The Unseen Miracle

The ceremony was over in less than fifteen minutes. Lucia Thomas stood under the towering chandelier of the cathedral, her diamond veil barely concealing the icy stare she gave the man standing beside her. 

Mark Lewis, a stranger, a scammer, a man she’d been forced to marry in exchange for her father’s silence.

She didn’t even know what the old man was hiding. “Smile,” Mark said under his breath, his voice as calm as a breeze. “The press is watching.”

Lucia smiled. Her lips curled like she’d tasted something sour. To the world, this was the merging of two dynasties, the Thomas fortune and whatever obscure company Mark claimed to run. 

But Lucia knew better. She’d dug into his records. No known relatives. No past. His company, Marvin, had almost zero media coverage. Suspiciously clean. Too clean.

She could smell fraud from miles away, and Mark Lewis reeked of it.

The ride back to their estate was silent. The car was bulletproof, the windows tinted, the chauffeur professional and deaf to their tension.

Lucia didn’t speak until they arrived. “This marriage is a farce,” she said, stepping out and slamming the door behind her.

Mark followed with a measured pace. “You made that clear during our vows.”

“You’ll get the divorce papers in a month. Don't unpack.”

Mark’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes, deep, gray, and unsettlingly still, seemed to scan every inch of her. Not lustfully. More like an assessment, a dissection. “You really think I married you for money?”

“I think you married me for something. And I’ll find out what.”

Mark said nothing. He simply turned and walked into the estate like he owned it. Lucia’s jaw clenched.

The house was an architectural marvel, with glass walls, silent elevators, and an open courtyard filled with moon lilies. 

But the beauty only irritated her now. She headed straight to her private wing, kicking off her heels and tearing off the veil.

What had her father gotten her into? A knock sounded on her door. She turned sharply. Mark entered without waiting. “I told you not to unpack.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What?”

Mark pointed at her ankle. She looked down. A shallow cut, likely from a sharp rock in the courtyard, trickled blood down her skin. “I’ll call the nurse,” she muttered.

But Mark was already moving. From his inner coat, he pulled out a slim vial and a silk cloth. He knelt in front of her. She flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

Too late. He dabbed the cloth in the vial and touched it to her skin. Instantly, the pain vanished. The cut sealed. She gasped and stumbled back. “What the hell?”

“It’s a tonic I developed,” he said quietly. “I’m a healer, not a thief.”

Lucia stared at him. “A healer?”

He rose, brushing off his coat. “You’ll find out more when you stop trying to kill the marriage before it starts.” And with that, he left the room.

That night, Lucia couldn’t sleep. Her laptop lay open beside her, glowing with half-finished search results. “Mark Lewis” yielded nothing useful. But Marvin Corp was a different story.

Hidden behind shells and proxies, Marvin operated in every major country. Medical tech. Biochemical research. Philanthropic networks. And one odd recurring headline from whispered blogs: “Who is The Unseen Miracle?”

She clicked. An old photo of a battlefield hospital. Soldiers lined up with injuries. One man walked out, untouched, while others whispered and pointed. 

The article was vague. A rumor. A man with no name who could heal what medicine couldn’t. One comment stood out: “I saw it. A crushed spine, straightened in seconds. Blood poisoning, gone. No tools, no chants. Just his hands. He disappeared after that.”

Lucia swallowed. No. It couldn’t be. There’s no such thing as miracle healers, but she remembered how the pain in her ankle had vanished. The absence of even a scar.

Elsewhere in the mansion, Mark entered his private chamber and slid open a secret panel behind the bookshelf.

Inside was a room pulsing with blue light. Screens. Maps. Blood samples. Files. A digital wall showing threats in red.

One alert blinked at the top: Thomas Family Asset Violation Detected. Subject: Lucia. Suspected Threat: Internal.

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t know yet,” a voice crackled from a speaker. “But someone in her circle is trying to leak your identity.”

“I’ll handle it,” Mark said coldly.

“And her?” Mark paused. “She’ll learn to trust me. Or at least, fear the alternative.”

Back in her room, Lucia was about to close her laptop when a new email popped up. No subject. No sender. Inside: one photo. 

A man lying on an operating table. Chest sliced open. Eyes shut. Mark Lewis. Dead.

Lucia stared at the photo, pulse racing, then below it, a line of text appeared in real time, as though someone was typing. “If your husband is alive, who the hell did we bury six years ago?”