Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss

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.

Darla pushed through the crowd, ignoring the hands that tried to grab her arms. She slipped out of the ballroom and turned into a dimly lit side corridor.

Her chest heaved. Her fingers dug so hard into her silver clutch that her knuckles turned white. She needed to find an exit. She needed to get out before Agnes and the Mosley family cornered her.

She walked faster, her heels sinking into the carpet. She rounded the corner near the VIP elevators without looking.

She slammed face-first into a solid wall of muscle.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled backward, her ankle twisting. Before she could hit the floor, a massive, warm hand clamped around her bicep, steadying her with effortless strength.

Darla gasped and looked up.

She met a pair of eyes so dark and cold they looked like black ice.

The man towering over her wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He radiated a dangerous, quiet authority.

Darla's eyes darted to his ear. He was wearing a discreet, custom earpiece. A faint, tinny voice buzzed from it.

Security. He had to be the hotel's head of security.

"Darla! Stop right there!"

Agnes's shrill voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the heavy footsteps of her stepbrother, Rudy. They were coming.

Panic seized Darla's throat. She couldn't face them. Not right now. Her brain scrambled for a way out. She looked back at the massive man holding her arm.

Darla reached into her clutch. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a thick stack of cash-emergency money her father always insisted she carry.

She shoved the money directly against the man's broad chest.

"Take this," Darla said, her words rushing out in a breathless panic. "I need you to be my fiancé. Just for one hour. Please."

The man stared down at the crumpled bills against his suit. One dark eyebrow slowly arched.

In his earpiece, his assistant, Isaac, gasped. Boss, what is she doing? Should I call security?

Anson Prince didn't blink. He lifted his free hand and tapped the earpiece, cutting Isaac's feed dead.

He looked at the woman in front of him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her chin was tilted up in pure defiance. His grandfather had told him to keep an eye on Darla Hammond tonight. He hadn't expected her to throw cash at him.

The corner of Anson's mouth twitched. He took the money from her shaking hand, folded it slowly, and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Fine," Anson said. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in Darla's chest.

Darla let out a shaky breath. "My name is Darla. You need to look like you're in love with me."

Anson stepped closer. The scent of cedar and expensive musk washed over her. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

His skin was incredibly warm. Darla shivered, her stomach doing a strange flip.

The footsteps grew louder. Agnes rounded the corner, her face twisted in rage.

Anson smoothly bent his arm, offering it to her.

Darla swallowed the lump in her throat. She slipped her hand through his arm, pressing her side against his solid frame.

Together, they turned around and walked straight toward the furious Mosley family.

The crystal chandeliers of the ballroom blinded Darla for a fraction of a second as she stepped back inside.

The room went dead silent. Hundreds of eyes shifted from the empty stage to the entrance.

Darla walked down the center aisle, her hand tightly gripping Anson's arm. He moved beside her with the slow, predatory grace of a large cat.

Up on the stage, Bennet was holding the microphone, his face red and sweating. He had just been trying to convince the crowd that Darla was having a mental breakdown.

Bennet's eyes landed on Anson. The words died in his throat. His face drained of color.

Darla stopped in the middle of the room. Agnes stomped toward her, her expensive heels clicking furiously.

"What is the meaning of this?" Agnes hissed, pointing a manicured finger at Anson. "Have you lost your mind, Darla?"

Darla lifted her chin. "I wanted to introduce everyone to the man I actually love. My new fiancé."

A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. People leaned in, their eyes raking over Anson's imposing figure.

From the edge of the crowd, Caren pushed her way to the front, dragging her assistant, Lacey-May, by the wrist.

Lacey-May took one look at Anson and burst out laughing. She pointed right at his face. "Wait... he looks familiar. I think I saw him with the hotel security staff near the service entrance. He's just one of the guards!"

The tension in the room snapped. The elite guests began to murmur, their faces twisting into expressions of disgust and amusement.

Caren covered her mouth, feigning pity. "Oh, Darla. I know you're hurt, but hiring a broke security guard to make Bennet jealous? That's just pathetic."

Darla's fingernails dug into Anson's suit jacket. Her chest burned with humiliation, but she refused to look away.

"A broke security guard is a hundred times the man Bennet will ever be," Darla said, her voice slicing through the laughter. "At least he doesn't act like an animal in a dressing room."

Bennet snapped. He threw the microphone down and stormed off the stage. He marched straight up to Anson, his face twisted in ugly rage.

"Grandfather, get this trash out of my party!" Bennet spat, emboldened by his grandfather's presence, sneering from a safe distance.

Anson's eyes went dead. The temperature around him seemed to drop ten degrees.

He didn't yell. He didn't flinch. Anson simply closed the distance between them in one terrifyingly fast stride and clamped his hand around Bennet's pointing wrist.

It looked like a casual grip, but Bennet let out a sharp yelp. He stumbled backward the moment Anson released him, clutching his wrist as if he had just hit a steel beam.

Anson looked down at Bennet. A cold, terrifying sneer curled his lips.

"Watch how you speak to my fiancée," Anson said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a heavy, crushing weight that made the hair on Darla's arms stand up.

Bennet swallowed hard, taking another step back. The sheer dominance radiating from Anson paralyzed him.

Lacey-May opened her mouth to speak again, but Anson shot her a single, deadpan glare. She snapped her mouth shut, shrinking behind Caren.

Agnes wasn't intimidated. She lunged forward, reaching out to grab Darla's arm. "You're coming with me right now!"

Anson shifted his weight. He stepped smoothly in front of Darla, blocking Agnes completely. He stood there like an immovable mountain of ice.

"She doesn't want to talk to you," Anson stated, his tone flat and final.

Darla stared at Anson's broad back. Her heart pounded, but for the first time tonight, she felt completely safe.

At the edge of the crowd, the Branch patriarch, Cornelius, leaned heavily on his silver-tipped cane. His sharp, aged eyes narrowed as he studied Anson.

Cornelius had dealt with ruthless men his entire life. He recognized the posture. He recognized the absolute lack of fear. The man standing there was no security guard.

Cornelius slammed his cane against the marble floor. The sharp crack silenced the room.

"Bennet," Cornelius barked, his voice filled with disgust. "Step back. Now."