Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband

Joseline Goodwin POV:

At 10:00 AM sharp, I walked into the mahogany-paneled conference room of Vance & Sterling Law Offices.

Uncle Arthur was already lounging at the head of the table, sipping an espresso with an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. Beside him sat Ruby, dressed in an obnoxious designer dress, and Liam, who was fidgeting nervously with his watch.

"Ah, the prodigal niece arrives," Uncle Arthur mocked, gesturing to his attorney. "Save us the drama, Joseline. Sign the transfer of the Goodwin Estate and the studio keys. Liam and Ruby's wedding is set for next month, and we need the trust assets cleared."

Liam had the audacity to look at me with pity. "Josie, be reasonable. You're a woman alone. How are you going to manage an antique studio without capital? Let Arthur handle it, and I'll make sure you get a monthly allowance."

I didn't utter a single word. I simply opened my leather binder, pulled out the official marriage certificate bearing the fresh, embossed seal of the state, and slapped it directly onto the table in front of Arthur's coffee cup.

The crack echoed like a gunshot.

Uncle Arthur picked up the paper, his smirk instantly curdling into a grotesque mask of shock. "What the hell is this?!"

"That is a legal certificate of marriage," I said smoothly, pulling out a chair and sitting down with legs crossed. "Registered this morning at eight o'clock. As of today, the condition of my grandfather's will is satisfied in full. The trust fund, the estate accounts, and the deed to the restoration studio are now under my sole, unassailable control."

"This is fraud!" Ruby shrieked, slamming her manicured hands on the table. "Who the hell is Cyril Sweeney?! You hired an escort! You paid some bum off the street!"

"Cyril Sweeney is an international cargo flight director," I replied calmly, my tone dripping with cold disdain. "He earns his own living and has a spotless record. Unlike your new fiancé, who has spent the last three years living off my credit cards."

Liam flushed scarlet. "Josie, that's uncalled for—"

"Shut up, Liam," I snapped, turning my gaze to Arthur. "Mr. Vance, I assume the handover documents are ready for my sole signature?"

The family attorney, clearly terrified of being sued for probate violation, hastily pushed the real documents toward me. "Yes, Mrs. Sweeney. Everything is in order. The assets are unlocked."

I signed every page with a steady hand, stood up, and looked at Ruby. Before she could open her venomous mouth again, I stepped forward and delivered a sharp, echoing slap across her cheek.

SMACK.

Ruby stumbled back with a gasp, clutching her face in horror.

"That's for sleeping in my bed," I said coldly. "If I ever catch either of you near my studio or my new home, I won't just sue you for trespassing—I'll ruin you. Now get out of my sight."

Leaving the three of them sputtering in humiliated fury, I met my best friend, Dara Ortega, downstairs. She practically tackled me into the seat of her vintage convertible.

"Tell me you didn't just marry a random stranger from a graveyard!" Dara yelled over the roar of the engine.

"He's a pilot, he's quiet, he travels constantly, and he gave me the keys to a house in the woods," I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. "It's the ultimate business arrangement, Dara. I saved my life's work, and I got a roommate who isn't even home."

Cyril Sweeney POV:

In the subterranean depths of the Astra Sanctorum, the air crackled with lethal static.

Thirteen vampire elders knelt before the obsidian dais, their heads bowed so low their foreheads brushed the cold stone floor. Evertt Sweeney, my younger cousin and a hotheaded vanguard, dared to look up.

"My Lord," Evertt stammered, his fangs chattering under my unchecked aura. "A mortal woman? A purifier's descendant? If the High Tribunal in Europe discovers you have bound yourself to a blood singer without coven sanction—"

With a flick of my wrist, an invisible shockwave struck Evertt's chest, sending him crashing into the stone pillar fifty feet away. He dropped to his knees, coughing up dark ichor.

"You speak as though you have a voice in my court, Evertt," I said, my voice echoing like rolling thunder through the cavernous chamber. "Joseline Goodwin is your Lady. Every resource of this coven—every shadow, every blade, every offshore billion in our trust—is now hers to command, whether she knows it or not."

I stepped down from the dais, my boots clicking rhythmically on the flagstones.

"She wishes to live as a mortal with an ordinary husband. Therefore, we are mortals. If anyone so much as bares a fang within five miles of her studio, or if any of you let slip our heritage, I will not merely execute you—I will expose your coffins to the dawn."

"Lord Cyril," Colin stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Her uncle, Arthur Goodwin, has already contacted a black-market investigator to dig into your flight records."

A cruel, razor-sharp grin spread across my face. "Make sure the investigator finds a flawless FAA record. And as for Arthur Goodwin... find every loan he owes to our shell corporations, and call them in by midnight."