Fake Wife, Real Trouble: When the CEO Won't Let Go

"SCREEEECH—" The ear-splitting sound of brakes. The jaundiced glow of flickering streetlights. Blood, diluted by rain, seeping from beneath the car door. She stumbled out, her eyes locking onto the motionless man soaked in blood, his face half-shrouded in shadow. Her scream tore through the night as she lunged forward—only for the car to roar back to life, tires screeching as it barreled straight toward her... "AAAH—!" Valerie Mount jolted upright—THUD! Her skull cracked against something solid. The nightmare shattered as pain exploded behind her eyes. That damn highlight reel again. For two months straight, ever since the accident, the same cursed scene played on loop. It wasn't like she'd meant to flee—she'd blacked out completely! By the time she came to, the other driver had vanished. Security footage showed the car driving off alone. So... no harm done, right? Valerie tried wiping her brow, then froze. Her wrists—bound behind her back?! She was awake... so why was everything still pitch black? Sleep paralysis? A nightmare within a nightmare? Damn it all! "Yikes—!" She jerked sideways, skull smacking something unyielding. Tears pricked her eyes. A voice, cold and detached, sliced through the darkness: "Young Master, she's awake." Another voice answered, rough as gravel: "Ask her." Valerie's pulse skyrocketed past 180. Her entire body trembled, empty stomach gnawing at her ribs. How long had she been here? Her thoughts scattered like crash debris—until the first voice demanded: "Miss Mount, will you marry our Young Master?" ...Huh? What kind of Lifetime-movie plot was this?! Valerie's brain blue-screened—no coherent thought in sight. Her silence was taken as refusal. "Unwilling?" The main antagonist—presumably the "Young Master"—spoke directly. His voice carried a Siberian chill that made her shiver. She licked parched lips. "I'm starving. Food first?" "No. Marry or starve." Valerie's jaw dropped. Holy hell, what kind of dark-ages mentality was this? Had this guy been single since the dawn of time?! Valerie's mind was shrieking in protest, itching to break free from her restraints, tear off the blindfold, and crack open this madman's skull to see what nonsense filled his head. The silence stretched on forever. Her vision swam with stars as she licked her parched lips. "Listen, pal, there are plenty of decent dating sites and apps out there. Let me go, and I'll even help you download—" The man cut her off sharply. "Mark." "Yes, sir." The first voice spoke again, detached and icy. "Miss Mount, do you recall your hit-and-run incident two months ago? We possess irrefutable evidence, and as the victim, we reserve the right to press charges at any time. You're facing three to seven years in prison. Accepting our young master's proposal is your wisest option." ... Victim? Charges? Prison? Valerie's mind blanked for several heartbeats before reality crashed over her—this wasn't an accident. This was a blatant, calculated abduction. "Uh..." She stalled, scrambling for wit. "How about feeding me first? Can't brainstorm marriage plans on an empty stomach, right?" Exactly. No energy to plot an escape either. "Pathetic." The young master's laugh was a blade of frost. "Still dreaming of running? Mark. Secure the timed explosive to her." !!! She froze. Before she could protest, something cold and metallic clamped around her bound wrists. "You doubt me. Mark, remove the blindfold." "At once." Darkness lifted. Light stabbed her eyes. When she blinked them open— Dear God above. Since when did gods walk among mortals? Cheekbones sculpted by angels, a jawline sharp enough to draw blood, lips like rose petals against winter snow. His very presence—untouchable, regal—could silence thrones. If poetry were flesh, it would kneel before him. Some people were like rainbows—rare and breathtaking. She forgot the bomb. Forgot her hunger. Her mouth went dry. Who needed food when faced with such perfection? "Tch—" His smirk was downright criminal. God, even his smirk was deadly. No wonder ancient emperors neglected their duties—she'd topple empires just to keep this man in her bed. Her gaze raked downward: broad shoulders, sculpted torso, then— Her stomach dropped. "Your leg...!" The words slipped out before she could stop them. "This is your doing," the man said coldly. Valerie's fingers twitched toward the blindfold in Mark's hands—she'd actually crippled him? Dear God, was she really expected to support this man for life? "That's exactly why you will marry me." His gaze raked over her like an X-ray, each word piercing like ice. "This is your responsibility." "I—I'll make it right! But the law doesn't demand marriage as restitution!" Her voice cracked with panic. "I'll cover all medical bills—surgeries, rehab, 24/7 care if needed! I'll make it right, I swear—" Silence hung heavy. His eyes traced her worn clothes from collar to scuffed shoes before tilting his chin toward Mark. "That outfit wouldn't fetch fifty bucks at a garage sale," came the icy verdict. "What exactly could someone like you possibly pay with?"