Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss

Darla burst out of the subway station, her breath burning in her lungs as she took the wide concrete steps of Manhattan City Hall.

She scanned the crowd of happy couples. Then, she saw him.

Anson was leaning against a marble pillar. He was wearing a faded, light blue button-down shirt and plain dark jeans. Isaac had spent an hour finding clothes cheap enough to fit the profile.

Even in cheap clothes, Anson looked like a god among men.

Darla jogged up to him, her chest heaving. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She unzipped her tote bag and pulled out a single sheet of paper. "This is the prenuptial agreement. One year. No interference in each other's personal lives. You get fifty thousand dollars when we divorce."

Anson took the paper. His eyes scanned the terms. Fifty thousand dollars. He spent more than that on a bottle of wine.

He didn't smile. He took the pen from her hand and signed his name with sharp, aggressive strokes.

They walked through the metal detectors. The female security guard openly stared at Anson's broad shoulders, but Anson didn't even blink. His focus was entirely on the nervous woman walking beside him.

They sat on a hard wooden bench, waiting for their number to be called. Darla was bouncing her leg, her teeth chewing raw the inside of her cheek.

Suddenly, a warm paper cup was pressed into her hands.

Darla looked up. Anson had bought her a black coffee. His fingers brushed against hers as she took the cup. The heat from his skin sent a sudden, sharp jolt up her arm. Her anxiety instantly dialed back.

"Number 42," a bored voice called over the intercom.

They walked up to the thick glass window. The tired clerk typed their information into the system.

"Do you have the rings?" the clerk asked without looking up.

Darla froze. Rings. She had completely forgotten.

Panic flared in her chest. She dug frantically into her bag and pulled out a small paper pouch. She dumped two plain, cheap silver bands onto the counter. She had bought them for ten dollars from a vendor in the subway tunnel.

The clerk rolled her eyes. "Join hands and say the words."

Anson didn't hesitate. He picked up the smaller silver ring. He took Darla's left hand. His grip was firm, warm, and incredibly gentle.

He slid the cheap metal onto her ring finger. He looked straight into her eyes, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical weight pressing against her chest.

Darla's heart skipped a beat. She picked up the larger ring. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it. She pushed it over Anson's large knuckle.

The clerk stamped the paperwork with a loud thwack.

"Congratulations. You're married."

They walked out of the building into the bright sunlight. Darla dug into her pocket and pulled out a scratched brass key.

"This is the spare key to my apartment in Brooklyn," Darla said, handing it to him. "You can move your stuff in today. I have to go to the Hamptons to handle my family."

Anson looked down at the cheap key in his palm. His jaw tightened.

"I'm coming with you," Anson said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"No," Darla said firmly. "This is my war. I don't want you getting hurt because of me. Just go home."

She turned and walked quickly toward the subway, her spine straight.

Anson stood on the steps, his thumb rubbing the brass key. He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.

"Isaac," Anson said, his eyes tracking Darla's retreating figure. "Bring the car. We're going to the Hamptons."