Flash Marriage To My Fake Disabled Husband

k. He looked up, terrified, into Donovan's murderous eyes. "Was this your doing, Brodie?" Donovan's voice was dangerously quiet. He took a step forward, the silk robe parting

ge meant a direct trip back to the black-site prison. Elmira would die alone. She gritted her teeth, backing away slowly. She retreated to a quiet corner near the vending machines in the main lobby. She pulled out a cracked, secondhand smartphone she had bought at a bodega. Her thumbs flew across the shattered screen, frantically pulling up the hospital's official patient portal. She typed in Elmira's identification number, desperate to find a loophole or an option to override the payment block. But the screen flashed a stark red error message. Bulah had placed a top-tier administrative lock on the account. Without the primary holder's physical authorization, the system wouldn't even let her view the outstanding balance, let alone pay it. The connection lagged. The cheap processor in the phone overheated against her palm. "Come on," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. Suddenly, the screech of heavy tires echoed from the street outside. Acacia looked up. Six armored black Cadillac Escalades swerved into the hospital's emergency drop-off zone, completely blocking the entrance. Her survival instincts screamed. She shoved the phone into her pocket, pulled her hood low over her face, and moved swiftly toward the stairwell door. The glass doors of the lobby slid open. Donovan strode in, flanked by a dozen men in tactical suits. The sheer, suffocating pressure radiating from him made the entire bustling lobby fall dead silent. Acacia paused on the second-floor landing. She peered through the glass partition, looking down at the lobby. She saw the broad shoulders. She saw the collar of the black silk shirt. Her breath stopped, but not from recognition. A sudden, overwhelming wave of primal danger washed over her. The sheer, suffocating aura radiating from the man leading the group triggered every survival instinct she had honed in the black-site prison. She had no idea who this man was, but her tactical mind screamed at her to hide. Her mind raced. This wasn't just some Wall Street executive. The security detail, the armored convoy-this man commanded a private army, and being anywhere near his crosshairs was a death sentence. Down in the lobby, Donovan stopped mid-stride. The hairs on the back