The Betrayed Heiress's Vengeful Flash Marriage

The coarse hemp rope bit into the raw flesh of Ashley's wrists. She gasped, her lungs pulling in thick, black smoke. Her chest heaved against the rusted iron pillar of the abandoned warehouse.

Footsteps crunched over broken glass. Devon kicked the heavy metal door open. His custom leather shoes ground the shards into dust.

Ashley jerked her head up. Her dry throat swallowed hard.

Brittany stepped out from the shadows behind him. Her fingers curled intimately around Devon's bicep. Her lips were painted a flawless, glossy red. The smirk on her face made the bile rise in the back of Ashley's throat.

Devon raised his hand and slapped a thick stack of paper directly against Ashley's cheek. The sharp edge of the equity transfer agreement sliced the skin over her cheekbone. A warm drop of blood slid down her jaw.

She clamped her teeth into her lower lip. The metallic taste of copper flooded her mouth. She shook her head.

Brittany leaned in. Her long, manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into the soft underside of Ashley's jaw. The pressure forced Ashley to look up.

"Devon didn't pull you from that car crash three years ago, Ashley," Brittany whispered. Her breath smelled like artificial strawberries. "He just took the credit."

Ashley's pupils dilated. Her muscles spasmed, pulling against the ropes until the skin on her wrists tore completely open. Warm blood dripped down her fingertips. She stared at Devon's perfectly styled hair, his tailored suit.

Brittany laughed. The sound grated against Ashley's eardrums. "Oh, and Mom? Dad killed her. Edson planned the whole thing."

A guttural, raw scream ripped from Ashley's torn throat. Her vocal cords strained until they nearly snapped.

Devon rolled his eyes. He kicked the industrial barrel of gasoline at his feet. The thick, noxious liquid spilled over the concrete, soaking into the soles of Ashley's shoes. The fumes burned her nostrils.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest stopped heaving.

A silver Zippo lighter clicked open. Devon tossed it.

A wall of orange heat erupted instantly. The fire sucked the oxygen from the room. The blistering temperature melted the synthetic fibers of Ashley's dress into her skin. Her nerve endings screamed.

Then, the warehouse doors buckled. A black armored SUV smashed through the corrugated metal. The frame shrieked.

Bennett Hawkins threw himself out of the driver's seat. His usually cold, untouchable face was contorted in raw terror.

He lunged into the flames. A burning wooden beam cracked and slammed across his broad shoulders. He grunted, a heavy, wet sound, but he didn't stop. He threw his massive body over hers, shielding her face against his chest.

The secondary explosion ruptured the air. The shockwave shattered Ashley's eardrums. The heat consumed them both. A single tear tracked through the soot on her cheek before everything went black.

Ice water slammed into her lungs.

The burning agony vanished, replaced by a freezing, crushing pressure. Saltwater flooded her nose and throat. Her eyes snapped open to dark, churning water. Her arms flailed upward, fighting the heavy drag of her silk dress.

Rough hands grabbed her under the armpits. They hauled her upward. The pressure in her ears popped.

She broke the surface. Her mouth opened wide, sucking in massive gulps of freezing autumn air.

The wind off the Hudson River cut through her wet clothes like ice. Someone dragged her over a railing and dropped her hard onto a solid teak deck. Her knees slammed into the wood.

She curled onto her side, her stomach convulsing. She vomited a stream of bitter saltwater onto the deck. Her throat burned like she had swallowed crushed glass. She blinked, the saltwater stinging her eyes, and focused on the white canvas awning of a luxury yacht above her.

High-pitched gasps and the clatter of expensive heels surrounded her. The noise hammered against her skull. She planted her palms flat against the slippery deck and pushed her upper body up.

A dry towel was thrown roughly over her head. The fabric carried a cloying, cheap floral perfume.

Ashley's spine locked. Her muscles turned to stone.

"Oh my god, Ashley, I'm so sorry!" Brittany's voice trembled above her. The fake, breathy pitch drilled into Ashley's ears.

Ashley ripped the towel off her head. She tilted her chin up. Brittany stood there, her skin flawless, untouched by fire.

The memory of the blistering heat collided violently with the freezing wind on the deck. Ashley's temples throbbed. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she stared at the familiar faces staring back at her. Where am I? The Hudson River? No, I should be dead in that warehouse... This yacht, these people... Oh my god. The realization hit her like a physical blow. This is my twentieth birthday party. I'm back. I haven't died yet. She was twenty years old again. It was her birthday party.

Devon pushed through the crowd of socialites. His leather shoes slipped slightly on the puddle of water. He stripped off his suit jacket, his face twisted in exaggerated concern, and reached out to wrap it around her shaking shoulders.

Ashley's stomach violently heaved. The phantom smell of burning flesh filled her nose.

She swung her arm up and slapped his hand away. Her knuckles cracked against his wrist.

The tailored jacket dropped into the dirty puddle of saltwater and vomit. The surrounding crowd sucked in a collective breath. Devon's jaw dropped, his face flushing a dark, ugly red.

Brittany immediately threw herself against Devon's chest. Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled perfectly over her lower lashes. "I didn't mean to bump into her, Devon! I swear!"

The New York elites whispered behind their champagne flutes. Their eyes dragged over Ashley's soaked, pathetic form with blatant disgust.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs from the upper deck. Edson Sawyer gripped his whiskey glass. The veins in his neck bulged. "Ashley! Stop throwing a tantrum at your own party and get up!"

Ashley placed her hands on her knees and forced herself to stand. The soaked silk dress clung to her legs, dripping heavily onto the wood. She didn't cry. She didn't explain. She let out a low, raspy laugh that scraped the air.

She turned her head. Her eyes, cold and dead, dragged over Edson and Brittany. The heavy, suffocating silence spread through the crowd.

Ashley walked straight toward a socialite named Phoebe. Phoebe froze, her eyes wide.

Ashley reached out and snatched the diamond-encrusted phone right out of Phoebe's hand. Phoebe flinched, opening her mouth to protest, but Ashley's dead stare pinned her to the deck.

Ashley's pale, freezing thumb swiped the screen. She tapped three numbers. The keypad clicked loudly in the dead silence.

She lifted the phone to her ear. "Yes. I need to report an attempted murder on a yacht in the middle of the Hudson River."