The Betrayed Heiress's Vengeful Flash Marriage

The coarse hemp rope bit into the raw flesh of Ashley's wrists. She gasped, her lungs pulling in thick, black smoke. Her chest heaved against the rusted iron pillar of the abandoned warehouse.

Footsteps crunched over broken glass. Devon kicked the heavy metal door open. His custom leather shoes ground the shards into dust.

Ashley jerked her head up. Her dry throat swallowed hard.

Brittany stepped out from the shadows behind him. Her fingers curled intimately around Devon's bicep. Her lips were painted a flawless, glossy red. The smirk on her face made the bile rise in the back of Ashley's throat.

Devon raised his hand and slapped a thick stack of paper directly against Ashley's cheek. The sharp edge of the equity transfer agreement sliced the skin over her cheekbone. A warm drop of blood slid down her jaw.

She clamped her teeth into her lower lip. The metallic taste of copper flooded her mouth. She shook her head.

Brittany leaned in. Her long, manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into the soft underside of Ashley's jaw. The pressure forced Ashley to look up.

"Devon didn't pull you from that car crash three years ago, Ashley," Brittany whispered. Her breath smelled like artificial strawberries. "He just took the credit."

Ashley's pupils dilated. Her muscles spasmed, pulling against the ropes until the skin on her wrists tore completely open. Warm blood dripped down her fingertips. She stared at Devon's perfectly styled hair, his tailored suit.

Brittany laughed. The sound grated against Ashley's eardrums. "Oh, and Mom? Dad killed her. Edson planned the whole thing."

A guttural, raw scream ripped from Ashley's torn throat. Her vocal cords strained until they nearly snapped.

Devon rolled his eyes. He kicked the industrial barrel of gasoline at his feet. The thick, noxious liquid spilled over the concrete, soaking into the soles of Ashley's shoes. The fumes burned her nostrils.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest stopped heaving.

A silver Zippo lighter clicked open. Devon tossed it.

A wall of orange heat erupted instantly. The fire sucked the oxygen from the room. The blistering temperature melted the synthetic fibers of Ashley's dress into her skin. Her nerve endings screamed.

Then, the warehouse doors buckled. A black armored SUV smashed through the corrugated metal. The frame shrieked.

Bennett Hawkins threw himself out of the driver's seat. His usually cold, untouchable face was contorted in raw terror.

He lunged into the flames. A burning wooden beam cracked and slammed across his broad shoulders. He grunted, a heavy, wet sound, but he didn't stop. He threw his massive body over hers, shielding her face against his chest.

The secondary explosion ruptured the air. The shockwave shattered Ashley's eardrums. The heat consumed them both. A single tear tracked through the soot on her cheek before everything went black.

Ice water slammed into her lungs.

The burning agony vanished, replaced by a freezing, crushing pressure. Saltwater flooded her nose and throat. Her eyes snapped open to dark, churning water. Her arms flailed upward, fighting the heavy drag of her silk dress.

Rough hands grabbed her under the armpits. They hauled her upward. The pressure in her ears popped.

She broke the surface. Her mouth opened wide, sucking in massive gulps of freezing autumn air.

The wind off the Hudson River cut through her wet clothes like ice. Someone dragged her over a railing and dropped her hard onto a solid teak deck. Her knees slammed into the wood.

She curled onto her side, her stomach convulsing. She vomited a stream of bitter saltwater onto the deck. Her throat burned like she had swallowed crushed glass. She blinked, the saltwater stinging her eyes, and focused on the white canvas awning of a luxury yacht above her.

High-pitched gasps and the clatter of expensive heels surrounded her. The noise hammered against her skull. She planted her palms flat against the slippery deck and pushed her upper body up.

A dry towel was thrown roughly over her head. The fabric carried a cloying, cheap floral perfume.

Ashley's spine locked. Her muscles turned to stone.

"Oh my god, Ashley, I'm so sorry!" Brittany's voice trembled above her. The fake, breathy pitch drilled into Ashley's ears.

Ashley ripped the towel off her head. She tilted her chin up. Brittany stood there, her skin flawless, untouched by fire.

The memory of the blistering heat collided violently with the freezing wind on the deck. Ashley's temples throbbed. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she stared at the familiar faces staring back at her. Where am I? The Hudson River? No, I should be dead in that warehouse... This yacht, these people... Oh my god. The realization hit her like a physical blow. This is my twentieth birthday party. I'm back. I haven't died yet. She was twenty years old again. It was her birthday party.

Devon pushed through the crowd of socialites. His leather shoes slipped slightly on the puddle of water. He stripped off his suit jacket, his face twisted in exaggerated concern, and reached out to wrap it around her shaking shoulders.

Ashley's stomach violently heaved. The phantom smell of burning flesh filled her nose.

She swung her arm up and slapped his hand away. Her knuckles cracked against his wrist.

The tailored jacket dropped into the dirty puddle of saltwater and vomit. The surrounding crowd sucked in a collective breath. Devon's jaw dropped, his face flushing a dark, ugly red.

Brittany immediately threw herself against Devon's chest. Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled perfectly over her lower lashes. "I didn't mean to bump into her, Devon! I swear!"

The New York elites whispered behind their champagne flutes. Their eyes dragged over Ashley's soaked, pathetic form with blatant disgust.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs from the upper deck. Edson Sawyer gripped his whiskey glass. The veins in his neck bulged. "Ashley! Stop throwing a tantrum at your own party and get up!"

Ashley placed her hands on her knees and forced herself to stand. The soaked silk dress clung to her legs, dripping heavily onto the wood. She didn't cry. She didn't explain. She let out a low, raspy laugh that scraped the air.

She turned her head. Her eyes, cold and dead, dragged over Edson and Brittany. The heavy, suffocating silence spread through the crowd.

Ashley walked straight toward a socialite named Phoebe. Phoebe froze, her eyes wide.

Ashley reached out and snatched the diamond-encrusted phone right out of Phoebe's hand. Phoebe flinched, opening her mouth to protest, but Ashley's dead stare pinned her to the deck.

Ashley's pale, freezing thumb swiped the screen. She tapped three numbers. The keypad clicked loudly in the dead silence.

She lifted the phone to her ear. "Yes. I need to report an attempted murder on a yacht in the middle of the Hudson River."

The wind whipped Ashley's wet hair across her face. She held the phone steady against her ear. "GPS coordinates are 40.7 degrees North, 74.0 degrees West. Send the marine unit."

Edson's face turned purple. He lunged forward, his large hands reaching for the phone.

Ashley shifted her weight to her left foot and twisted her torso. Edson's hands grasped empty air. He stumbled forward, his chest heaving.

Devon stepped in, spreading his arms wide. "Ashley, you're in shock. Give me the phone."

He reached for her waist. Ashley lifted her right leg. The pointed toe of her soaked stiletto drove straight into the center of Devon's shinbone.

Devon let out a sharp grunt. His knee buckled. He dropped to the deck, his expensive trousers soaking up the dirty water. He clutched his leg, his eyes wide with shock.

Ashley looked down at him. Her chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. She spoke into the receiver. "The suspect and his accomplice are currently attempting to physically assault me to take the phone."

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the speaker, elevating the priority of the call.

Brittany's fake tears stopped. Her face drained of color. She grabbed Edson's sleeve, her knuckles turning white.

"Get the phone from her!" Edson roared at the security detail standing by the stairs.

Four massive men in black suits stepped forward. Their heavy shoes thudded against the deck. They formed a tight semi-circle, backing Ashley toward the railing.

Ashley took a deliberate step backward. Her heels hit the bottom rung of the railing. The black, churning water of the Hudson River roared directly behind her.

"Take one more step," Ashley said, her voice dropping an octave. "And I go backward. The phone goes with me. The 911 line is open and recording."

The bodyguards stopped dead. They looked back at Edson.

A high-pitched wail pierced the night air. Red and blue lights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the black water. The socialites on the deck began to step back, their whispers turning into panicked murmurs.

Edson wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He forced his facial muscles to relax into a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ashley, sweetheart. Let's not do this. Think of the company's stock price tomorrow."

"I don't care about your stock price, Edson," Ashley said. Her voice was flat.

Two heavy NYPD tactical boats flanked the yacht. Massive spotlights clicked on, blinding everyone on the deck. Brittany shrieked and threw her hands over her eyes.

"Cut the engines!" a voice boomed through a megaphone.

The yacht's deep rumble sputtered and died. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the slapping of waves against the hull.

A police captain vaulted over the railing, his heavy tactical boots hitting the deck. Four officers followed him, their hands resting on their utility belts. The captain's eyes scanned the crowd. "Who called it in?"

Ashley raised the phone high in the air. Her wet dress plastered to her skin, making her look fragile, but her spine was perfectly straight. "I did."

The captain stepped between Ashley and the bodyguards.

Brittany rushed forward. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "Officer, please. It was just a silly sisterly prank. She slipped."

The captain held up a hand, forcing Brittany to stop. "Step back, miss."

Ashley pointed a freezing finger at the deck. "Look at the water trail. If I slipped backward, the scuff marks from my heels would push forward. The marks go sideways. I was shoved from the right."

The captain looked down. He signaled to an officer, who immediately pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of the deck.

Devon stood up, wincing. He smoothed his ruined suit. "Captain, I am Devon Garrett. My family owns Garrett Financial. This is a private event."

The captain didn't blink. "Interfere with my investigation again, Mr. Garrett, and you'll leave this boat in cuffs."

Edson's private lawyer pushed through the crowd. He handed the captain a glossy business card. "Officer, this is a minor domestic dispute. We can handle this internally."

"I am a legal adult," Ashley said loudly. "And I am pressing criminal charges for attempted manslaughter today."

The captain turned to the lawyer. "Pull the security footage for this deck."

Edson's eyes darted to the side. He swallowed hard. The yacht's manager stepped forward, his hands shaking. "The, uh, the cameras on the aft deck are currently down for maintenance."

A low murmur rippled through the guests. The pristine image of the Sawyer family cracked right down the middle. Brittany bit her lower lip so hard a drop of blood welled up.

The captain sighed. He looked at Ashley. "Without the footage, and with her claiming it was an accident, I can't make an arrest right now. But we need everyone at the precinct for statements."

Ashley's jaw tightened. She knew this would happen. She nodded once. "Fine. Let's go to the precinct."

The officers began herding the furious guests toward the gangway. Edson grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and smashed it against the bar. The glass shattered, spraying over Devon's shoes.

The party was dead. The Sawyer name was a joke.

A female officer wrapped a crinkling silver foil blanket around Ashley's shoulders. Ashley walked down the gangway. The cold wind bit at her exposed calves. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

She locked eyes with Brittany. Ashley's stare was completely hollow, like looking at a corpse.

Brittany gasped. Her knees gave out. She stumbled on the metal stairs. Devon caught her by the waist, pulling her against him.

Ashley turned away and got into the back of the squad car. The neon lights of the city strobed across her pale face as they drove toward the precinct.

Two hours later, Ashley walked out of the interrogation room. Her muscles ached. The foil blanket rustled around her.

Edson stood at the end of the linoleum hallway. His lawyer walked up to Ashley.

"Ms. Sawyer," the lawyer said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Per your father's instructions, all of your credit cards and bank accounts have been frozen. Effective immediately."

Ashley looked at the lawyer. She let out a short, breathy laugh. Her lips curled into a smirk.

Ashley walked right past Edson. The automatic doors of the precinct slid open. The 2 AM wind hit her bare legs, carrying the smell of exhaust and damp asphalt.

She walked straight to the black Rolls-Royce parked at the curb and pulled open the heavy rear door. She slid onto the leather seat.

Edson stomped out of the precinct and threw himself into the passenger seat. He slammed the door so hard the chassis shook. "Drive to the Long Island estate. Now."

Ashley looked to her left. Brittany and Devon were pressed against the opposite door, trying to put as much space between themselves and Ashley as possible.

"Guilty conscience?" Ashley asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the car.

Devon leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "Watch your mouth, Ashley. You've done enough damage tonight."

Ashley closed her eyes. She rested her head against the cool glass of the window and completely ignored him.

The car was dead silent. The only sound was the rhythmic thud of the tires hitting the expansion joints of the bridge. Ashley calculated her heart rate. It was steady. She mapped out the layout of the Long Island manor in her head.

An hour later, the Rolls-Royce turned into the massive driveway. The wrought-iron gates groaned and clicked shut behind them. The physical lock echoed in the night.

Ashley pushed her door open. Her dress was half-dry, stiff with salt, chafing her skin. She kept her spine perfectly straight and walked up the stone steps.

She pushed the heavy oak double doors open. The crystal chandelier in the foyer blazed with blinding light.

Fleda Bell, her stepmother, sat dead center on the main living room sofa.

Justyn, Ashley's older brother, stood right behind Fleda. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was set. The entire room was staged like an execution block.

Fleda stood up. She forced her eyes to water. She rushed forward, reaching her hands out toward Ashley. "Oh, Ashley! You poor thing, you must be freezing!"

Ashley shifted her weight and stepped entirely out of Fleda's reach. Fleda's hands grasped empty air.

"Drop the act, Fleda. It makes me want to vomit," Ashley said.

Justyn lunged forward. His face was twisted in rage. He pointed a finger inches from Ashley's nose. "How dare you speak to her like that? You ruined your own party, you called the cops on your sister, and now you're disrespecting our mother?"

Ashley stared at her half-brother, the son of the woman sitting on the couch. The man who had been slowly poisoned by the woman sitting on the couch. Her chest felt hollow. "She's not my mother. And you're nothing but a brainless puppet."

Justyn roared. He raised his right hand high, aiming a vicious slap at her face.

Ashley didn't flinch. As his hand came down, she raised her left arm, blocking his wrist with her forearm. Her right hand shot out, gripping his wrist bone. She twisted his arm sharply backward.

Justyn screamed. His knees buckled from the intense pain in his shoulder joint.

As he bent over, Ashley's eyes locked onto the whites of his eyes. The sclera had a distinct, sickly yellow tint. Liver damage. The poison was already deep in his system.

"Stop it! Security!" Fleda shrieked.

Edson slammed his heavy wooden cane against the marble floor. "Enough!"

A maid scurried into the room, her head bowed. She held a silver tray with a steaming porcelain teacup. "Madam, the calming tea you requested for Ms. Ashley."

Fleda smoothed her skirt. "Drink this, Ashley. You are clearly having a manic episode. You need to calm down."

Ashley looked at the tea. The steam carried the scent of chamomile, but underneath it was a sharp, metallic chemical odor.

She picked up the cup. She swirled the dark liquid. A ring of unnatural, tiny bubbles clung to the porcelain edge.

"Haloperidol," Ashley said.

Fleda's breath hitched. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

Ashley turned her wrist and dumped the boiling tea directly onto the million-dollar Persian rug. The dark liquid soaked into the silk threads.

Fleda gasped, clutching her chest.

"A heavy antipsychotic sedative," Ashley continued, her voice clinical and dead. "You wanted to drug me, lock me in a room, and tell the press I had a mental breakdown."

Fleda's voice went up an octave. "You are insane! Edson, listen to her! She has paranoia!"

Brittany sobbed from the doorway. "She's completely lost her mind, Dad!"

Edson rubbed his temples. He pointed a thick finger at Ashley. "I don't care about the tea. You will log onto your social media right now. You will post a video apologizing to Brittany and saying the police call was a misunderstanding."

Ashley looked at the man who shared her DNA. Her heart rate didn't spike. She felt absolutely nothing. "No."

Edson grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray off the coffee table. He hurled it straight at her head.

Ashley tilted her neck. The heavy crystal grazed her skin and smashed into the drywall behind her. Shards of glass exploded outward. A sharp piece sliced across the side of her neck.

A line of hot blood ran down her collarbone. She didn't blink.

"You're acting this desperate because there's a crisis in the company you can't handle," Ashley said, her voice dripping with ice. "You're throwing a tantrum because you're on the verge of bankruptcy, aren't you?"

Edson's face turned a mottled purple. The veins in his forehead pulsed. "Lock her up! Take her to the Idaho facility! Now!"

Six massive bodyguards rushed into the room. They formed a tight circle around Ashley, cutting off every physical exit. Their massive frames blocked the light.

Fleda smiled. Brittany wiped her fake tears, her lips curving upward.

Ashley slid her hand behind her back. Her thumb found the side button on her phone. She clicked it twice, activating the emergency voice memo recording. Her eyes darted to the gap between the two largest guards.

Before the guards could grab her shoulders, a deafening crash shook the entire house.

The heavy oak double doors of the manor were kicked open with such violent force that the hinges snapped. The wood slammed into the walls.

The butler tumbled into the foyer, groaning on the floor.