Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire CEO
I thought I was just marrying a middle-class commercial pilot who proposed to me in a Brooklyn cemetery to fulfill his grandmother's bizarre dying wish.
But when an arrogant pilot tried to harass me at the airport, my "ordinary" husband suddenly appeared, his eyes like chips of ice.
"Take your hand off my wife."
With that single cold command, he had the airline's top executives groveling and the man practically fired on the spot.
Everyone called him "Mr. Chandler." He handed me an exclusive black Centurion card, claiming it was just a standard "manager's perk." His retired parents, who supposedly ran a small business, visited me wearing Patek Philippe watches. I ignored all the glaring red flags, foolishly believing I had just lucked into a stable, caring marriage after a lifetime of disappointments.
Yet, despite his constant, suffocating generosity, he kept a physical wall between us. After a kiss so desperate and hungry it felt like he had been starving for it his entire life, he violently pushed me away.
"We should take this slow."
I couldn't understand why a man who looked at me with such intense, possessive devotion would treat our marriage like a sterile business deal. Why was he orchestrating every perfect detail of my life while refusing to even share a bed with me?
I had no idea that the man sleeping in the guest room wasn't a pilot at all. He was Harmon Chandler, the ruthless billionaire emperor of the Chandler Group. And he had been secretly monitoring my every move for ten years.
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Chapter 3
"The protocol is active. Highest level." Harmon's voice was low, the gentle smile he'd worn while watching Erin gone, replaced by a mask of cool authority.
From the driver's seat of the Maybach, his chief assistant, Clyde Curry, nodded. "Yes, sir. All information regarding you and Ms. Mueller-forgive me, Mrs. Chandler-will be classified S-level."
Harmon's gaze sharpened, his eyes fixed on the screen where Erin was now peering into the empty fridge. "I want the 'Captain Harmon Chandler' identity to be flawless. AeroLux personnel files, payroll, flight logs. Make it airtight. And handle my communications-I want all my outgoing signals routed to match my supposed flight path. No mistakes."
"Understood," Clyde said, his fingers already flying across a tablet. "The salary will be wired from your personal account, routed through a third-party payroll service, into their joint account. On time, every week."
The car pulled away from the curb, gliding silently through the Brooklyn streets toward Manhattan. When it stopped in the private garage beneath the gleaming Chandler Group tower, the man who stepped out was not a pilot. He was an emperor returning to his throne.
Back in the apartment, giddy with a surreal joy, Erin propped her phone on the kitchen counter and video-called her best friend and business partner, Tessa Finch.
She held up her left hand, wiggling her ring finger. "I'm married!"
Tessa, mid-sip of coffee, choked. "You what? To who? Not that billionaire you're always complaining about, please tell me it's not him."
Erin laughed, a bright, bubbly sound. She recounted the entire insane story, ending with the most important part. "And he's not the billionaire! It's just a coincidence. He's a pilot, Tess! A captain for AeroLux!"
Tessa was silent for a moment, her expression a mixture of shock and suspicion. The sound of frantic typing came through the phone's speaker.
"Have you seen his driver's license? His social security number? Have you met his family?" Tessa's questions were rapid-fire, sharp with concern.
Erin's elation faltered. "No, but..." She realized how little she actually knew. "It was love at first sight, Tess. It just... felt right."
Tessa sighed, running a hand through her messy red hair. She knew better than to argue with Erin when she was in this state. "Okay. Just... be careful, E. Promise me. If anything feels off, you call me."
"I promise," Erin said, though she thought Tessa was being ridiculous.
After they hung up, a small seed of doubt had been planted. Tessa's questions echoed in her head.
She opened her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is stupid, she thought, but typed it anyway: "AeroLux Captain Harmon Chandler."
The search results were mostly articles about the other Harmon Chandler. But then she saw it. A link to an open-access employee forum for AeroLux staff. The post was titled "Annual Pilot of the Year Awards."
She clicked.
It was a group photo. A dozen pilots in crisp uniforms, smiling for the camera. And there, in the back row, slightly out of focus but unmistakably him, was Harmon.
A comment below the photo read: Captain Chandler is definitely the best-looking pilot in the fleet.
All of her anxiety vanished, replaced by a warm, foolish grin. She had been so silly to doubt.
She had no way of knowing that the forum post had just been activated by Clyde Curry, who used a long-dormant account to upload the pre-prepared photo and comment the instant her search registered on their monitoring software.
In the penthouse office overlooking the glittering expanse of Manhattan, Clyde stood before Harmon's desk. "Sir, her friend raised suspicions. We've handled it. Mrs. Chandler just searched your name and found the prepared materials."
Harmon didn't turn from the floor-to-ceiling window. He just gave a slight nod. "Good."
He opened a locked file on his desktop. It was filled with photos of Erin. From her awkward middle school pictures to her college graduation.
His finger traced the outline of a photo of her at thirteen, her hair in two braids, a gap-toothed smile on her face at some long-forgotten summer camp. His expression softened into something incredibly tender.
"Tessa Finch," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Have the PR department look into her design studio with Erin. Find a suitable project for them."
Clyde's expression remained neutral. "A bribe, sir?"
"No," Harmon said, his eyes still on the picture of the smiling girl. "An investment. I want my wife, and her best friend, to have nothing to worry about."
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8.8
I discovered I was pregnant with twins from my marriage to Ell Steele, the ruthless CEO of the Steele Group. But he saw me as a gold-digging nobody, unworthy of his heir.
He stormed into our penthouse with his lawyer, slamming down abortion consent forms and a divorce NDA, offering five million to terminate and vanish. "You're not fit to carry my child," he spat, gripping my jaw.
I refused the abortion, signed the zero-payout divorce to keep my company insurance for my dying mom's ICU bills, but stayed on as an admin assistant. Brittany, his mistress, spilled coffee on my reports, got me demoted to the dusty sub-basement sorting old files.
She framed me for attacking her, security dragged me out, slamming me into doorframes that cramped my belly. Trapped in a sabotaged freight elevator, I nearly miscarried in the dark, gasping for air while Ell rescued me—only to find my prenatal pills and rage.
At the gala, I warned Brittany the Angel's Tears necklace—Georgina's flawed design—was cracking. She accused me of theft; Ell ordered me stripped and searched publicly. It snapped anyway, shattering the diamond, but he blamed me, firing and blacklisting me on the spot.
Beaten down, humiliated, body aching from their cruelty—how could my husband, who I once loved, destroy me without a shred of doubt? What made him so blind to my pain?
Dragged from our home in the rain, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up. The butler bowed: "Madame Aura, your suite awaits." As Ell watched from his Maybach, I initiated the hostile takeover—time to bankrupt them all.
7.2
Two years ago, Amaya Bennett witnessed a murder.
A powerful man was killed in cold blood, right in front of her. She should have died that night too.
Instead, she woke up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. No faces, no names and no clues. Just fragments, blurred images that slip through her fingers every time she tries to hold on.
Now, Amaya lives a quiet life, piecing herself back together. She works part-time, avoids trouble, and stays invisible. Until she lands a job at Twilight Global.
A company owned by Jake Anderson, the cold and untouchable CEO whose father was murdered the same night Aria lost her memory. Jake spent years searching for the only witness. But she vanished without any trace. Or so he thought.
But somehow, they cross path again, working under his roof, completely unaware of the truth she carries.
The killer is still out there.
And when Amaya starts getting flashes of blood, a voice, a ring glinting under the dim light, the hunt begins again.
But this time, she's not alone. Because even before he realizes who she is... Jake has already started protecting her. In the most relentless and dangerous way.
8.3
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
9.3
Candice Luna thought her marriage to Julius Hansen was a lifeline to save her father's struggling company.
She didn't know it was a death sentence until Julius coldly slid divorce papers across his mahogany desk.
His true love, Amina Rowe, was nestled in his arms with a triumphant, mocking smile. The "merger" Julius promised had been a brutal, hostile takeover designed to bleed the Luna Group dry from the inside. Bankrupted and utterly broken, Candice's father stepped off the roof of their corporate tower. Meanwhile, Candice was publicly humiliated, stripped of her dignity, and mocked by all of Wall Street as a discarded stepping stone.
She died in a car accident, her final moments consumed by an agonizing, feral scream. She hated herself for letting her blind devotion destroy the father who had always believed in her.
But when Candice opened her eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room, she realized she wasn't dead.
She was twenty-two again. Three years before the wedding. Three years before her father's suicide.
When Julius's assistant walked in holding a bouquet of blue roses to discuss the preliminary merger, he expected a docile, desperate heiress.
Instead, Candice grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and flung it directly into his smug face.
"Tell Julius Hansen to never, ever send his dogs to my door again."
This time, there would be no engagement. This time, the Hansen family would choke on her family's legacy.
9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
7.9
Erin woke up in her luxurious Fifth Avenue penthouse, three days after returning from the cold, sterile psychiatric hospital where her husband had locked her away.
On the night of their third anniversary, Crockett Winters came home smelling of his mistress's perfume, expecting his docile wife to serve him.
Instead of playing the obedient fool, Erin calmly exposed the million-dollar diamonds he had just bought for his lover.
Furious at her sudden defiance, Crockett tried to physically intimidate her, pinning her against a wall to reassert his dominance.
When his aggression failed, he threw a brutal divorce agreement on the table.
"Sign it, and you walk away with nothing. You can't survive without me, and you know it."
He sneered, convinced the ironclad prenup would terrify her. He thought her rebellion was just a pathetic, jealous tantrum, a desperate play for his attention while he continued to pamper his mistress.
He truly believed she was just a beautiful canary who would eventually crawl back to her gilded cage in tears.
But Erin didn't cry, and she didn't sign the papers.
Instead, she locked him out of the master suite and pulled out his unlimited Centurion card.
In a single night, she calmly spent ninety million dollars of his money to buy up prime real estate and hidden assets, taking the first step to build an empire that would completely destroy him.