Flash Marriage To The Secret Billionaire
My mother called me a defective product and insisted I marry Preston Finch, a man who treated our first date like a corporate merger.
During our lunch, Preston demanded I clean his car like a servant, his arrogance snapping the last thread of my patience.
I threw my iced coffee right into his lap, sending the cafe into a stunned silence as he screamed insults about my background and the cost of his designer pants.
My mother didn't care about the abuse; she only cared that I had lost a "catch," calling me an embarrassment and threatening my future while my flower shop faced imminent foreclosure.
Trapped by debt and my family’s relentless cruelty, I felt like a drowning woman with nowhere left to turn.
Just as I hit rock bottom, Connor Powers—my brother's old roommate—stepped in, his icy gaze promising a brutal end to my misery.
"Let's get married," he said, offering a cold, calculated contract that would shield me from my family forever.
I signed the papers, unaware that I had just tethered my life to a man whose world was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.
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Chapter 5
The backroom of Kittie's shop smelled like roasted espresso beans and damp rose petals.
Kittie stood by the stainless-steel prep counter, her hands shaking as she pulled out a blank notepad and a cheap ballpoint pen. She felt like she was preparing for an execution.
Connor ignored her paper. He unzipped a sleek black leather messenger bag and pulled out a thin laptop. He set it on the counter, his fingers flying across the keyboard with terrifying speed.
Ten minutes later, a portable wireless printer he had brought with him whirred to life. It spit out three pages of dense, legal-sized text.
Kittie stared at the papers. Her stomach did a nervous flip.
Connor slid the documents across the metal counter.
"Read it," he commanded softly.
Kittie looked down. The legal jargon blurred together.
"Term of two years," Connor summarized, his voice steady. "Strict separation of assets. Absolute confidentiality regarding the nature of this arrangement. In public, we act like a married couple. Holding hands, attending events."
Kittie bit her bottom lip. It sounded clinical. Safe.
She scanned down to the middle of the second page.
"Mutual non-interference in private lives," Kittie read out loud. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Okay. That is good."
Connor picked up a silver fountain pen.
"Review the penalty clause on the last page," he instructed.
Kittie flipped the page. Her eyes widened.
"Five million dollars?" she choked out, her throat closing up. "If one of us breaks the contract?"
Connor met her panicked gaze with absolute calm. "This number is purely a deterrent," he explained, his voice low and reassuring. "It is designed to keep external threats-like the media or your family's relentless meddling-at bay. I give you my word, as long as you do not actively sabotage our public image, this clause will never be weaponized against you. It protects both of our reputations from a messy public fallout."
While Kittie stared at the massive number, her breathing slowly returning to normal as his explanation settled over her, Connor reached into his messenger bag. "I need to print a duplicate for my own records," he said smoothly. He turned his broad back to her for exactly three seconds to retrieve a second sheet from the portable printer. In that microscopic window of time, shielded entirely from her view, he dragged the tip of his silver pen across the middle of page two. A thick, black line struck right through the words Mutual non-interference in private lives. He scribbled his initials—C.P.— next to the deletion in a fraction of a second. He turned back around, his face a mask of perfect indifference, and set the papers back down on the metal counter.
"Sign," he instructed quietly.
Kittie picked up the cheap ballpoint. Her fingers were numb. The metal counter felt like ice against her skin. She pressed the pen to the paper and signed her name. The scratch of the ink sounded deafening in the quiet room.
Connor pulled the papers toward him. He stared at her signature. A slow, dark satisfaction settled deep in his chest.
He carefully folded the contract and slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.
"So," Kittie said, rubbing her sweaty palms against her jeans. "When do we tell our families? Next week?"
Connor checked his watch.
"I will pick you up at two o'clock today," Connor said. "We are going to City Hall."
Kittie's jaw dropped. Her lungs seized.
"Today?" she gasped. "That is in two hours!"
"Rip the bandage off," Connor said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Be ready."
He turned and walked toward the back door. He paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at her over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Kittie," he said. His voice was thick with an emotion she could not decipher.
The door clicked shut. Kittie collapsed against the metal counter, her legs giving out. She stared at the empty space where he had stood, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
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9.5
Gina was locked in Blackwood Asylum for five years, framed as a violent lunatic by her own wealthy family.
Her brother suddenly dragged her out, but not to save her. He forced her into an arranged marriage with Kerr Brooks, the billionaire emperor of New York, just to save the Rollins family's failing company.
Back at the estate, her parents treated her like a biohazard. They showered her adopted sister, Hailie, with love and luxury, while forcing Gina into a freezing servant's room. They threw a brutal prenuptial agreement at her face and threatened to leak a deepfake scandal video to the press if she didn't play the perfect bride. To ensure Gina's absolute ruin, Hailie even ordered a maid to spike her dinner with a massive dose of LSD. They were ruthlessly sacrificing her to a man who was secretly in a deep, unresponsive coma.
"She is just a tool, Hailie. Do not waste your pity on a broken thing."
Her mother's cold words echoed in the foyer. They looked at Gina's faded jumpsuit and vacant eyes, fully believing she was a heavily sedated pawn they could easily manipulate and discard.
But they didn't know Gina was a master hacker, a lethal underground surgeon, and the secret owner of the world's top luxury brand. She neutralized the poison in seconds and slipped into her comatose fiancé's heavily guarded ICU. Disabling the secret neuro-suppressants keeping him asleep, Gina smiled in the dark. If they wanted her to marry a corpse, she would use his empire to bury them all alive.
7.8
Warning : This book is filthy, addictive, and dangerously addictive.
Once you start... you won't want to stop.
NAUGHTY DESIRES - because some cravings are too wicked to resist.
In the velvet darkness where pleasure and pain entwine, surrender is the only choice.
A dominant stranger pins you beneath him on a bed of crimson rose petals, his hand wrapped possessively around your throat as your body trembles in helpless ecstasy. A ruthless billionaire demands your complete submission in a candlelit penthouse, turning your whispered "no" into a breathless "more." A dangerous lover drags you into the shadows, where every touch brands you, every command unravels you, and every climax leaves you aching for the next forbidden taste.
These scorching stories plunge deep into the rawest, darkest corners of desire-where powerful men take what they crave and willing women beg to be taken. No limits. No mercy. Only raw, dripping, heart-pounding heat that will ruin you for anything tame.
8.7
I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs.
My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister.
But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed.
In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably.
Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head.
"This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!"
I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family.
But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn.
He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala.
He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect.
I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast?
It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me.
He could hear my inner thoughts!
7.1
To survive a forced one-year marriage contract with the ultra-wealthy Chavez family, Averi Marsh disguised herself as a pathetic, ugly duckling.
She caked her flawless skin in muddy yellow foundation, wore thick glasses, and played the part of a trembling, uneducated orphan.
The entire family treated her like literal garbage.
The youngest brother publicly swore he would rather cut off his own hand than marry a piece of trailer park trash.
Her nominal fiancé, Clarke, looked at her with cold disdain, allowing his glamorous companion to humiliate Averi by forcing her into a neon pink clown dress.
At a high-society party, a socialite shoved her into an infinity pool, laughing as the heavy fabric dragged her to the bottom.
They all wanted to see the poor girl broken, humiliated, and driven out of their pristine world.
What they didn't know was that beneath the hideous sweaters was a breathtaking, lethal predator.
They had no idea she was 'Spectre', the undefeated underground racing god who had just humiliated the arrogant Clarke on the track.
They didn't know she could shatter a bully's wrist in seconds or bankrupt their wealthy friends with a single text message.
But when the chlorinated pool water washed away her ugly makeup, the family's ambitious second son caught a glimpse of her true, flawless face.
The game of hide-and-seek was officially over.
The Chavez family thought they were torturing a helpless sheep, but they were about to realize they had locked themselves in a cage with a wolf.
8.0
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Reese family, living quietly in the shadow of their biological daughter, Asha.
After a charity gala, a drunk Asha insisted on driving her sports car, only to strike a pedestrian on a dark, wet road.
Before I could even call 911, my boyfriend Collins and the family lawyer arrived to control the scene. My adoptive father put a heavy hand on my shoulder, begging me to take the fall so their true bloodline wouldn't have a criminal record.
"I'll wait for you, Crys. I promise I'll take care of everything."
Collins whispered those words and squeezed my hand. I foolishly agreed, but in court, Collins personally submitted a fabricated statement detailing my history of severe binge drinking. The high-priced lawyer offered no defense, and I was sentenced to three years in a federal prison, completely abandoned by the family I loved.
For 1,095 days behind razor wire, I suffered the ultimate betrayal. They hadn't made a mistake; they had intentionally fed me to the wolves as a disposable sacrifice to keep their precious princess safe. I couldn't understand how the man I loved could destroy me without a single ounce of hesitation.
Upon my release, I fled to a new city with just twenty-seven dollars, deciding that surviving and living well would be my revenge. I finally found a safe haven working at a small diner. But as I drove my delivery truck downtown today, I locked eyes with Collins's best friend through the window of a luxury Bentley. The billionaires who ruined my life have found me, and the storm they tried to bury has officially arrived.
9.1
I gave up my future as a top design graduate to play the perfect trophy wife for Wall Street billionaire Dominick Carrillo.
But at a high-profile gala, he suddenly returned from his overseas trip three days early, parading a Hollywood actress on his arm.
He dropped a million dollars on her charity necklace in front of the entire Manhattan elite, publicly humiliating me.
When I confronted him with proof of his lies back at our penthouse, he threw his limitless black card at me like I was a high-priced escort.
To punish my defiance, he violently pinned me down, forcing himself on me to assert his absolute control.
The next morning, he caught me fixing the terrible architectural sketches for his new boutique hotel project.
He coldly locked my designs away in his briefcase without a second glance.
"The business world doesn't care about sketches. Just be a good Mrs. Carrillo and max out your credit cards."
I stared at the empty room as he left for a hotel, my phone buzzing with mocking texts from other socialites.
For three years, I had locked my talent in a golden cage for this marriage, only to be treated like a brainless canary and a disposable line item on his balance sheet.
The rules of this marriage were done.
I opened my laptop, found a national design competition sponsored by his biggest corporate rival, and hit submit.
I didn't apply as Mrs. Carrillo. I applied as Aubrey Middleton.