Substitute Marriage: My Lethal Comatose Husband

Lana walked out of the back room of the garage, grabbing a rag stained black with grease.

She moved toward a rusted Ford pickup truck parked in the center bay. She leaned over the hood, her muscles working mechanically as she scrubbed at a stubborn oil stain on the metal.

Arthur Vance walked over, rolling a heavy tire. He stopped and let out two harsh, rattling coughs.

Lana dropped the rag instantly. She walked to the workbench, poured a cup of lukewarm water from a plastic pitcher, and handed it to him. Her eyes scanned his pale face.

Arthur drank the water, his chest heaving slightly. He lowered his voice so the sound wouldn't carry past the open garage doors.

"What's the status on the dark web sweep?" he asked.

"I've locked onto the Thorne family's recent financial crisis," Lana said, her tone casual, completely devoid of the tension in her shoulders. "They're bleeding capital."

A low, aggressive engine roar cut through the quiet hum of the rust-belt town.

Lana and Arthur both turned their heads toward the open bay doors.

Three black, bulletproof Cadillac Escalades rolled to a stop in the dirt driveway, kicking up a cloud of dry dust. The vehicles looked like alien spaceships against the backdrop of peeling paint and rusted scrap metal.

Lana's spine instantly curved. She dropped her shoulders, letting her posture slump. The sharp, calculating light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a wide, fearful stare.

The door of the middle Escalade opened. Mr. Hayes, a man in a tailored three-piece suit, stepped out.

He immediately pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over his nose, his eyes scanning the filthy garage with raw disgust.

His gaze landed on Lana. He took in the grease smeared across her forehead and the massive red birthmark covering half her face. His upper lip curled.

He walked up to her, stopping three feet away as if her poverty was contagious.

"You are Lana Hicks," Mr. Hayes said. It wasn't a question.

Lana shrank back, her hands twisting the dirty rag. "Y-yes, sir," she stuttered, her voice trembling perfectly.

Mr. Hayes pulled a thick, leather-bound folder from his briefcase. "I am here on behalf of Declan Thorne. He has an order for you."

He didn't bother softening the blow. He told her she had been selected to fulfill a marriage contract.

Lana gasped, her eyes widening in feigned horror. She reached out and grabbed Arthur's arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. "No, I can't leave! I don't even know them!"

Mr. Hayes let out a short, mocking laugh. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper.

He held it up. It was a cashier's check for one million dollars.

"This is more money than you or anyone in this pathetic town will see in ten lifetimes," Mr. Hayes said, shaking the paper slightly.

Lana's entire demeanor shifted. She let her jaw drop. She stared at the check, letting a sickening, desperate greed wash over her features. She played the part of the money-hungry country girl flawlessly.

Arthur stepped forward, his face flushed with genuine anger. "You're buying and selling a human being! You tell Declan he's a monster!"

Mr. Hayes ignored him completely. He kept his eyes on Lana. "This is your biological father's final ultimatum. Take it, or rot here."

Lana bit her lower lip, pretending to wage a massive internal war. Then, she snatched the check from his fingers.

She lowered her head, her voice small but eager. "I'll go with you."

Mr. Hayes smirked, his disgust fully validated. He turned on his heel and walked back to the Escalade, waving a hand for her to follow.

Lana turned to Arthur. She threw her arms around his neck.

In the fraction of a second her body blocked Mr. Hayes's line of sight, her fingers slipped a micro-communicator deep into Arthur's jacket pocket.

"Take care of the old engine," she whispered into his ear, her voice ice-cold and steady, using the exact coded phrase they had pre-arranged to confirm the operation was proceeding flawlessly.

She pulled away, grabbed her frayed canvas duffel bag, and walked toward the luxury SUV. The townspeople stared in shock as she climbed into the leather interior.

The heavy door slammed shut. The Escalades pulled out of the dirt lot, speeding toward the East Coast.