Flash Marriage To The Ruthless Surgeon
My abusive ex was threatening a lawsuit that would destroy my father's career and wipe out my PhD. I was completely out of options.
That night, Graham, the boy from next door I hadn't seen in a decade, showed up at my apartment in the middle of a hurricane. Now a wealthy orthopedic surgeon, he offered a transactional marriage: he needed a local wife to keep his family away while he cared for his sick mother, and in return, he would make my ex disappear.
I thought it was a simple deal. But the morning after we signed the marriage license, Graham didn't just scare my ex off—he ruthlessly dismantled him. Then, Graham turned to me. His eyes were dead as he pulled out his phone, showing me a high-resolution photo of the night I illegally sold lab samples to pay off my ex's initial blackmail. He had hired a private investigator to stalk me. If that photo leaked to the FDA, I wouldn't just lose my degree; I'd go to prison.
"I needed a guarantee," he said flatly.
I was shaking with rage and terror. This wasn't a rescue. It was a hostage situation. Why did he hunt me down? Why use my darkest secret to trap me in this twisted marriage?
I couldn't live like this. I demanded an immediate divorce. But at the courthouse, the clerk dropped a bomb on us: state law required a mandatory thirty-day waiting period. Thirty days trapped with a ruthless, manipulative stranger. I had to find a way to break his leverage before the month was up.
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Chapter 1
Jaimie ended the call and threw her phone onto the couch like it was burning her skin. The screen lit up the dark living room, a harsh reminder of Gerry Brady's voice still ringing in her ears.
A personal injury lawsuit. He was actually going to do it. He was going to sue her, and worse, he was going to drag her father into it.
She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to physically push the panic back down her throat. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpanes, the wind howling like a living thing trying to break in. Thunder rolled, shaking the floorboards of her small apartment.
Her phone buzzed again. A text from her dad. Just checking in, sweetheart. Everything okay?
A bitter taste flooded her mouth. Everything was a disaster. Her PhD was hanging by a thread, her savings were wiped out, and now Gerry was threatening to destroy her father's career over a shove that he had provoked.
The sharp, intrusive chime of her doorbell cut through the sound of the storm.
Jaimie froze. Nobody rang her doorbell at eleven o'clock at night in a thunderstorm. She walked slowly toward the door, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She leaned in and peered through the peephole.
A tall, dark shadow filled the frame. She couldn't make out a face, just the broad outline of a man standing in the pouring rain.
"Who is it?" she called out, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound tough.
"It's Graham."
That single word sent a jolt of electricity through her system. Graham. Graham Lawson. The boy from next door. The boy she hadn't spoken to in a decade.
She fumbled with the locks, her fingers clumsy, and pulled the door open just an inch. A gust of freezing, rain-soaked air hit her face.
He stood there, completely drenched. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the sharp line of his jaw. His white t-shirt was translucent, clinging to the muscles of his chest, and his jeans were heavy with rain. He looked like a stray dog that had been caught in a hurricane, but his eyes-those dark, piercing eyes-were completely dry and unnervingly steady.
"Graham?" she breathed, her mind going completely blank. "What are you-"
"Jaimie, marry me."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She stared at him, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the lightning to crack and reveal this was some bizarre hallucination brought on by stress.
"What?" she finally managed.
"Marry me," he repeated, his voice low and rough, cutting through the noise of the storm. "Tonight."
"You're insane." She grabbed the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut. "You show up at my door in the middle of a hurricane after ten years and ask me to marry you? Are you drunk?"
Before she could close it, his hand shot out. His palm pressed flat against the wood, the strength in his arm unyielding. The door didn't budge an inch.
"I'm not drunk, Jaimie. Let me in. We need to talk."
"There is nothing to talk about!"
"Let me in," he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Or I'll stand out here until the whole building wakes up and sees me. Is that what you want?"
She hesitated, her heart hammering against her ribs. The fight or flight instinct warred in her chest, but the sheer absurdity of the situation, combined with the desperate exhaustion from Gerry's call, made her step back.
She opened the door.
He stepped inside, bringing a puddle of rainwater with him. He dripped onto her welcome mat, his presence making her small apartment feel suddenly suffocating. A wave of nausea hit her as she watched the dirty water seep into the fibers of the mat. Her skin crawled, and she had to physically restrain herself from shrieking at him to get out. The urge to grab bleach and scrub the entire entryway was overwhelming.
She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at him. Her hand was already reaching for a sanitizing wipe in the hall closet before he even caught it. He caught it effortlessly, wiping his face and hair without taking his eyes off her.
"Explain," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "And it better be good."
"My mother had a heart attack," he said, his voice flat. "She just had bypass surgery. She's coming back to East City to recover, and I need to be here to take care of her."
Jaimie felt a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly swallowed by confusion. "I'm sorry to hear that, Graham, but what does that have to do with me?"
"I need a wife," he said simply. "I need a legal, binding reason to stay in this city indefinitely. I took a leave of absence from my hospital in Washington. My family... it's complicated. They have certain expectations, and they want me back there as soon as possible. A marriage, a local one, gives me the most solid reason to stay and manage my mother's care without their interference. It cuts off their arguments at the source."
"You're a doctor?" She looked him up and down. He hadn't mentioned that in his brief, crazy proposal.
"Orthopedic surgeon. Washington General." He tossed the damp towel onto a chair. "I don't have time for dating, and I don't have time for romance. I need a transaction. You need help. I can provide it."
The sympathy evaporated, replaced by a cold anger. "I don't need your help."
"No?" He took a step closer, his height towering over her. "I heard Gerry Brady is suing you. I heard he's threatening your father's pension. I heard you're about to lose your research position."
Her stomach dropped. "How do you know that?"
"I make it my business to know." His gaze didn't waver. "I can make Gerry Brady go away, Jaimie. I can make all of it go away. All you have to do is sign a piece of paper."
It was a trap. It had to be. But the image of her father's worried text flashed in her mind. The memory of Gerry's sneering voice echoed in her ears.
She looked at Graham, searching for the boy she used to know, but there was only a stranger looking back at her. A desperate, calculating stranger.
"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "But we sign a prenuptial agreement. No shared assets, no interference in each other's personal lives, and an immediate, no-questions-asked divorce the moment either of us asks for it."
She expected him to argue. She wanted him to argue so she could throw it back in his face.
"Agreed," he said without missing a beat.
She blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Jaimie turned and grabbed her laptop from the coffee table. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up a basic template. She modified it with the legal knowledge she'd picked up from her undergrad minor, her hands shaking slightly as she typed.
Within twenty minutes, she printed it out. Two copies. Black and white, plain as day.
Graham picked up the pen she offered. Before he signed, he read the document, his eyes scanning the lines. Then he pulled the paper toward him, grabbed a pen, and wrote a single line at the bottom of the last page.
This marriage is to remain confidential from all family members until mutually decided otherwise.
He looked up at her. "Add that to yours."
Jaimie stared at the line. Keeping it a secret? From her parents? From his sick mother? It was insane. But then again, nothing about tonight was sane.
She picked up her pen and copied the line, then signed her name with a jagged scrawl right beneath his.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, freezing the moment in stark white light. Graham capped the pen and set it down.
"Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. I'll pick you up for City Hall."
He didn't wait for her response. He turned, opened the door, and walked back out into the storm. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Jaimie standing alone in her living room, staring at the damp spot on the floor where he had stood.
Her knees gave out. She sank onto the sofa, the signed paper clutched in her hand. The apartment smelled like rain and the faint, clinical scent of antiseptic that had clung to his skin.
A doctor. A crazy, manipulative doctor. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. It was just a piece of paper. It was just a transaction. It was better than being destroyed by Gerry Brady.
It had to be.
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9.1
I stood alone at the marble altar, the silence of the temple pressing against my eardrums.
It was my Mating Ceremony, but the groom was missing.
My phone buzzed with a notification: a livestream of my mate, Alpha Cain, skipping our union to welcome my sister, Eris, home.
In the video, he held her like she was fragile glass, captioning it: "True power recognizes true power."
When I returned to the Pack House, humiliated, I wasn't met with an apology.
I was met with a slap from my mother.
Eris, feigning a powerful "Alpha Aura," claimed my mere scent was poisoning her.
To "save" her, my family locked me in my room.
But the true betrayal came when I overheard their hushed whispers through the door.
"Use Vera," my mother said, her voice chillingly practical.
"She recovers fast. We can drain her blood weekly for Eris. She can stay as a servant to raise Cain and Eris's pups."
My blood ran cold.
They didn't just neglect me; they planned to harvest me like livestock.
They thought I was the weak Omega they exiled to the North years ago to peel potatoes.
They had no idea that in the North, I wasn't a servant.
I was Commander V, a warrior forged in ice and blood.
I reached under my bed and pulled out my black tactical duffel.
"Screw the meatloaf," I whispered.
I wasn't just leaving. I was going to war.
7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.
7.9
Hannah came home under a false identity, ready to keep her head down and avoid trouble. Then a near-drowning opened her eyes, and the family she had wanted gave her nothing but disappointment.
She severed every tie, shed the disguise, and rose in revenge as a miracle doctor, brilliant hacker, and feared underworld ruler. Shock followed her family at every turn.
Her parents regretted everything. Her eldest brother clung desperately to the bond of their shared blood, while her second brother gave up his entire fortune just to earn her forgiveness. Her third brother offered up his own body for a surgery-all to save her.
But Hannah stayed cold and built her empire alone. Only one deadly rival refused to be ignored.
"I was hired to kill you, mister."
"Then take my heart, too."
9.1
My husband, Dante Moretti, the feared Underboss, signed the divorce papers I slipped him without a glance. Too busy texting his true love, Sofia, he was blind to the annulment decree ending everything. The Reaper couldn't see the death of his own marriage.
For three years, I was Elena, his silent wife, the "Caged Canary," cleaning his messes while meticulously planning my escape from our loveless world.
He dismissed me for Sofia's every whim, publicly shaming me after a past love letter was read, then abandoning me again for her fake crisis.
That night, he violently shoved me against a wall, leaving me bleeding and concussed, rushing instead to protect Sofia. Discarded and injured, my invisible love became a weapon against me.
His crushing blindness, the cold realization I was a mere placeholder, fueled a profound injustice. How could he be so lethal, yet oblivious to his wife, favoring the one who betrayed him?
With chilling resolve, I uploaded Sofia's confession, initiated a massive financial transfer dismantling his empire, and staged my own death. Under a new identity, I fled to San Francisco, ready to build my power, far from his bloody, deceitful world.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
8.5
Five years ago, Nina Hale lost everything... her family, her reputation, and the man she once loved. Betrayed by her own sister and abandoned by those she trusted most, she disappeared without a trace.
Now she's back.
With a new identity and a burning determination, Nina is ready to reclaim her life and chase the dream she once gave up: becoming a star actress. But her return awakens old enemies, and her scheming sister Lydia is determined to ruin her again.
Just when Nina thinks things can't get worse, she's caught in another trap... and unexpectedly crosses paths with a quiet, lonely little boy.
Ethan Grant hasn't spoken in years.
Feeling responsible for him, Nina agrees to stay and help the child come out of his shell. But she didn't expect Ethan's dangerously charming father, Lucas Grant, to enter the picture.
Cold, powerful, and impossible to read, Lucas slowly finds himself drawn to the woman who brightens his son's world.
What begins as a simple act of kindness soon turns into something far more complicated, because Nina came back for revenge.
She never planned to fall in love.
**********
"I saw you with him," Lucas said quietly, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Nina exhaled, crossing her arms. "You don't get to care."
"Don't I?" He stepped in, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"This is just a contract."
"Then why does it bother me?" His hand hovered near her waist, not touching-yet.
"It shouldn't." Her breath faltered.
His gaze darkened, "And yet it does."