Flash Marriage To The Hidden Billionaire

The heavy silver fork slammed against the porcelain plate.

The sharp, metallic screech sliced through the low murmurs of the Cook estate dining room.

Hazel's spine snapped straight against the high back of her mahogany chair.

Mildred sat at the head of the table, dabbing her wrinkled mouth with a linen napkin. Her cold eyes locked onto Hazel.

"The arrangements are finalized," Mildred announced, her voice dripping with the kind of charity reserved for stray dogs. "You will marry Rudy Petrov next month. He is fifty, wealthy, and willing to overlook your lack of pedigree."

A violent wave of nausea surged up Hazel's throat. Acid burned her esophagus.

She gripped the edge of her cloth napkin under the table. Her knuckles turned bone-white.

"No." Hazel pushed her chair back.

The wooden legs scraped violently against the polished hardwood floor.

Her chest heaved, struggling to pull oxygen into her tight lungs. "I am not a piece of property you can trade to a real estate developer."

Her stepfather, Benton, slammed his meaty palm flat on the table.

The crystal wine glasses rattled. Red liquid sloshed over the rims.

"Watch your tone, Hazel," Benton warned, his face flushing dark red.

Hazel's gaze turned to ice. She stared at the man who had made her life a living hell for a decade.

Beside her, Janice, her mother, reached out with a trembling hand.

Janice's eyes were rimmed with red. She tugged weakly at the hem of Hazel's dress.

"Please, Hazel," Janice whispered, her voice cracking. "Just listen to them."

The weak, suffocating touch of her mother's fingers made Hazel's stomach twist into a painful knot. It was the touch of a prisoner begging another prisoner to love their chains.

Mildred let out a dry, rattling laugh.

"Defy me," Mildred sneered, leaning forward, "and I will cut off the funding for your mother's medical account tomorrow morning."

The words hit Hazel like a physical punch to the gut. The air rushed out of her lungs.

Her mother's anti-anxiety medications and therapy were the only things keeping Janice tethered to reality. Mildred knew exactly where to slide the knife.

Pushed to the absolute edge of the cliff, Hazel's mouth opened before her brain could catch up.

"You can't marry me off to Rudy," Hazel blurted out, her voice shaking but loud. "I already have a fiancé."

Dead silence fell over the dining room.

The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Mildred narrowed her eyes. Her gaze swept over Hazel like a police searchlight, hunting for the lie.

"Is that so?" Mildred said, her tone lethal. "Then you will bring him here tomorrow. If you don't, you belong to Rudy."

Hazel forced her jaw to unclench. "Fine."

She didn't wait for Benton to yell again. She turned on her heel and practically ran out of the suffocating room.

The mocking laughter of her relatives echoed against the high ceilings, chasing her out.

Hazel sprinted up the grand spiral staircase.

Her leather flats slapped frantically against the wooden steps. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She reached the second floor, bolted down the hallway, and threw herself into her bedroom.

She slammed the solid oak door shut and twisted the lock.

The heavy metallic click of the deadbolt sliding into place was the only thing that allowed her to take a full breath.

Hazel slid down the cold wood of the door until she hit the floor.

The chill of the floorboards seeped through her thin dress. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, a silent, tearing sob ripping through her chest.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out. The screen lit up the dark corner of the room.

It was a text from Rudy.

Can't wait to see what you look like under those cheap dresses, little bird.

Her stomach cramped violently. She gagged, tossing the phone away as if it burned her skin.

The device bounced harmlessly against the thick Persian rug.

Hot, blinding anger finally burned through the paralyzing fear.

Hazel pushed herself off the floor and walked to the large bay window.

Outside, the heavy rain lashed against the glass. The ten-foot stone walls of the estate were lined with security cameras. Physical escape was impossible. They would drag her back before she reached the gates.

She walked back and snatched her phone off the rug.

She opened her contacts. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Nothing. She had no one. The Cook family had isolated her perfectly. No friend could fight Mildred's lawyers.

A completely insane idea sparked in the back of her mind.

Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped the phone again as she opened Instagram.

She swiped to the Story camera.

Hazel took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse. She held the phone up, framing her pale, desperate face. Her eyes looked wild, cornered, and utterly resolute.

She snapped the photo.

Her thumbs flew across the keyboard, typing a frantic block of text over her face.

Need a husband. Tomorrow morning. Contract marriage only. Must be willing to sign papers immediately.

She paused at the bottom of the screen. Her teeth bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper.

Payment: $50,000.

It was every single cent she had secretly saved from her online tutoring jobs. It was the price of her freedom.

Her thumb hovered over the 'Share' button.

Logic screamed at her to stop. This was insane. She was inviting a predator into her life.

Heavy footsteps stopped outside her bedroom.

A fist pounded aggressively against the oak wood.

"Miss Hazel," Niamh, the head housekeeper, barked through the door. "Madam requires your passport. Open the door."

The demand was a death sentence.

Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and jammed her thumb onto the screen.

The blue progress bar shot across the top of the app.

A soft ding echoed in the quiet room. Published.

Her heart rate skyrocketed, pounding so hard it made her ears ring.

She stared at the view count at the bottom left corner.

Zero. Then three. Then ten.

A direct message popped down from the top of the screen.

Are you out of your mind?

Another one followed. Is this a joke?

Humiliation flushed her cheeks hot. She moved her finger to delete the story.

Suddenly, a new message notification appeared.

It was from a user with no profile picture and a string of random numbers for a handle.

City Hall. 8:00 AM tomorrow. Does that work?

Hazel froze. The cold, business-like tone of the text made her breath hitch.

She tapped on the profile. It was completely blank. Zero followers. Zero posts. A ghost.

The pounding on the door grew louder, the wood rattling in its frame.

"Miss Hazel! I will get the master keys!" Niamh yelled.

Hazel's jaw locked. Her fingers flew over the glass screen.

Yes.

She hit send.

Hazel sat on the edge of her mattress, staring at the GPS coordinates the stranger had sent.

The pale, gray light of dawn bled through the gap in the heavy curtains, casting long shadows across her bloodshot eyes.

She picked up her passport and her birth certificate from the nightstand.

She shoved the documents deep into the inner pocket of her trench coat. The sharp zip of the pocket closing sounded deafening in the silent room.

Hazel turned the doorknob with agonizing slowness.

The hallway was dim. The wall sconces cast yellowish pools of light on the carpet. She held her breath, keeping her back pressed against the wallpaper to avoid the blind spots of the security cameras.

She slipped down the servants' iron spiral staircase.

The rusted metal gave a faint, high-pitched squeak under her weight. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck, but no alarms sounded.

She reached the kitchen and pushed open the heavy back door.

Hazel dropped to her knees in the wet mud and squeezed through the old dog door built into the perimeter fence.

The muddy water soaked through the hem of her skirt, chilling her skin, but the moment she stood up on the public sidewalk, the crisp morning air filled her lungs with the sharp taste of freedom.

She ran. Every muscle in her legs screamed in protest, and her chest burned with a fierce, agonizing heat as she forced herself to sprint the tortuous two miles down the winding road to the main highway. The freezing rain plastered her hair to her face, but she didn't dare slow down. By the time she flagged down a battered yellow taxi, her lungs felt like they were bleeding. The driver gave her dirty, wet clothes a suspicious glare. Hazel shoved a crumpled fifty-dollar bill through the partition, and he hit the gas without a word. Traffic was a nightmare, eating away at the precious minutes, each red light feeling like a physical blow to her fraying nerves. The taxi finally jerked to a halt at the bottom of the massive stone steps of City Hall. Hazel threw the door open and stepped into the biting wind. She looked up at the clock tower. The hands were nearing eight. She was almost late. Panic fluttered in her throat as she scrambled up the steps.

She hurried into the grand, echoing lobby.

Couples stood in small clusters, holding hands and laughing. Hazel stood alone by a marble pillar, her wet skirt clinging to her legs, feeling entirely out of place.

Footsteps echoed sharply against the marble floor.

A man stepped out from behind the opposite pillar. He wore a tailored black overcoat that draped perfectly over a broad, imposing frame. His leather shoes clicked with a steady, predatory rhythm as he walked straight toward her.

He stopped two feet away.

"Hazel," he said.

His voice was a low, freezing baritone that made Hazel's heart skip a violent beat.

She took a half-step back, her muscles tensing. She looked up at his face. He had sharp, ruthless jawlines and eyes as cold as the Atlantic. He didn't look like a man desperate for fifty grand.

"Are you the blank account?" she demanded, her voice tight.

The man didn't waste a single word. He pulled a sleek phone from his pocket and turned the screen toward her.

The bright light displayed their brief, insane chat history.

Hazel stared at his wrist as he held the phone. His shirt cuffs were immaculate, fastened with heavy, unbranded silver cufflinks.

"What do you do for a living?" she asked, suspicion gnawing at her stomach.

"Software engineer," Brennan lied, his face completely blank. "Entry level. My family is threatening to cut me off if I don't settle down. I need the cover. You need the husband."

His tone was so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it almost sounded rehearsed.

Before Hazel could dissect the lie, a loud shout echoed from the front doors of the lobby.

"Check the east wing!" a gruff voice yelled.

Hazel whipped her head around. Two men in dark suits with earpieces were scanning the crowd. Cook security.

Panic seized her throat.

Hazel grabbed Brennan's wrist. The hard, dense muscle beneath his sleeve surprised her, but she yanked him toward the registration windows.

She slammed their documents onto the counter, her chest heaving.

"We need to get married. Right now," Hazel told the clerk, her voice vibrating with panic.

The middle-aged clerk looked up slowly, eyeing the frantic, muddy woman and the stone-faced man beside her.

"I need to ask a few standard verification questions," the clerk drawled, crossing her arms. "What is your fiancé's full name?"

Hazel's mind went entirely blank. The blood drained from her face.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The clerk's eyebrows pulled together in deep suspicion. She reached out to slide the documents back.

Suddenly, a heavy, warm hand wrapped around Hazel's waist.

Brennan pulled her flush against his side. The scent of cedarwood and crisp winter air enveloped her senses instantly.

Brennan looked down at Hazel. The ice in his eyes melted into a terrifyingly convincing warmth.

"We met at a coffee shop in Silicon Valley," Brennan told the clerk, his voice dropping into a soft, intimate register. "She spilled her latte on my laptop. I was furious until she looked up at me."

His thumb stroked the curve of Hazel's waist. The physical contact sent a jolt of electricity straight down her spine.

The clerk's hard expression softened into a smile.

She stamped the heavy metal seal onto the paper. The loud clack echoed in Hazel's ears. It was done.

The second the paper was handed over, Brennan dropped his arm from her waist.

The warmth vanished. His eyes returned to absolute zero.

The sudden drop in temperature left Hazel feeling dizzy. She stared at the thin piece of paper in her hands. It felt absurdly light for something that just altered her entire life.

Brennan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded document.

"Prenup," he said, handing her a pen. "Separate assets. No interference in personal lives."

Hazel scanned the black-and-white text. It was cold, clinical, and exactly what she wanted. She signed her name on the dotted line without a second thought.

Brennan watched the quick, decisive movement of her pen. A flicker of something resembling surprise crossed his dark eyes before he tucked the paper into his briefcase.

Heavy footsteps approached from their left.

Brennan stepped sideways, positioning his broad shoulders between Hazel and the open lobby. His large overcoat completely shielded her smaller frame from view.

Hazel pressed her back against the counter, staring at the fabric of his coat. Over his shoulder, she saw the Cook guard scan the area, frown, and turn back toward the exit.

Hazel let out a long, shaky breath, her knees suddenly feeling weak.

Brennan watched the guard disappear through the glass doors.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brass key ring and a standard debit card. He held them out to Hazel.

The metal keys clinked sharply against each other.

"It's an apartment in the suburbs," Brennan said, his voice flat. "It's not much, but it's our legal residence now."

Hazel took the keys. The cold, hard metal pressed into her palm. It was the most tangible piece of safety she had felt in years. Her throat tightened, and her eyes burned.

Brennan checked his watch, his brow furrowing.

"A server crashed at work. I have to go debug it," he said, already turning away.

He walked out the side exit and climbed into the back of a waiting Uber. The car pulled away, leaving Hazel standing on the sidewalk.

She took a deep breath of the exhaust-filled city air. The panic from the morning was gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

An hour later, Hazel stood before the wrought-iron gates of the Cook estate.

She pressed the intercom button hard.

The gates buzzed open. She walked up the long driveway.

Niamh opened the heavy front door. The housekeeper's face twisted into a nasty sneer the moment she saw Hazel.

"Where have you been?" Niamh hissed, reaching out to grab Hazel's arm. "Madam is furious."

Hazel stepped to the side, dodging the grasping hand.

She swung her right arm and slapped Niamh across the back of her hand.

The sharp smack echoed in the grand foyer.

Niamh gasped, clutching her stinging hand, her eyes wide with shock.

Hazel didn't even look at her. She kept her spine perfectly straight and marched into the living room. Her heels clicked against the marble floor like a war drum.

Mildred sat on the velvet sofa, sipping tea. Rudy Petrov sat across from her, his massive belly straining against his expensive suit.

The moment Hazel walked in, the room went dead silent.

Rudy's eyes crawled up and down Hazel's muddy legs. He licked his lips, standing up and rubbing his thick hands together.

"There's my little runaway," Rudy purred, taking a step toward her.

Mildred slammed her teacup onto the saucer. "Go upstairs, wash the filth off yourself, and apologize to your fiancé."

Hazel stood under the massive crystal chandelier. A cold, mocking smile touched the corners of her mouth.

Rudy reached out to grab her shoulder.

Hazel unzipped her coat, reached into her pocket, and ripped out the marriage certificate.

She threw it onto the mahogany coffee table.

The heavy paper slid across the polished wood and slammed into Mildred's teacup. Brown tea splashed violently across the table and onto the expensive Persian rug.

Mildred shrieked, jumping back. Her eyes darted to the paper.

The official city seal glared back at her.

Rudy's lecherous smile froze. He snatched the paper off the table, his pudgy fingers trembling. His face turned a dark, mottled purple as he read the names.

"I am a married woman," Hazel stated, her voice ringing clear and hard in the large room. "If you try to force me into a dress, it's a felony."

Benton stormed out of his study, his face contorted with rage.

"You ungrateful little bitch!" Benton roared, raising his hand to strike her.

Hazel didn't flinch. She tilted her chin up, her eyes blazing.

"Touch me," Hazel warned, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "and my husband will have the police here in five minutes. Think of the scandal, Benton. The press would love it."

Benton's hand froze in mid-air. The fear of public humiliation was the only thing stronger than his anger. He slowly lowered his arm, his chest heaving.

Rudy threw the certificate onto the floor in disgust.

"You people are liars!" Rudy spat at Mildred. He turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door so hard the windows rattled.

The loud bang shattered Mildred's plans. She collapsed back onto the sofa, clutching her chest, her face ashen.

Hazel bent down and picked up her marriage certificate. She brushed a drop of spilled tea off the corner.

"I'm packing my things," Hazel announced to the silent room.

She turned and walked up the stairs.

In the shadows of the second-floor hallway, Janice stood weeping silently.

Hazel walked over and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's frail shoulders.

"I'll come back for you," Hazel whispered fiercely into her mother's hair. "As soon as I'm settled, I'll get you out."

Hazel walked into her bedroom. She grabbed a battered duffel bag and shoved her clothes and a framed photo of her mother inside. She yanked the zipper shut.

She walked back down the stairs, ignoring Mildred's venomous glare, and walked out the front door.

Standing in the sunlight outside the gates, Hazel reached into her pocket. Her fingers closed tightly around the cold brass key Brennan had given her. She started walking toward the bus stop.