Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss
9.6 / 10.0
Share
Minutes before announcing her grand engagement, Darla caught her fiancé sleeping with her stepsister.
She publicly exposed them and canceled the wedding on the spot.
Furious, her adoptive mother demanded Darla marry a fifty-five-year-old predator to save their broken business deal.
"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll let your father rot in prison for the rest of his life."
Desperate to escape her family's control, Darla grabbed a massive, intimidating hotel security guard she bumped into in the hallway.
She shoved all the cash in her purse at him—eight hundred dollars—and begged him to fake-marry her.
They signed the papers at City Hall that same day.
But the nightmare didn't end.
That evening, Darla received a cold phone call from the state penitentiary.
Her father had been found dead in his cell, and her company, owned by her ex-fiancé's family, fired her immediately.
They had taken everything from her, leaving her completely broken and sobbing on the floor of her tiny apartment.
She thought she had nothing left but a broke, fake husband to keep her company.
She had no idea that the "poor security guard" holding her in his arms was actually Anson Prince, a ruthless billionaire CEO.
And he was already making the calls to tear her abusers' empires to the ground.
Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss Chapter 1
The heavy fabric of the white couture gown dragged against the thick carpet of the VIP hallway. Darla Hammond gripped the silk folds, her palms sweating.
She walked down the corridor of The Grand Sovereign hotel, the silence of the exclusive floor pressing against her eardrums. She reached up, her fingers brushing the cold pearls of her necklace. Her stomach fluttered. In less than an hour, she would walk into the grand ballroom and announce her engagement to Bennet Branch.
She stopped in front of the heavy oak door of the VIP dressing room. She wanted to surprise him.
Darla raised her knuckles to the wood. Before she could knock, a sound slipped through the slight crack in the door.
It was a wet, heavy gasp.
Darla's hand froze in mid-air. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin ice-cold. She stopped breathing.
"Bennet... right there."
The voice belonged to Caren. Her stepsister.
Darla's pupils dilated. Her chest tightened so fast it felt like a physical blow to her ribs. Her vision blurred at the edges. The pearls around her neck suddenly felt like a hangman's noose, choking the air out of her lungs.
She pressed her hand flat against the wood and shoved.
The heavy oak door slammed against the wall with a deafening crack.
Bennet and Caren froze on the velvet sofa. Their clothes were bunched up, their skin flushed.
Darla stared at them. Her stomach violently lurched, acid burning the back of her throat.
Bennet scrambled backward, his face turning the color of ash. He grabbed his dress shirt, holding it against his chest with shaking hands.
Caren let out a high-pitched scream. She dove behind Bennet's shoulder, pulling her ruined dress up, her eyes wide with fake terror.
"Darla!" Bennet stammered, his voice cracking. "It's not... this is a mistake. Let me explain."
A dry, hollow sound scraped its way out of Darla's throat. It was a laugh devoid of any humor.
She stepped into the room. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor like gunshots. She didn't blink. She didn't cry. The betrayal burned through her veins, turning her initial shock into a hard, cold rage.
She stopped right in front of Bennet.
Darla raised her right hand and swung.
The slap echoed through the dressing room. The impact stung her palm, but the sound was incredibly satisfying. Bennet's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed across his pale cheek.
"You're crazy!" Caren cried out, pointing a trembling finger at Darla. "You're so rough! Bennet doesn't even love you!"
Darla slowly turned her head. She looked at Caren with dead eyes.
"You can keep him, Caren," Darla said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You always did like picking up my trash."
She didn't wait for a response. Darla spun on her heel and marched out of the room. The air in the hallway hit her lungs, but she didn't slow down. Bennet yelled her name from the doorway, but his voice sounded like static.
She walked straight toward the grand double doors of the ballroom. She pushed them open.
The blinding light of the crystal chandeliers hit her face. Hundreds of New York's elite turned their heads. The chatter died instantly. All eyes locked onto Darla as she walked in alone.
Agnes, her adoptive mother, pushed through the crowd. Her face was tight with disapproval. "Darla, where is Bennet?"
Darla ignored her. She walked past Agnes, her eyes fixed on the stage in the center of the room. She climbed the steps, her white gown flowing behind her.
She walked up to the MC and ripped the microphone from his hand. The speakers let out a sharp, piercing whine that made the guests wince.
Darla looked out at the sea of expensive suits and designer dresses. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her hand holding the microphone was rock steady.
"This engagement is canceled," Darla's voice boomed through the speakers, hard and clear.
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
"If anyone is looking for Bennet Branch," Darla continued, her eyes scanning the shocked faces of the Branch family, "he is currently in the VIP dressing room, sleeping with my stepsister, Caren."
The ballroom erupted. Whispers hissed through the crowd like a lit fuse.
Darla didn't say another word. She dropped the microphone. It hit the wooden stage with a heavy thud. She turned her back on the chaos and walked down the stairs.
Continue Reading
Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss of Contents
New Release Novels
8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
9.0
I am the undisputed ice queen of the ER, a doctor whose life is built on absolute control. A month ago, I impulsively married a stranger to create a legal shield against my ex-mentor's betrayal.
Our prenup had one strict rule: a fake marriage with zero interference in each other's lives. But tonight, my "husband on paper" was wheeled into my ER, unconscious, reeking of cheap whiskey, and suffering from a bleeding ulcer.
To authorize his emergency surgery, I had to sign the consent form as his wife, detonating a gossip bomb among my colleagues. Worse, his overbearing family found out he was hospitalized. To stop his terrifying mother from flying in and exposing our sham marriage, I had to lean over his hospital bed and take a fake, loving couple's selfie.
I didn't understand why this disciplined math professor was suddenly drinking himself to death, nor why my chest tightened when he looked at me with exhausted eyes and begged for homemade soup. My perfectly ordered, untouchable life was crumbling into a chaotic mess, and I was losing my grip on the narrative.
"We should probably spend some time together beforehand. We could be roommates."
To prepare for an unavoidable family dinner and a wedding, my stranger husband just asked me to move into his apartment. The ultimate uncontrolled variable has just crossed the line, and our fake marriage is about to become dangerously real.
9.0
Isolde woke up in a freezing, ruined stone house with a splitting headache and only five percent of her life signs remaining.
Before she could even process the mechanical system voice in her head, a flood of violent memories slammed into her.
She had transmigrated into the body of a cruel noblewoman who mercilessly tortured her beastmen husbands with a barbed whip.
And right now, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, having been shoved against the stone floor by one of them.
Outside the rickety door, her husbands were coldly discussing her death.
"Just go in and finish her. One stab, and we're free."
"If she hit her head and died on her own, then it's an accident. We walk out of here as free males."
To test if she was faking her sudden amnesia, the snake beastman Dangelo even ground his heavy military boot into her injured hand, waiting for her to snap so he could legally end her.
She was poisoned, freezing, and entirely at the mercy of the men who deeply despised her.
She was bearing the deadly consequences of a monster she never was, with a red system warning of imminent death flashing in her mind.
But they didn't know the new Isolde had awakened a survival system and Life Magic.
She swore a blood oath to the Beast God to buy herself three months of time.
Then, she turned her sights to the dying wolf beastman chained in the shed, deciding to pull him back from hell to become her very first shield.
7.2
Stepping out of the women's correctional center, Karli took her first breath of freedom in three years.
But the luxury SUV waiting for her didn't bring her home. Instead, her adoptive parents tossed a prenuptial agreement onto her lap.
They demanded she marry a violently unhinged, disfigured man so their company could secure a massive commercial deal.
When she refused, her adoptive mother slapped her hard across the face.
The blow brought back the suffocating nightmare from three years ago—how they had drugged her, framed her for a crime she didn't commit, and sent her to prison just so her stepsister could steal her fiancé.
Now, to break her again, her adoptive father ordered his bodyguards to drag her into the estate's freezing, pitch-black basement.
"You can rot in the dark without food or water until you sign that paper!"
Sitting on the damp cement, bleeding and shivering, a white-hot fury burned away Karli's panic.
They had stolen her youth, her reputation, and her grandfather's inheritance. She would rather die than be their sacrificial lamb again.
She smashed the basement window with a hammer, dragged her bleeding body through the shattered glass, and sprinted blindly into the stormy night.
Under the flickering neon sign of a convenience store, she grabbed the sleeve of a terrifyingly cold stranger.
"Are you single? Marry me right now."
She just needed a legal marriage to escape her family, entirely unaware she had just proposed to the most ruthless billionaire in Chicago.
9.7
Alya Harrell was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Long Island family, treated worse than a stray dog in her own home. Tonight, her family finally found a use for her.
Her stepmother and half-sister, Chloe, forced her into a scandalous, plunging red dress. They were offering her as a bargaining chip to Warren Thorne, a ruthless, sleazy hedge fund manager known for collecting and discarding young girls.
Just to ensure her absolute humiliation, Chloe intentionally "tripped" and spilled a glass of red wine all over the silk dress.
"Now you'll have to wear that hideous little black thing you own," Chloe sneered, leaving Alya to face the high-society dinner looking like a beggar.
When Alya tried to escape Thorne's groping hands, her own father hunted her down. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, and raised his hand to strike her for embarrassing the family.
She was nothing but a pawn to them, a cheap product to be sold and abused for their financial gain. Alya's heart turned cold as she realized her blood relatives would gladly destroy her just to secure a lucrative business deal.
But when she was sent to the cellar to fetch a $50,000 vintage wine for their billionaire VIP guest, Alya caught her perfect sister hooking up with a personal trainer next to the priceless bottle.
Quietly stealing the vintage wine and burying it in the garden dirt, Alya returned to the ballroom with a dangerous smile.
"I think I saw Chloe carrying a bottle down to the cellar," she told her furious father and the VIP, leading them straight toward the trap that would completely ruin her sister's perfect life.
