Flash Marriage To My Disabled Commander
Six years ago, my adoptive family framed me for commercial espionage, stripped me of my identity, and threw me out. Now, I finally returned to the Solis estate as a commercial pilot to take back what was mine.
But the first thing my adoptive mother did was threaten me with that forged evidence again. She demanded I take my sister Kiana's place in a marriage contract with a disabled man, simply because Kiana refused to marry him.
When I refused, Kiana ambushed me at the airport with a mob of reporters. She cried for the cameras, publicly accusing me of causing our father's and brother's deaths. She painted me as a ruthless monster who bankrupted the company and ruined the family. The crowd instantly turned on me, screaming that I was a murderer and a gold-digger. Kiana wanted to completely destroy my reputation so I would have no choice but to submit to her arrangement.
I looked at her fake tears, feeling a cold, absolute fury. How dare she use the tragic deaths of the only family members who actually loved me as a prop for her sick show? They had ruined my life once, and now they wanted to bury me alive.
I didn't hesitate. I slapped her hard across the face right in front of the flashing cameras.
"That was for my father and brother."
Then, my real fiancé, a decorated Delta Force commander, rolled through the crowd in his wheelchair. He tossed a classified Pentagon file to the reporters, completely clearing my name and exposing Kiana's lies. I married him to start my revenge, but as I stepped into his heavily secured penthouse that night, I realized my powerful new husband had been preparing for me for a very long time.
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Chapter 6
The scream died in Kiana's throat as the second slap landed. The sound was heavier this time, meatier. It snapped Kiana's head to the other side.
"That was for my brother," Elianna said. Her voice was ice water. It froze the air between them.
Kiana stumbled back, her hands covering her face. Her carefully applied makeup was ruined, mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers. Her hair was a mess. She looked nothing like the polished socialite she had been five minutes ago. She looked like a wounded animal.
Elianna stepped forward. She grabbed a fistful of Kiana's designer collar and yanked her close. The fabric tore slightly. Kiana gasped, her eyes wide with terror.
"Listen to me," Elianna whispered, her lips inches from Kiana's ear. "If you ever use their deaths as a prop again, I won't slap you. I'll break your neck."
The threat was delivered with such chilling calm that Kiana felt her knees buckle. She had never seen this Elianna. The old Elianna was a victim. This woman was a predator.
Elianna let go. Kiana staggered backward, nearly tripping over her own heels. She caught herself on a pillar, her chest heaving.
Elianna turned to the horde of reporters. They were clicking away, documenting every tear, every smear of lipstick. "Take your pictures," Elianna told them, her voice flat. "Show the world how the Solis family heiress reacts when asked about the relatives who died for her inheritance."
The cameras immediately swung toward Kiana. The sight was ugly. She was pathetic, sniveling, and broken. It wasn't the narrative she had planned.
Kiana realized she was losing. The sympathy was gone. She forced herself to stand up straight. She wiped her face, smearing the mascara further. She tried a watery smile. "Sister... I know you're angry. I know you hate us. But violence isn't the answer. You're only hurting the people who love you."
It was a desperate pivot. The victim card, played again.
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Maybe she went too far," someone whispered. "She hit her," another said. "That's assault."
Elianna felt the shift. The crowd was fickle. They loved a slap, but they hated a bully. Kiana was trying to paint her as the aggressor.
"The people I love are dead," Elianna said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Because of your family."
Kiana flinched. The moral high ground crumbled beneath her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, to spin another lie, to find another angle.
"I disagree."
The voice was deep, commanding, and utterly calm. It cut through the chaos of the terminal like a knife through smoke.
The crowd parted. Heads turned. The reporters lowered their cameras for a second, confused.
A man in a wheelchair rolled slowly into the space between Elianna and Kiana. He was dressed in the formal uniform of a United States Army officer. The dark green fabric was crisp, the buttons polished. Rows of ribbons adorned his chest, catching the harsh light of the terminal. His shoulders were broad, his posture perfect despite the chair.
The crowd fell silent. The aura of authority radiating from him was palpable. It demanded respect without asking for it.
His eyes found Elianna. They were a piercing, intelligent blue. He gave her a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
Elianna stared at him. A jolt of surprise shot through her. This was him. This was Baldwin Armstrong. The man who was supposed to be at the marriage bureau. The man who was sitting in a wheelchair.
He turned his chair to face Kiana. His expression was unreadable, but the look in his eyes was enough to make Kiana take another step back.
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8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
7.2
Elara Vex had everything-a flawless ice core, the title of prodigy, and a place at the pinnacle of the High Tower. But in one brutal night, it was all ripped away. Her mentor tore the core from her chest. Her fiancé drove a sword through her back. Her own sister smiled as she bled out on the cold marble floor.
When Elara wakes, she's years in the past, mere hours before her core is scheduled to be stolen. This time, she won't be anyone's sacrificial lamb. She shatters her own core with forbidden blood magic and forges something far more terrifying in its place-a bottomless, ravenous Chaos Core that devours magic itself.
Now, branded a worthless cripple and cast into the deadly Abyss, Elara is pulled from the darkness by the outcasts of Elysium Academy-a school for heretics, psychopaths, and everything the Tower despises. Under the tutelage of a reclusive principal who knew her murdered mother, Elara will master her forbidden power and uncover the Tower's darkest secrets.
When the Five Academies Ranking Tournament arrives, Seraphina Vex stands in the arena, draped in white saintess robes, ready to claim ultimate glory. She doesn't know that a ghost from her past has clawed her way back from hell. She doesn't know that Elara is coming-and this time, the prodigal sister isn't asking for mercy. She's bringing chaos.
9.6
She was sold as a broodmare. He was a warrior with no memory. Together, they'll burn down the world.
Lyra has been called many things: half-blood, mongrel, dirty blood. Rejected by every pack she's approached, she's given one final chance-as a bride to Ronan, the cruel Alpha of Red River Pack. But when her wedding night becomes a nightmare, she stabs her new husband and flees into the frozen wilderness.
Stellan remembers nothing. Not his name, not his past, not the ancient tattoos covering his body. He only knows that when he sees a terrified woman falling from a cliff into an icy river, he must save her-even if it kills him.
On the run from a vengeful Alpha and his army of hunters, Lyra and Stellan discover an impossible bond growing between them. The moon has chosen them as mates. But Stellan's memories are returning, and with them, a devastating truth: he's not just any wolf. He's the Alpha of the North Star Pack. And a half-blood can never be his Luna.
Now Ronan's brother has sworn revenge, an ancient prophecy awakens, and three packs prepare for war. Lyra must prove that bloodlines mean nothing-and that the most powerful bond of all is forged in ice and fire.
He lost his memory. She lost her freedom. Together, they'll find everything.
7.5
Kaitlyn Barton POV:
After three years building my family's hotel empire abroad, I came home to New York, expecting a warm embrace from my childhood fiancé, Edwin.
Instead, he greeted me with a warning. He told me to be gentle with his new girlfriend, Kacy, painting me as a villain before I even knew her name.
At my own welcome-home party, he let her stage a dramatic fall and then publicly blamed me for it, his eyes burning with a hatred I'd never seen.
He cradled her in his arms as if she were a fragile doll I had broken.
"Happy now, Kaitlyn?" he snarled, shattering twenty years of our shared history in front of everyone we knew.
In his eyes, I was no longer his love, but a monster he needed to protect his new flame from.
As he stormed out, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Everett Rowe, the man who had quietly loved me for five years.
"If you are truly ready, I will marry you. Right now. Just say the word."
My fingers moved on their own.
"Yes," I typed. "I'll marry you."
The moment I stepped back onto New York soil, a city I had once shared completely with Edwin, he greeted me not with a hug, but with a warning about his new girlfriend, painting me as the villain before I even knew her name. Three years abroad, cultivating my family's hotel empire, had prepared me for many business battles, but nothing for the cold, calculated betrayal that awaited me at home. He had replaced me, and then twisted our shared history, turning me into the aggressor he now needed protection from. This was not the reunion I had envisioned, nor the Edwin I remembered. My heart, which had swelled with anticipation, now froze into a solid block of ice.
7.7
I worked three double shifts at the garage just to buy a velvet-boxed cake for my wealthy girlfriend, Arleen.
But when I pushed open the VIP room door, I saw her lover kissing her bare leg.
She didn't push him away. Instead, she laughed and swirled her martini.
"I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay. He is a poor boy from Queens who follows me around like a loyal dog."
Later that night, her lover intentionally crashed a Porsche to scare me, sending a piece of jagged metal into my skull.
Lying in a growing pool of my own blood, I watched Arleen crawl out of the wreckage.
She didn't even look at me. She threw herself at her uninjured lover, screaming for a medic.
"He just got scraped by a piece of plastic. He is faking it. Deal with Jaquez first!"
When I woke up, I wasn't free. Arleen had locked me in a private hospital wing with 24-hour security, planning to isolate me and keep me as her broken, captive toy forever.
My blind, pathetic devotion finally froze into absolute disgust.
I looked at the heart monitor next to my bed and grabbed an IV needle.
I severed the sensor wire to trigger a flatline, slipped out the fire stairs while the nurses panicked, and burned my identity to ashes.
This time, I was going to disappear to London, build my own empire, and watch hers burn.
7.3
Seven years ago, my fiancé, Don Dante Moretti, sent me to prison to take the fall for my adopted sister, Chiara. He called it a gift-a way to protect me from a worse fate.
Today, he picked me up from prison only to abandon me at my family's estate. His reason? Chiara was having another one of her "episodes."
My parents then informed me I'd be staying in the third-floor storage room, so as not to disturb the fragile girl who stole my life.
They celebrated her "recovery" with a lavish dinner party, while I was treated like a ghost. When I refused to join, my mother hissed that I was ungrateful, and my father called me jealous.
They assumed I couldn't understand their venomous whispers. But prison was my university. I learned Spanish. I understood every word.
It was then I realized I wasn't just a sacrifice; I was disposable. The love I once felt for all of them had turned to ash.
That night, in the dusty storage room, I logged onto an encrypted channel I'd set up years ago. A single message was waiting: "The offer stands. Do you accept?" My hands, scarred and steady, typed back, "I accept."