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 5
Harmon turned from the window, and as he paced away from the glass, his path brought him directly in line with the doorway. His eyes, sweeping the room, snagged on the sliver of light from the hall and met hers through the crack in the door. The hard, commanding expression on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by a look of mild surprise.
"You're home," he said, his voice back to the warm, low tone she remembered. He walked toward her, his presence filling the small hallway. "Sorry about that. Just dealing with some... airline management issues."
He brushed past her, the scent of his aftershave and the faint smell of jet fuel clinging to him. The explanation was smooth, plausible. An "acquisition" could be about new routes or fleet management. She wanted to believe him, so she did.
The next morning, he was gone again. A note on the counter next to a fresh cup of coffee was the only sign he'd been there at all.
Life returned to its strange, new normal, until a frantic call from her other best friend, Kalie Jones, shattered the peace.
"Erin, I need a huge favor," Kalie said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I know it's a lot to ask, but there's a sealed report... it's a psychological evaluation... and I need you to get it to someone at JFK. Today."
"Okay, slow down," Erin said. "Who?"
Kalie's breath hitched. "His name is Braxton Sargent. He's a captain for AeroLux. He's flying out this afternoon."
The name was vaguely familiar. Erin had a complicated mental map of the men who had broken Kalie's heart, and Braxton Sargent was a dark, unexplored continent.
"Kalie, I..."
"Please, Erin," she begged. "His mother monitors everything-his emails, his mail, all of it. She can't know about this report. It's life or death. You're the only one who can do it because she doesn't know who you are. You have to hand it to him personally."
Erin's reluctance melted away. She would do anything for Kalie.
An hour later, she was navigating the chaos of JFK's Terminal 4. She found the AeroLux crew lounge, a sleek, private space tucked away from the public eye. She pushed open the frosted glass door.
The scene inside made her stomach clench with anger.
Braxton Sargent was lounging on a leather sofa, a flight attendant practically in his lap, her laughter high and shrill. He looked arrogant and careless, the kind of man who broke things for fun.
Erin thought of Kalie's tear-filled voice, and a cold fury settled over her.
She strode forward, the sealed manila envelope a weapon in her hand. She slapped it down on the coffee table in front of him. "Captain Sargent. This is for you."
He looked up, his eyes a lazy, dismissive gray. He recognized her-she could see the flicker of awareness. A smirk played on his lips. "Well, well. If it isn't Chandler's little wife."
The way he said it made her skin crawl.
"I'm here for Kalie," Erin said, her voice tight. "She wastes far too much of her time on men like you."
Braxton's smirk vanished. He slowly disentangled himself from the flight attendant and rose to his feet. He was nearly as tall as Harmon, but where Harmon was a steady, grounding presence, Braxton was pure, menacing energy.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his voice a low growl. He stepped toward her, invading her personal space.
Erin held her ground. "I know that a pilot who's fooling around minutes before a flight doesn't deserve anyone's trust. Especially not hers."
The argument had drawn the attention of the other crew members in the lounge. They watched, but no one moved.
Braxton's face darkened with rage. He shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, his grip like steel. "You need to learn to mind your own business."
Pain flared up her arm. She tried to pull away, but he was too strong. A hot, helpless shame washed over her. Her eyes started to burn.
"Let go of me," she seethed, refusing to show him her fear.
His grip only tightened.
Just as a tear of pure rage and humiliation escaped her eye, the lounge door swung open again.
A figure stood silhouetted against the bright terminal lights, dressed in a crisp pilot's uniform. The authority in his posture was absolute.
"Braxton," the voice said, calm and lethally cold. "Take your hand off my wife."
Harmon Chandler stepped into the room, his blue eyes like chips of ice, fixed on Braxton's hand around her wrist.
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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.