Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband

Joseline Goodwin POV:

I stood in the cold rain of Duskfog Harbor Cemetery, gazing calmly at my grandmother Eleanor's gravestone.

Only three hours earlier, I had witnessed my boyfriend of four years, Liam, rolling around with my own cousin Ruby in my apartment.

I had not become hysterical. Instead, I calmly recorded a video and threw them both out.

But when my greedy maternal uncle learned of it, instead of reprimanding his daughter, he came to my door with a lawyer and delivered an ultimatum.

My grandfather's will explicitly stipulated that I had to marry before my twenty-fourth birthday-three days away-in order to inherit the massive trust fund and the antique restoration studio.

My uncle smugly declared that since Liam was already engaged to Ruby, it was absolutely impossible for me to find someone to marry within three days.

My uncle intended to seize all my rightful property without shedding a drop of blood and drive me completely out of the family.

I sneered in the rain. The tenacity in my bones would never allow me to be manipulated by these greedy mortal relatives.

I swore to the gravestone that even if I had to grab a random man off the street and marry him, I would never let my uncle's family get their way.

Suddenly, a bitterly cold wind that did not belong to late autumn swept past, and the raindrops around me seemed to still in an instant.

I sharply turned my head and saw an unusually tall, upright man standing a few steps away.

He wore a deep black trench coat and held a black umbrella. A pair of abyss-black, icy eyes stared fixedly at me through the rain.

He radiated an intensely oppressive, predatory aura, yet his posture was restrained almost to the point of rigidity.

I noticed that he was standing before another ancient, otherwise nameless gravestone marked "Eleanor."

The man-Cyril-locked his gaze on me, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply, as if he were desperately suppressing some immense pain.

In truth, Cyril had smelled in my blood the sacred freesia fragrance that could drive the undying utterly mad-his fated Blood Singer.

I did not flinch. My rare [Mindward Sanctuary] talent made me instinctively immune to the man's nonhuman aura of oppression.

I calmly met the man's gaze, rapidly calculating the situation before me.

"You don't look like you're mourning. You look like you're hunting for prey," I said, my cool, clear voice breaking the silence.

A flicker of surprise crossed Cyril's eyes. His low, hoarse voice sounded: "You're not afraid of me."

I admitted that what I feared most now was losing everything that belonged to me, not a stranger lost in a cemetery.

I looked at the man's almost unrealistically handsome face and the lonely yet powerful aura around him, and a mad idea surged into my mind.

"Sir, do you need a lawful wife?" I bluntly proposed a contractual marriage.

Cyril's fingers tightened instantly around the umbrella handle, his knuckles turning white from the force-though in truth, it was from excitement and restraint.

I quickly explained my predicament: I needed a marriage certificate to inherit the estate, and afterward we would not interfere with each other.

I offered my terms: I could pay him a substantial sum, or provide any legal assistance he needed.

Cyril watched me in silence, dark currents surging in his eyes that I could not understand-ten years of suppressed devotion and bloodthirsty instinct.

"I don't need money," Cyril finally said, his voice cold as marble, yet carrying a certain unquestionable obsession.

"But I need a lawful wife to block my family's troublesome elders." Cyril took advantage of the moment and gave a mortal's excuse.

I extended my cold hand. "Then it's a deal. I'm Joseline Goodwin."

Cyril pulled off his black leather glove and took my hand. His palm was colder than the rain, like jade without warmth. "Cyril Sweeney. Tomorrow morning at eight, at City Hall."

Cyril Sweeney POV:

After Joseline turned and left, I stood alone in the rain, taking a deep breath of the air still lingering with her scent. My eyes instantly turned crimson, my fangs faintly visible at my lips-ten years of bitter searching and suppression had found redemption in that moment.

Joseline Goodwin POV:

I stood in the cold rain of Duskfog Harbor Cemetery, gazing calmly at my grandmother Eleanor's gravestone.

Only three hours earlier, I had witnessed my boyfriend of four years, Liam, rolling around with my own cousin Ruby in my apartment.

I had not become hysterical. Instead, I calmly recorded a video and threw them both out.

But when my greedy maternal uncle learned of it, instead of reprimanding his daughter, he came to my door with a lawyer and delivered an ultimatum.

My grandfather's will explicitly stipulated that I had to marry before my twenty-fourth birthday-three days away-in order to inherit the massive trust fund and the antique restoration studio.

My uncle smugly declared that since Liam was already engaged to Ruby, it was absolutely impossible for me to find someone to marry within three days.

My uncle intended to seize all my rightful property without shedding a drop of blood and drive me completely out of the family.

I sneered in the rain. The tenacity in my bones would never allow me to be manipulated by these greedy mortal relatives.

I swore to the gravestone that even if I had to grab a random man off the street and marry him, I would never let my uncle's family get their way.

Suddenly, a bitterly cold wind that did not belong to late autumn swept past, and the raindrops around me seemed to still in an instant.

I sharply turned my head and saw an unusually tall, upright man standing a few steps away.

He wore a deep black trench coat and held a black umbrella. A pair of abyss-black, icy eyes stared fixedly at me through the rain.

He radiated an intensely oppressive, predatory aura, yet his posture was restrained almost to the point of rigidity.

I noticed that he was standing before another ancient, otherwise nameless gravestone marked "Eleanor."

The man locked his gaze on me, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply, as if he were desperately suppressing some immense pain.

In truth, he had smelled in my blood the sacred freesia fragrance that could drive the undying utterly mad-his fated Blood Singer.

I did not flinch. My rare [Mindward Sanctuary] talent made me instinctively immune to the man's nonhuman aura of oppression.

I calmly met the man's gaze, rapidly calculating the situation before me.

"You don't look like you're mourning. You look like you're hunting for prey," I said, my cool, clear voice breaking the silence.

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. His low, hoarse voice sounded: "You're not afraid of me."

I admitted that what I feared most now was losing everything that belonged to me, not a stranger lost in a cemetery.

I looked at the man's almost unrealistically handsome face and the lonely yet powerful aura around him, and a mad idea surged into my mind.

"Sir, do you need a lawful wife?" I bluntly proposed a contractual marriage.

His fingers tightened instantly around the umbrella handle, his knuckles turning white from the force-though in truth, it was from excitement and restraint.

I quickly explained my predicament: I needed a marriage certificate to inherit the estate, and afterward we would not interfere with each other.

I offered my terms: I could pay him a substantial sum, or provide any legal assistance he needed.

He watched me in silence, dark currents surging in his eyes that I could not understand-ten years of suppressed devotion and bloodthirsty instinct.

"I don't need money," he finally said, his voice cold as marble, yet carrying a certain unquestionable obsession.

"But I need a lawful wife to block my family's troublesome elders." He took advantage of the moment and gave a mortal's excuse.

I extended my cold hand. "Then it's a deal. I'm Joseline Goodwin."

He pulled off his black leather glove and took my hand. His palm was colder than the rain, like jade without warmth. "Cyril Sweeney. Tomorrow morning at eight, at City Hall."

Cyril Sweeney POV:

After Joseline turned and left, I stood alone in the rain, taking a deep breath of the air still lingering with her scent. My eyes instantly turned crimson, my fangs faintly visible at my lips-ten years of bitter searching and suppression had found redemption in that moment.

Joseline Goodwin POV:

At ten in the morning, I was seated punctually in the conference room of the family inheritance lawyer.

Uncle Arthur and cousin Ruby walked in afterward, arrogant and smug; Ruby even had her arm linked through my ex-boyfriend Liam's arm.

As soon as Uncle Arthur opened his mouth, he urged the lawyer to declare me disinherited and prepared to take the keys to the antique restoration studio directly.

Liam looked at me with fake sympathy and advised me not to put up a futile struggle, saying he would compensate me with a living allowance.

I calmly watched this group of clowns, my gaze utterly cold, as if I were looking at a pile of garbage.

Just as the lawyer was about to read the clause invalidating the will, I unhurriedly pulled from my bag a marriage certificate bearing a fresh City Hall steel seal.

With a sharp smack, I slapped the marriage certificate onto the mahogany conference table.

The entire conference room instantly fell into dead silence. Uncle Arthur's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and the smugness on Ruby's face froze.

The lawyer carefully verified the document and solemnly announced that I fully met all the conditions stipulated in the will and would immediately formally inherit the trust fund and the studio.

My uncle slammed the table and roared, accusing me of a sham marriage and commercial fraud.

I sneered back: "Whether it's a sham marriage, you can go check. But now, take your things and get out of my studio."

Ruby screamed jealously, demanding to know who exactly this man named Cyril Sweeney was, and how anyone could be so blind as to marry me in one day.

I unsparingly gave Ruby a loud slap: "That's what you deserve for stealing my man. As for my husband, he's a proper commercial airline captain, a hundred times better than that useless freeloader beside you who lives off women."

Watching my uncle's family being escorted out of the building in disgrace by security, I felt an unprecedented sense of relief, but I knew my uncle would never let it go.

In the afternoon, I returned to my old apartment to pack. My best friend Dara Ortega rushed over in a whirlwind to help.

Dara was so shocked by the news of the whirlwind marriage that her jaw dropped. She worried that I had been overly traumatized and tricked by an old man.

I showed Cyril's young, handsome ID photo and objectively analyzed the convenience of a secret marriage brought by his identity as a cargo pilot. Only then did Dara barely relax, and she praised Cyril for being extremely handsome.

After packing, I dragged my suitcase and headed alone to the address Cyril had given me, at the edge of Frostfir Forest.

Cyril Sweeney POV:

In the majestic underground council hall of my clan, thirteen ancient vampire elders and core family members sat upright and solemn.

I sat on the throne, sweeping my cold gaze across the room. My powerful high-tier coercion made every immortal present breathe with extra care.

"From today on, Joseline Goodwin is the one and only mistress of the Polaris Clan." My voice echoed beneath the empty dome.

I issued an absolute clan gag order: no one was to reveal any supernatural power in front of Joseline, and no one was to mention the clan's wealth or power.

"In her understanding, I am merely an ordinary civil aviation cargo pilot from an ordinary family."

Evertt Sweeney, a younger cousin of the younger generation, could not help muttering: "How are you going to hide your hundreds of billions in offshore trusts and castles? Are you really going to pick up the Mistress in a beat-up used car?"

My cold, sharp gaze instantly locked onto Evertt. Evertt was so frightened that he immediately dropped to one knee and did not dare speak again.

"To avoid provoking her aversion to immortal old money, all of you must pretend to be mortals for me," I ordered. "Anyone who frightens her, or lets those old lunatics on the Vampire Tribunal sense her existence, I will wring his neck with my own hands."

After the meeting, Colin reported to me: "Master, the Mistress's uncle is hiring a private investigator to try to dig up flaws in your identity as a 'civil aviation captain.'"

I sneered, a cruel curve rising at the corner of my mouth: "Make our records at Polaris Air Cargo Group airtight. As for that private investigator, let him have an accident and end up in a mental hospital halfway through the investigation."

"Understood." Colin withdrew. I turned to look at the Frostfir Forest outside the window, knowing that my girl would move into my territory tonight.