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 5
The City Hall parking lot was mostly empty.
Graham parked the Volvo in a spot close to the entrance and turned off the engine. He didn't move to get out. He just sat there, his hands resting on the steering wheel.
"Jaimie," he said. "Get out of the car."
His voice wasn't harsh. It wasn't gentle either. It was just a flat statement of fact, like he was telling her the time or the weather.
She opened the door and stepped out into the humid morning air. The sun was trying to break through the clouds, but it offered no warmth. She felt hollowed out, like a shell that had been washed up on the shore.
Graham walked beside her, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her. They walked up the concrete steps and through the heavy glass doors. The lobby smelled like floor wax and old paper.
The marriage license bureau was on the second floor. They walked down a long, quiet hallway and pushed through a swinging door into a small, fluorescent-lit office.
A middle-aged woman with greying hair and thick glasses sat behind the counter. She looked up as they approached, her expression bored and efficient.
"Application for a marriage license," Graham said, placing his driver's license on the counter.
The woman took the license and glanced at it. Then she glanced up at Graham, her expression neutral, before looking back down at the license and beginning to type on her computer.
Jaimie noticed the look. She filed it away in the back of her mind, a tiny puzzle piece that didn't fit, but she was too numb to care.
"IDs and Social Security numbers," the woman said, not looking up.
Jaimie fumbled in her purse and handed over her ID. The woman typed for a few more minutes, then pushed a clipboard and a pen across the counter.
"Fill this out. Both of you."
Jaimie took the clipboard. Her hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled. She tried to write her name, but the letters came out as a jagged scrawl. The pen slipped, leaving a long, ugly streak across the page.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't even sign her own name.
A warm hand covered hers. Graham's fingers wrapped around her trembling hand, steadying it. His palm was dry and warm, his grip firm and unyielding.
He guided her hand across the paper, forcing her to write "Jaimie Stuart" in a clear, legible script. It felt like he was branding her. Like he was carving his ownership into her skin.
He let go of her hand, took the pen, and signed his own name with quick, confident strokes.
"The ceremony room is down the hall," the woman said, stamping the paper. "You need a witness. I can get someone from the office."
"That won't be necessary," Graham said. "We'll use the standby witness."
They walked down the hall to a small, austere room with a wooden podium and a few rows of chairs. A bored-looking man in a cheap suit stood by the podium, holding a binder.
Graham placed the license on the podium. The man opened the binder and began reading from the script, his voice monotonous and flat.
"Do you, Graham Lawson, take Jaimie Stuart to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do." His voice was clear, strong, and without a hint of hesitation.
The man turned to Jaimie. "Do you, Jaimie Stuart, take Graham Lawson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The words caught in her throat. The room was spinning. She saw Gerry's sneering face. She saw her father's disappointed eyes. She saw the warehouse in the photograph.
"Jaimie," Graham whispered. He was standing right behind her, his breath warm on her ear. "Think about your PhD."
The words were a knife, slipping between her ribs and piercing her heart. The last bit of resistance crumbled.
"Yes," she said, the word barely audible.
The man nodded, signed the paper, and handed it to Graham. "Congratulations."
Graham took the marriage certificate. He didn't hand it to Jaimie. He didn't even look at it. He simply folded it into a neat square and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, close to his heart.
It was done. In less than thirty minutes, she had sold her freedom.
They walked out of City Hall. The sun was too bright, stinging her eyes. She felt like she was walking underwater, every movement slow and heavy.
"I have a surgery this afternoon," Graham said as they got back into the car. "I'll drop you off at the apartment. And Jaimie..."
She didn't look at him.
"About Gerry. I'll take care of it."
He didn't say anything else. He drove her to the apartment, pulled up to the curb, and unlocked the doors.
She got out without a word and walked up the stairs to her apartment. She locked the door behind her, went straight to her bedroom, and collapsed onto the bed. She pulled the covers over her head, trying to hide from the world, trying to pretend the last twelve hours hadn't happened.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out from under the pillow.
It was a text from Graham. No words. Just a photo.
It was a picture of the marriage certificate. Her signature next to his. A permanent, undeniable record of her surrender.
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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."