Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Disabled Husband

Jillian Wilcox POV:

"Edla took a nasty spill on the mountain ridge, Jillian. Her shoulder is completely dislocated, and the paramedics are still trying to stabilize her. I have to stay by her side at the county clinic. We will have to reschedule the ceremony."

I stared down at the glowing screen of my phone, the cold blue light cutting through the dim, damp corridor of the century-old stone church in Coldfir Creek.

My thumbs did not tremble.

Outside, the perpetual autumn rain of the Pacific Northwest hammered against the stained glass windows, bleeding gray shadows over the worn granite floor.

Five years.

For five years, I had poured every ounce of my energy into restoring ancient Latin manuscripts and sacred protective sigils to keep Chalmers Maddox's family appraisal agency from slipping into total insolvency.

And now, on the morning of our wedding, he had left me standing in an empty antechamber in a lace gown that smelled faintly of cedar and rain, all for his childhood friend who seemed to suffer a catastrophic accident every time Chalmers was supposed to choose me.

The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary creaked open.

Reverend Miller stepped into the hall, his weathered face tight with an agonizing mixture of pity and embarrassment.

"Jillian, my child," the old man murmured, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling where the organist had already paused the processional hymn mid-chord. "The guests are growing restless in the pews. Has Chalmers arrived, or should we... give him a few more minutes?"

"He isn't coming, Reverend."

My voice was flat, devoid of the tears he clearly expected.

Deep inside my chest, something strange and unyielding settled into place-the quiet, impenetrable barrier of my Mind Sanctuary, locking away the raw shock before it could drown me.

"The wedding is canceled."

A low murmur rippled through the open archway leading into the nave.

I could feel the sharp, calculating gazes of fifty townspeople piercing through the veil.

They wanted a spectacle.

They wanted to see the penniless orphan girl from the parish home break down and beg for crumbs of dignity on the altar steps.

I reached up with both hands, took hold of the comb anchoring the cathedral-length lace veil to my hair, and tore it free in one sharp, decisive pull.

Pins scattered across the floor like dry pine needles.

I let the expensive white fabric drop directly into the muddy rainwater tracking across the stone threshold.

Without looking back at the altar, I turned on my heels, the hem of my silk gown sweeping past the pews as I marched straight out of the church doors.

The cold air of the covered stone portico hit my face, sharp and biting.

My phone buzzed violently in my palm.

Edla's name flashed across the screen.

I swiped the icon and pressed the phone to my ear, remaining completely silent.

"Jillian? Oh God, Jillian, please don't hate Chalmers!"

Edla's voice poured through the speaker, breathless, honeyed, and dripping with theatrical distress.

"I swear I told him to go back to the church, but the pain in my arm is just so unbearable... every time the doctor touches it, I can only calm down if Chalmers holds my hand. You know how protective he gets. You understand, don't you?"

In the background, Chalmers's voice filtered through the line, sharp and urgent.

"Nurse, get another ice pack over here! Edla, stop talking, you're going into shock."

That was the voice that had promised to cherish me until death.

A sharp, sour taste rose in my throat, but my pulse remained steady, ticking like clockwork against my ribs.

"Keep him, Edla," I said, my tone smooth and razor-sharp. "You two deserve each other. May your fractures last as long as his promises."

A sharp gasp caught in Edla's throat. "What-"

I ended the call before she could finish the syllable.

With two swift taps, I blocked both of their numbers from my phone, severing five years of history in less than three seconds.

The freezing rain poured off the church eaves, pooling around the heels of my satin shoes.

I stood at the top of the stone steps, staring out into the mist-choked streets of Coldfir Creek.

Under the regional property statutes that governed the ancient family guilds in this valley, an unfulfilled marriage contract would allow the Maddox family to seize the proprietary rights to the ancient sigil manuscripts I had restored under their roof.

Unless I was legally married before the sun set today, they could file a claim of dependent tenancy and take every scrap of my work.

I drew the frigid, pine-scented air deep into my lungs.

Chalmers thought he had backed me into a corner where I would crawl back and beg for his signature next month.

He was wrong.

If my groom had forfeited his seat at the altar, I would find a new partner in this town before nightfall-and close the door behind me forever.