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Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband

Chapter 8 

Word Count: 652    |    Released on: 21/09/2026

e Goodw

ough the glass cabin. Cyril had left early for a "boar

the doorbell

chival glue, I opened the door in

-Victoria Sweeney-wore an immaculate, high-collared burgundy lace gown with a velvet cape, while

clasping her gloved hands together. "Look at her, Re

"Um... hello?

nto the foyer, her sharp, hawk-like eyes scanning every inch of the cabi

t-circuited.

cover, I quickly closed the door and put on my best polite smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney!

ant disgust. "Tea won't be necessary, child. And what is this absurd glass box? The

hurriedly, bringing out water glasses. "I

l me, darling... how is he? Does he sleep in your bed? Does he have any... un

own breath. "

nald barked. "Co

a huffed. "He's been cold as a corpse for centuries-I mean

bizarre comment, the front d

zed in the doorway. His coat was billowing, his eyes blazing with an au

ed, his voice a low, threatening rumbl

her chest. "Cyril! Is that any way to speak to your dea

ade my eyes blur-and placed himself squarely in front of me, his

essive, his chest hard as

two elders. His eyes flickered with a dangerous, unspoken command that seemed to make

umbled, standing up with his cane. "No need

ril, you have mandatory family leave this week. Stay home

velvet, the eccentric coupl

arm was still locked around my waist, his body

t them," Cyril whispered, his

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Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband
Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband
“I entered a contractual marriage with Cyril Sweeney just to protect my antique restoration studio from local developers. I thought he was merely an eccentric, wealthy cargo pilot, but I soon realized I had married a monster. His skin was colder than ice, he could throw a grown man across a room effortlessly, and strangers in tailored suits dropped to their knees calling him "My Lord." But the most agonizing part was his violent rejection of me. Whenever I got close, or accidentally scraped my skin and bled, he would shove me away like I was a plague. His glacial eyes would turn pitch black, his throat convulsing as if fighting a demon. "Run before I kill you!" He roared at me with a feral, terrifying rasp, his hands clawing at his own throat. The final straw came when I found an antique pocket watch on his desk, holding a faded photograph of a young girl. I realized I wasn't a wife; I was just a convenient, nameless replacement for a ghost he still carried over his dead heart. I didn't understand why he looked at me with such desperate agony, nor why my blood drove him to the brink of madness. I didn't know the girl in the photograph was actually me from ten years ago. As I slammed my truck into reverse to escape his haunted glass villa, I had no idea the real nightmare was just beginning.”