Flash Marriage To My Mysterious Immortal Husband

Joseline Goodwin POV:

I stood in the cold rain of Duskfog Harbor Cemetery, gazing calmly at my grandmother Eleanor's gravestone.

Only three hours earlier, I had witnessed my boyfriend of four years, Liam, rolling around with my own cousin Ruby in my apartment.

I had not become hysterical. Instead, I calmly recorded a video and threw them both out.

But when my greedy maternal uncle learned of it, instead of reprimanding his daughter, he came to my door with a lawyer and delivered an ultimatum.

My grandfather's will explicitly stipulated that I had to marry before my twenty-fourth birthday-three days away-in order to inherit the massive trust fund and the antique restoration studio.

My uncle smugly declared that since Liam was already engaged to Ruby, it was absolutely impossible for me to find someone to marry within three days.

My uncle intended to seize all my rightful property without shedding a drop of blood and drive me completely out of the family.

I sneered in the rain. The tenacity in my bones would never allow me to be manipulated by these greedy mortal relatives.

I swore to the gravestone that even if I had to grab a random man off the street and marry him, I would never let my uncle's family get their way.

Suddenly, a bitterly cold wind that did not belong to late autumn swept past, and the raindrops around me seemed to still in an instant.

I sharply turned my head and saw an unusually tall, upright man standing a few steps away.

He wore a deep black trench coat and held a black umbrella. A pair of abyss-black, icy eyes stared fixedly at me through the rain.

He radiated an intensely oppressive, predatory aura, yet his posture was restrained almost to the point of rigidity.

I noticed that he was standing before another ancient, otherwise nameless gravestone marked "Eleanor."

The man-Cyril-locked his gaze on me, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply, as if he were desperately suppressing some immense pain.

In truth, Cyril had smelled in my blood the sacred freesia fragrance that could drive the undying utterly mad-his fated Blood Singer.

I did not flinch. My rare [Mindward Sanctuary] talent made me instinctively immune to the man's nonhuman aura of oppression.

I calmly met the man's gaze, rapidly calculating the situation before me.

"You don't look like you're mourning. You look like you're hunting for prey," I said, my cool, clear voice breaking the silence.

A flicker of surprise crossed Cyril's eyes. His low, hoarse voice sounded: "You're not afraid of me."

I admitted that what I feared most now was losing everything that belonged to me, not a stranger lost in a cemetery.

I looked at the man's almost unrealistically handsome face and the lonely yet powerful aura around him, and a mad idea surged into my mind.

"Sir, do you need a lawful wife?" I bluntly proposed a contractual marriage.

Cyril's fingers tightened instantly around the umbrella handle, his knuckles turning white from the force-though in truth, it was from excitement and restraint.

I quickly explained my predicament: I needed a marriage certificate to inherit the estate, and afterward we would not interfere with each other.

I offered my terms: I could pay him a substantial sum, or provide any legal assistance he needed.

Cyril watched me in silence, dark currents surging in his eyes that I could not understand-ten years of suppressed devotion and bloodthirsty instinct.

"I don't need money," Cyril finally said, his voice cold as marble, yet carrying a certain unquestionable obsession.

"But I need a lawful wife to block my family's troublesome elders." Cyril took advantage of the moment and gave a mortal's excuse.

I extended my cold hand. "Then it's a deal. I'm Joseline Goodwin."

Cyril pulled off his black leather glove and took my hand. His palm was colder than the rain, like jade without warmth. "Cyril Sweeney. Tomorrow morning at eight, at City Hall."

Cyril Sweeney POV:

After Joseline turned and left, I stood alone in the rain, taking a deep breath of the air still lingering with her scent. My eyes instantly turned crimson, my fangs faintly visible at my lips-ten years of bitter searching and suppression had found redemption in that moment.