Flash Marriage: Married to the Hockey Mafia on Christmas Eve

Hazel Owen never imagined her life could change in a single evening, but it did the moment her father summoned her into the sitting room. Her father stood tall in his tailored suit, looking like a man of authority. His eyes bore no warmth; they looked colder than the winter night wind drifting through the cracked window. “Father, you sent for me?” Hazel nervously asked. Something in her guts tells her she won't like the outcome of this conversation. “Tomorrow, during the Christmas celebration, you are to wed Mr Ned Kenzo,” Jacob Owen commanded, his tone leaving no room for questions. For a moment, Hazel could not breathe. Her throat tightened painfully, and the floor seemed to tilt as if her body refused to accept the words that had just been spoken. Mr Ned. The man who always smelled like stale cigars. The man who stared at her with greedy eyes whenever he visited for business meetings. A sixty-year-old investor with a reputation for chasing anything in a skirt. Hazel immediately gagged at the thought. Her stomach twisted with disgust. “What? No. How can you even say that, Father?” Hazel choked out, her voice trembling. Jacob turned his icy gaze toward her stepmother and stepsister, who sat on the couch, both wearing expressions of satisfaction as if they had been waiting for this moment. It sent chills up Hazel’s spine. “How dare you defile my command?” her father roared, his voice shaking the room. “You will marry Mr Ned, and that is final.” “But I am only twenty,” Hazel whispered, but before she could finish the sentence, a sharp slap exploded across her cheek. Pain shot through her face as she staggered backward, her hand trembling as it flew up to her burning skin. She stared at her father in disbelief. Jacob did not look guilty. He looked satisfied, as if he had just corrected a rebellious child who needed control. Her stepsister, Mara, smirked, her bright red lips curling up in triumph. Their mother, Karen, crossed her legs slowly and sipped her wine, pretending to be calm, but her eyes glittered with victory. Hazel felt something in her chest break. She knew they never liked that, but she didn't expect their hatred to be this much. I mean, she didn't expect any better from her stepmother. But her dad? Ever since her dad remarried after her mom died, he had turned into a completely different man. She turned and ran. She did not wait for their taunts and mockery. She rushed up the stairs, slammed her bedroom door shut, and collapsed against it. Her breath came in fast, shaky waves. The slap still burned, but the pain inside her chest was worse. She cried until her eyes ached and her throat felt raw. She cried because she knew her father meant it. He needed Ned’s investment. Their business was sinking, and Hazel was merely collateral, a bargaining chip. As evening approached and darkness settled outside, the house grew louder with preparations for tomorrow’s grand Christmas event. Workers moved around the mansion, carrying decorations, boxes, fabrics, and crates of champagne. Laughter and conversation swirled through the hallways, setting the mood for a day Hazel felt would ruin her life. No. She could not let it happen. She would not allow her father to sell her off like an object. Hazel stood up, wiped her tears, and stared at herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked fragile, but under her swollen eyes, she saw something else. Determination. “I won’t be his pawn. I won’t,” she whispered. She picked up her documents, stuffed them into her bag, then opened her makeup drawer. If she wanted to pull off her plan, she needed to look older, different, unrecognizable. She grabbed black eyeliner and traced it thickly along her lids, darkened her brows, and added deep red lipstick. She let her hair fall messily around her shoulders, giving her a fierce, gothic look. Her soft beauty was hidden beneath the bold edges of rebellion. With trembling hands, she opened her window slightly, listening for movement. The hallway was quiet. The workers were outside. Her father and stepfamily were busy entertaining guests for tonight’s warm-up party. Hazel slipped out quietly and snuck through the hallway, avoiding the main doors. She made her way to the back of the house and pushed open the garbage door leading to the alley behind the mansion. The cold air slapped her skin, but freedom tasted sweeter than warmth. She walked fast, almost running, until she reached the main road. The city lights glowed before her, sparkling like promises. She needed an escape, and she needed it now. If she stayed anywhere predictable, they would find her. She needed to do something insane, untraceable. The plan formed in her mind like a spark. A quick marriage. A stranger. A fake husband. If she were married, her father could not force her into another marriage. The law would protect her better than her own blood. Hazel found herself standing before an elite club. The neon sign flickered with a red glow that reflected off the wet pavement. The music pulsed through the walls, and laughter spilled out whenever the door opened. She took a deep breath and walked inside. The air was warm and heavy with perfume, sweat, and alcohol. Men and women danced under dim lights, and waiters carried trays of drinks between the crowd. Hazel scanned the room carefully. She was searching for one thing. A dangerous man. A man who looked like he could protect himself. A man who could scare her father if necessary. Most importantly, a man who looked desperate enough to accept money for a quick marriage. After a few minutes of searching, she saw him. He was leaning against the wall near the back. Tall. Muscular. His shoulders were wide beneath his black jacket. His jaw sharp, eyes intense. His hair was slightly messy, as if he had just come back from something rough. He did not look like the others who tried too hard to impress. He looked calm, dangerous, and alone. That will do. Hazel’s heartbeat quickened as she walked toward him. Her palms were sweating and her thoughts racing, but she forced herself to keep her shoulders straight. She needed him. This stranger was her only way out. “Hello,” she said as she reached him, her voice lifting slightly at the end. He looked down at her slowly, studying her with unreadable eyes. “I know this is weird,” Hazel rushed out. “I am Hazel, and I need you to marry me tonight. Before you say no, I will pay you. Good money. The marriage will only be on paper. We will separate in three months. You will not lose anything. I promise.” She tried to keep her voice confident, but deep down she was shaking so badly she wondered if he could hear her heartbeat. The man stared at her. Not laughing. Not offended. Just analyzing. His gaze traveled from her gothic makeup to her trembling hands. For a moment, Hazel thought he might actually consider it. Then, without a single word, he turned and dashed into the male bathroom. Hazel froze. Her mouth dropped open as she watched him disappear. “What the…” she whispered, her eyes wide. Had he run away from her? Had she scared him off? Had he thought she was crazy? Hazel blinked repeatedly, trying to understand what had just happened. After everything she had risked. After sneaking out. After offering money. After swallowing her pride. The man ran. Just ran. Hazel pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a mix of embarrassment, frustration, and panic. “What sort of bad luck is this?” she whispered as her heart squeezed painfully. She needed a husband before sunrise. And the man she picked had fled as if she were a ghost. Or worse, a problem he did not want.