their hinges, beat Rudy half to death, and carried me out into the rain.
I didn't know it yet, but the ordinary man I hired to save me was a ruthless billionaire, and he was about to erase my family's entire empire by morning.
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Chapter 7
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.
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9.6
Brenda Vincent thought her biggest nightmare was catching her boyfriend cheating with her roommate on her own sofa.
But her life truly derailed after a drunken night led her into the bed of Bryon Reeves, the ruthless billionaire CEO and older brother of the student she tutored.
Trying to pay off the most dangerous man in New York with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill was her first mistake.
Fleeing the hotel, she accidentally rear-ended his custom Maybach. Bryon used the massive repair bill to blackmail her into being his fake date, parading her at a gala just to make his sister-in-law jealous.
When Brenda finally snapped and fled the humiliation, only to be rescued by his biggest corporate rival, Bryon's twisted possessiveness turned completely destructive.
"If you feel kidnapped, call the police. But your teaching license will be permanently revoked."
He didn't just threaten her. He systematically dismantled her life, using his influence to force the university to freeze her tenure and suspend her without pay.
Brenda couldn't understand why this terrifying man was going to such extreme lengths to ruin a simple tutor who just wanted to be left alone.
Now, stripped of her career, her income, and her independence, she was forced into the sprawling Reeves Manor.
Hearing the heavy mahogany door lock from the outside in her signal-jammed bedroom, Brenda's panic slowly morphed into a cold, clinical rage.
She was trapped, but she refused to be his helpless pawn.
9.6
To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall.
My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent.
He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced.
I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder.
But things quickly stopped making sense.
When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower.
Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator.
"I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts."
I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa.
Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift.
He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time.
But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise.
Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires?
And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique?
I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.
8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."
8.7
I was pregnant with the future heir of the Blackwood Pack, but my fated mate, Alpha Gavin, was nowhere to be found when sharp, tearing agony ripped through my swollen belly.
Instead of rushing to my side, he was in a luxury penthouse with his mistress, Piper.
When I desperately called his human number for help, it was Piper who answered the phone.
"I'm Piper. His future Luna."
Minutes later, I received a leaked audio file of Gavin promising to formally reject me the moment our pup was born.
Before the heartbreak could even set in, my armored SUV was violently rammed off the road by a massive truck.
It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit paid for by Piper's pack.
I woke up in the clinic with an empty womb. My pup was dead.
Gavin didn't even show up. He just mind-linked the butler to say he was "too busy" to deal with my loss.
He let his mistress murder our child and treated me like disposable trash, assuming my grief would make me a weak, compliant victim.
He thought he could just bury my trauma and move on with his perfect new life.
He was wrong.
I faked my own death in a fiery crash, leaving him with nothing but my signed rejection papers and the bloody receipt proving his mistress hired the killers.
Now, armed with a new identity and untraceable wealth, I am stepping out of the shadows.
I am going to bankrupt their packs from the inside out and make my former Alpha watch his empire burn.
8.4
After raising Dakota for years, the wealthy Walton family mercilessly kicked her out of their mansion.
Her adopted father threw a crisp check for five hundred dollars onto a stripped mattress.
"That is more than enough for a bus ticket back to whatever slum your real parents live in. Do not ever contact us again."
Her adopted sister Cindy tried to violently snatch her faded canvas backpack, smugly bragging that she was already engaged to Dakota's former fiancé. The entire family stood on their grand balcony, sneering in disgust as Dakota left in a broken-down, smoking rental car.
"You are going to die in the gutter!"
They treated her like a contagious disease, truly believing she was nothing more than an ungrateful, bottom-feeding street rat destined to rot in poverty and beg for their charity.
But what the arrogant Waltons didn't know was that on her way "home," Dakota would casually save the dying matriarch of the country's most powerful family using a mythical medical technique. She traded her smoking junk car for a million-dollar reward and a flawless Rolls-Royce Cullinan. And the filthy "slum" she was returning to? It was the palatial estate of the ultra-billionaire Su empire. As her true parents wept with joy and ordered their staff to buy out every luxury brand in the world just to welcome her back, Dakota prepared to show the people who threw her away what real power looked like.
8.7
I handed my terminal brain cancer diagnosis to my billionaire husband, hoping for a shred of comfort.
Instead, he sneered, accused me of faking it for a better divorce settlement, and told me to die quickly.
Heartbroken, I turned to my sister, a top surgeon, who promised to save my life.
But on the operating table, my soul was ripped from my body as I watched her inject me with a lethal drug.
She didn't just murder me. She harvested my organs, forged my medical records to claim I was a hysterical liar who ran away, and went straight to my penthouse to take my place.
She looked at my blank organ donation consent form and smiled.
"Don't worry, he'll sign."
And he did. My husband welcomed her into our bed and announced their grand wedding, while my own mother celebrated my disappearance as a chance to secure his wealth.
I hovered in the air, screaming silently.
Why did my own flesh and blood slaughter me to steal my life? Why did the man I loved hate me so much that he'd happily marry my killer?
As my husband stood by the window, daring my runaway self to show up at their wedding, my spectral heart turned to stone.
I decided not to fade away. I would stay right here as a ghost, and watch their monstrous charade burn to the ground.