Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire

The next morning, Blaire woke up before the sun. She tiptoed into the kitchen, quickly slapping together two ham and cheese sandwiches. She left one on the kitchen table wrapped in a paper towel, grabbed her purse, and practically ran out the door to avoid the awkwardness of seeing Jude.

An hour later, Jude stepped out of the master bedroom, fully dressed in a sharp suit. He spotted the cheap, squished sandwich on the table. His nose wrinkled in disgust. But his stomach gave a loud, hollow growl. Driven by hunger, he picked it up and took a hesitant bite. The flavor exploded on his tongue. He finished it in three bites.

While driving to the Brewer Group headquarters, his grandmother called again, relentlessly probing about their sleeping arrangements. Jude gripped the steering wheel, his voice dripping with ice. "I am testing her character. Nothing is happening."

By noon, Blaire was exhausted, organizing heavy racks of autumn coats at the Manhattan boutique where she worked. Her phone screen lit up. A voice message from Sharon.

Blaire tapped play. Sharon's shrill, aggressive voice pierced her eardrum. "Blaire! I want proof of this new 'roommate' of yours. Right now! For all I know, you've been brainwashed into a pyramid scheme!"

Panic seized Blaire's chest. She ducked into an empty fitting room, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her camera roll. She found the photo she had secretly snapped at City Hall-just Jude's broad back as he stood at the counter. She hit send.

Less than a second later, her phone rang. Sharon was calling.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Sharon screamed through the receiver. "A picture of a back? Did you just download this off the internet to shut me up?"

"Mom, no!" Blaire lied frantically, her heart racing. "He's just... really busy with work. He hates taking pictures."

Sharon let out a loud, mocking snort. "Fine. I finish my shift at five. I am coming to that Queens address tonight for a surprise inspection. Do not try to hide him!"

The call disconnected. Blaire broke out in a cold sweat. She frantically typed a text to Jude: SOS! My mom is coming to inspect the apartment tonight! Please don't blow our cover!

Miles away, in the glass-walled penthouse boardroom of the Brewer Group, Jude sat at the head of a massive mahogany table. A terrified executive was presenting quarterly losses. Jude's phone buzzed on the table.

He glanced down at Blaire's message. A cold, cynical smirk twisted his lips. Here we go, he thought. The whole family is in on the scam. He typed back a single, dismissive letter: K.

By 6:00 PM, a miserable, freezing drizzle began to fall over New York. Traffic ground to a dead halt.

Blaire clutched a plastic bag of hot deli food to her chest, sprinting the last block to the Queens apartment building. Her lungs burned.

As she reached the entrance, she stopped dead in her tracks. Sharon was standing under a large umbrella in the pouring rain, her eyes scanning the dilapidated brick building like a hawk looking for prey.

Blaire forced a smile and jogged up to her. Sharon immediately launched into a brutal critique of the neighborhood's lack of security and the trash on the sidewalk.

At that exact moment, Jude's beat-up Toyota squeezed into a tight spot down the street.

Jude stepped out of the car. His custom-made Italian leather shoe landed squarely in a deep, hidden puddle. Muddy water splashed violently up his shin, soaking his expensive trousers. His face instantly darkened into a mask of pure, murderous rage.

He stomped toward the building entrance. He reached into his pocket for the keys, and his hand froze. In his rush this morning, he had left the apartment keys on the kitchen table next to the sandwich.

Jude sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, fighting the urge to punch the brick wall. He grabbed the handle of the lobby door. The lock was broken. It pulled open with a pathetic squeak.

He walked into the lobby and pressed the elevator button. Nothing happened. He looked up. A piece of lined notebook paper was taped to the metal doors: Elevator Out of Order.

Jude Brewer, a billionaire who owned half the skyscrapers in the city, was now facing the ultimate degradation: a five-story walk-up.

He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He started up the dark, narrow, mold-smelling stairwell. With every step, his thigh muscles burned, and his hatred for Blaire multiplied exponentially.

Meanwhile, Blaire and Sharon had reached the third-floor landing. Blaire was frantically digging through her purse for her keys.

Heavy, aggressive footsteps echoed up the concrete stairwell. Sharon snapped her head toward the sound, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Jude crested the stairs. He was panting heavily. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie was yanked loose, and his eyes were blazing with a terrifying, homicidal fury.

He stopped on the landing. His eyes locked onto Blaire. The air in the hallway instantly froze.

Blaire stared at his disheveled, terrifying appearance. Her hands shook violently. The keys slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the concrete floor.

Sharon stepped forward, throwing her arm out to shield Blaire like a protective mother hen. She glared at this massive, angry man.

"Who the hell are you?" Sharon demanded, her voice echoing in the stairwell. "Why are you following my daughter?"

Jude's face turned the color of a thundercloud.