Flash Marriage To The Coldhearted Billionaire Uncle

Ariel walked down Fifth Avenue like a ghost.

The rain was freezing, plastering her expensive silk blouse to her skin, but she felt nothing. The numbness had spread from her chest to her extremities, protecting her from the reality of her situation.

A yellow cab sped by, hitting a puddle. A wave of dirty water splashed across her legs, the cold shock finally snapping her back to reality.

She had to do something. Her mother was lying in a hospital bed, dying. She couldn't just stand here and let it happen.

Ariel stepped to the curb, raising her hand to hail a cab. One passed. Then another. None of them stopped. In this rain, in this part of town, nobody wanted a soaking wet, frantic woman in their backseat.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket to call another hospital, another doctor, anyone. The screen flickered. 1% battery. Then, it went black. Dead.

The last thread connecting her to the world snapped.

Ariel stood there, the rain washing over her, washing away her hope. She was alone. She had no money, no phone, no husband, and soon, no mother.

Headlights cut through the rain. A motorcade was moving slowly down the avenue. Three sleek, black SUVs flanked a long, black car in the center.

A Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Ariel's breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto the license plate of the Phantom.

TILLMAN-1.

She knew that car. Everyone in New York knew that car. It didn't belong to Garrick. It belonged to the real king of the Tillman empire. Garrick's uncle. Holden Tillman.

A crazy, desperate thought flashed through her mind. Holden. The man they called the Saint. Cold, aloof, and utterly ruthless. Garrick lived in terror of him. Everything Garrick had-the house, the job, the trust fund-existed only because Holden allowed it.

It was a suicide mission. Asking him for help would probably be more humiliating than dying in the street. But then she saw her mother's face in her mind, pale and gasping on a hospital bed.

It gave her the only thing she had left: reckless courage.

Before her brain could register the danger, her body moved. She lunged off the curb, arms spread wide, directly into the path of the moving Rolls-Royce.

Tires screeched. The smell of burning rubber mixed with the rain. The massive car came to a halt mere inches from her knees.

The doors of the trailing SUVs flew open. Four men in black suits jumped out, hands hovering near their waists, eyes scanning the threat. They closed in on her.

The tinted window of the Phantom rolled down slowly.

Ariel stared into the car. The interior was dim, but the face illuminated by the dashboard lights was unforgettable. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes so dark and cold they looked like chips of black ice.

Holden Tillman. She had only ever seen him from across a crowded ballroom, surrounded by people who treated him like royalty. Up close, his gaze was a physical force, pinning her to the wet pavement.

The front passenger door opened. A tall man with a military buzzcut stepped out, his eyes hard and alert. K. Holloway, Holden's chief of security.

"Ma'am, step away from the vehicle," Holloway ordered, his voice cutting through the rain.

"No!" Ariel shouted, the word tearing from her throat. She looked past Holloway, directly into Holden's icy eyes. "Mr. Tillman! I'm Ariel Melton! Garrick's wife! I need your help!"

Holden didn't move. His expression didn't change. He just looked at her, his gaze slowly traveling from her soaked hair to her trembling shoulders.

"It's about my mother!" Ariel yelled, her voice breaking. "It's life or death! Please!"

The rain streamed down her face. She couldn't tell if the hot drops rolling down her cheeks were rain or tears.

Holloway took a step toward her, ready to physically remove her from the street.

"Stand down."

The voice from the car was low, quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. Holloway froze instantly.

Holden's eyes stayed locked on Ariel. The silence stretched, filled only by the drumming of the rain on the car's roof.

"Get in."

Two words. No emotion. But to Ariel, they sounded like a lifeline thrown into a raging sea.

Holloway stepped back and pulled the rear door open. Ariel didn't hesitate. She scrambled into the warm, dry interior, collapsing onto the buttery leather seat.

The door shut, sealing out the storm. The silence inside the car was deafening. The only sound was Ariel's ragged breathing and the chattering of her teeth.

Holden sat across from her, his posture perfect. He reached into a compartment and pulled out a soft, gray cashmere blanket. He handed it to her, his gaze fixed on her pale, shivering face.

"Long Island," Holden said to the driver. "Serenity Estate."