Flash Marriage To The Predatory CEO

The first sound of Elsie's day was the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart rate monitor.

Sunlight, thin and pale, sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedroom at Sutton Manor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It was a beautiful prison.

Kelly, the younger of her two morning maids, carefully removed the blood pressure cuff from Elsie's arm. Her movements were practiced, gentle, as if handling a piece of priceless, fragile porcelain.

"Vitals are perfect this morning, Miss Sutton," Kelly chirped, her voice bright and jarring in the quiet room. She jotted the numbers onto a chart.

Elsie offered a small, tired smile. Her vitals were always perfect.

Her private assistant, Niam Riley, entered the room without a sound. He was a tall, severe-looking man in his forties, but his hands moved with a quiet grace. He caught her eye and began to sign.

Your mother requests your presence in the main study. One hour.

It was their silent language, a practice they'd adopted years ago. A small rebellion of quiet in a house where every wall had ears.

A familiar wave of exhaustion washed over Elsie, heavier than any physical ailment. She kept her expression placid, giving Niam a single, compliant nod.

Brenda, the older maid, entered with her breakfast tray. A small portion of oatmeal, a few berries, and a glass of nutrient-dense, tasteless sludge. Elsie ate mechanically, the food like ash on her tongue. Years of medication had dulled her sense of taste to a faint memory.

While she ate, Kelly chattered about the upcoming social season, about who was seen with whom in the Hamptons. Elsie listened, a silent spectator to a world she could see but never touch. A doll on a shelf.

An hour later, dressed in a simple white linen dress that amplified her perceived fragility, Elsie followed Niam down the long, echoing hallway. The polished wood floors reflected their images like a dark, still lake. Each step felt like a move on a chessboard where she was always the pawn.

The main study was as cold and imposing as her mother.

Hermina Moody sat behind a massive mahogany desk, dressed in a sharp, navy-blue power suit. Her posture was ramrod straight, her expression devoid of any maternal warmth. She was the CEO of the Sutton family, and Elsie was one of its assets.

"Sit," Hermina commanded, gesturing to the leather chair opposite her.

Elsie sat.

Hermina slid a thick, blue file across the polished surface of the desk. The name embossed on the cover in stark, silver letters read: DUKE BLAKE.

"This is your fiancé," Hermina stated, her tone as flat as if she were discussing a stock acquisition. "The Sutton family requires the protection of the Blake consortium. This is your responsibility."

Elsie's heart gave a painful squeeze, a sudden, sharp clench in her chest. But on the outside, she remained perfectly still. Her hands, resting in her lap, didn't even tremble.

She reached out with slender fingers