Flash Marriage To My Dead Husband

The paper in Chloe Hayes's hand was flimsy, but it felt like a block of cement. The Mayo Clinic's logo was printed in a calm, professional blue at the top, a stark contrast to the red, screaming numbers of the past-due notice. One million dollars. The price of her sister's heart.

The hallway of The Plaza's top floor was silent and cold, the air-conditioning a low hum against her skin. It made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. She raised a trembling hand to knock on the heavy oak door of the suite, then hesitated.

Taking a breath that didn't seem to fill her lungs, she pushed the door open.

It swung inward without a sound, revealing a room plunged into absolute darkness. The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, swallowing the glittering lights of Manhattan. The sudden blackness stole her vision, leaving her blind and disoriented.

A small, orange ember glowed in the far corner of the room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows. It brightened, then dimmed. The scent of expensive cigar smoke, rich and heavy, drifted toward her.

"You came."

The voice was a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. It came from the shadow sitting in the armchair, the man holding the cigar. The Shadow.

Chloe's throat was tight, her own voice a pathetic squeak in the cavernous room. "I accept the agreement."

"Come here." It wasn't a request. It was an order, cold and absolute.

Her legs felt like lead, but she forced them to move. She shuffled forward, her hands held out in front of her as if warding off ghosts in the dark. Her foot caught on the edge of a thick Persian rug.

She gasped, lurching forward, but a hand shot out of the darkness and clamped around her wrist. It was a big hand, the palm calloused and shockingly hot against her cold skin. The grip was like steel.

He didn't steady her. He pulled.

With a sharp tug, she stumbled the rest of the way, falling into his lap. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. An arm like an iron band wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. The smell of him was overwhelming-cigar smoke, whiskey, and a clean, masculine scent that was entirely foreign and terrifying.

"So eager," he rasped, his voice close to her ear. A cruel amusement laced the words. "Desperate to sell yourself for a check."

The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot flush that crawled up her neck. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit down on it, hard, tasting the coppery tang of blood. "It's not for me," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

"It's for my sister."

For two seconds, the man was utterly still. The arm around her waist tightened, the amusement in his presence replaced by something else. Something harder. More aggressive.

His lips, hot and firm, pressed against the sensitive skin of her neck, just below her ear. A shiver of pure, primal fear shot through her. It was a physiological rejection, her body trying to recoil from a predator.

"The contract is now in effect," he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl that promised no escape. "There is no turning back."

The next thing she knew, sunlight was slicing through a small gap in the curtains, a single, sharp line of light that hurt her eyes.

Chloe was alone in a vast, rumpled bed. Her body ached with a deep, unfamiliar soreness. The sheets were a tangled mess of high-thread-count cotton. The air still smelled faintly of him.

Panic seized her. She sat up, clutching a sheet to her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, now visible in the morning light. It was empty.

Then she saw it. On the marble-topped nightstand sat a folded piece of paper. A Chase Bank check.

She scrambled across the bed and snatched it. Her name was written on the payee line in sharp, black ink. The amount was for one million dollars.

A sob of relief and shame escaped her. She grabbed the check and her discarded clothes from the floor, dressing with clumsy, shaking fingers. She didn't look back as she fled the suite, ran for the elevator, and burst out into the morning bustle of Manhattan.

She flagged down the first yellow cab she saw.

"The Hamptons," she choked out, giving the driver the address to the Hayes estate. As the taxi lurched into traffic, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, the check clutched in her hand like a prayer.

The moment she pushed open the grand front door of the Hayes, her cousin Ashley blocked her path. Ashley was immaculate in a white tennis dress, a glass of champagne in her hand even though it was barely ten in the morning.

Her sharp, predatory eyes scanned Chloe from head to toe, lingering on the neckline of her rumpled dress. A slow, malicious smile spread across her face as she spotted the faint, purplish mark on Chloe's neck.

"Well, well," Ashley said, her voice dripping with scorn. "Looks like someone had a busy night out in the city. Find a rich man to take pity on you?"

Chloe's hand flew to her neck, her cheeks burning. She tried to push past, but Ashley was faster. She snatched Chloe's worn leather purse, the strap digging into Chloe's shoulder before breaking free.

"Give that back!" Chloe cried, lunging for it.

Ashley easily sidestepped her, dumping the contents of the purse onto a polished mahogany table. Amidst the lip balm and keys, the folded Chase check stood out. Ashley's eyes widened, then narrowed with a venomous jealousy.

"One million dollars," she hissed, picking it up. "What did you have to do for this, Chloe?" She held it between two fingers as if it were contaminated, then made a show of starting to tear it.

"No!" Chloe screamed, scrambling for it. Ashley stuck out a foot, tripping her. Chloe fell hard onto the marble floor.

Looming over her, Ashley's smile was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. She let the check flutter to the floor and instead tossed a thick document down. It landed beside Chloe's head. A prenuptial agreement.

"You're going to do something for the family," Ashley said, her voice flat. "I was supposed to marry Kieran Roman. But I'm not tying myself to some disfigured, crippled monster."

Chloe stared at her, uncomprehending.

"You're going to sign this. You'll marry him in my place," Ashley commanded. "If you don't, I'll make one phone call. My mother is the executor of that charity account. One word from me, and Lucy's medical trust will be frozen by noon."

Rage, pure and hot, surged through Chloe. "You can't! The family charter-"

"The family can do whatever it wants with a charity case," Ashley sneered, stepping forward. The sharp heel of her designer shoe pressed down on Chloe's hand, grinding the small bones against the unyielding marble.

Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up Chloe's arm. Tears streamed down her face, but she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Ashley pulled out her phone and dialed. "Yes, hello? I'm calling about the medical account for Lucy Hayes..."

The sound of the nurse's voice on the other end of the line shattered Chloe's last defense.

"I'll do it!" she shrieked, the words torn from her throat. "I'll sign it! Just stop!"

Ashley hung up, a twisted, triumphant smile on her face. She removed her heel. Chloe cradled her throbbing hand, her body shaking with sobs of pain and utter defeat. She crawled to the table, pulled the pen from the document's binding with her good hand, and scrawled her name on the signature line.

As she looked at the agreement, her signature sealing her fate, her eyes became vacant. She had sold her body for a million dollars only to be sold into a marriage with a monster for free. But as the cold marble seeped into her skin, the initial shock began to crystallize into something else. The absolute bottom had been reached. She had nothing left to lose. And when a person has nothing left to lose, the fear burns away, leaving only a dangerous, sharp-edged clarity.