Bound By Blood: His Unwanted Contract Bride
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Four years ago, I was drugged on a luxury yacht and ended up pregnant with twins.
I raised them in secret, enduring my stepfamily's daily abuse, until the billionaire West family patriarch cornered us at the airport.
He instantly recognized my son's face—an exact replica of his ruthless grandson, Bernardo West.
My malicious stepmother and stepsister immediately leaked to the press that I was a delusional gold-digger using fake kids to trap a billionaire.
They wanted the West family to destroy me to save their own social standing.
Bernardo himself looked at me with pure disgust, demanding a DNA test.
"If you ever lie to me, I will take the children, and I will make you wish you were never born."
I didn't want his money. I was a victim of that night too, left with a crescent-shaped bite mark on my collarbone and zero memory of who set us up.
Why did someone drug us? And how could I protect my babies from a corporate predator who could crush me with a snap of his fingers?
But when the DNA test came back 99.9999% positive, I didn't cower.
I showed him the scar he left on me, looked the most dangerous man in the country right in the eye, and made my demand.
"If you want to claim your heirs, you have to marry me."
Bound By Blood: His Unwanted Contract Bride Chapter 1
The wheels of the luggage cart squeaked against the polished terrazzo floor of the LAX VIP terminal. Darleen pushed it forward, her knuckles white against the handle. The smell of jet fuel and expensive perfume hung heavy in the air.
Julian walked close to her side, his small hand gripping the hem of her coat. His eyes darted around the crowd, sharp and watchful. Aria skipped between them, her pigtails bouncing.
"Stay close," Darleen said, her voice tight.
Aria ignored her. The massive crystal chandelier in the center of the hall caught the light, throwing rainbows across the floor. Aria's eyes went wide. She gasped, pointing at the sparkling fixture.
"Mommy, look! A star!"
Before Darleen could grab her, Aria yanked her hand free. She darted into the sea of arriving passengers, her little legs pumping fast.
"Aria!" Darleen shrieked.
She let go of the cart. It rolled a few feet and crashed into a pillar. Darleen shoved past a man in a tailored suit, her eyes locked on the pink pigtails disappearing into the crowd. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the sound roaring in her ears.
Aria ran straight toward the center of the hall. She didn't see the silver-tipped cane. She didn't see the polished shoes.
Thud.
Aria bounced off the solid object and landed hard on her bottom. Her face scrunched up, ready to cry. She looked up, her gaze traveling up the expensive fabric of a suit, past a watch that cost more than a house, until she met a pair of sharp, pale blue eyes.
Thurston West glared down at the child. His jaw clenched, ready to scold the careless brat who had bumped into him. But as his eyes focused on the small face staring back at him, the words died in his throat.
The breath caught in his chest. The shape of her eyes. The stubborn set of her chin. The exact shade of her hair. It was a face he hadn't seen in thirty years, not since he had last looked at a photograph of his grandson as a toddler.
Darleen burst through the crowd. She dropped to her knees, her arms wrapping around Aria so tight the little girl squeaked.
"I'm so sorry," Darleen panted, her voice shaking. She looked up at the old man, her body angled to shield her daughter. "She didn't mean to. Are you okay, baby?"
Thurston didn't hear her apology. His gaze shifted past Aria, locking onto the boy who had just run up behind Darleen.
Julian stood there, his chest heaving from the run. He didn't cry, but stared at Thurston with a watchfulness far beyond his years, his small hand clutching his mother's coat as if ready to pull her away from danger.
Crack.
Thurston's cane struck the floor. His entire body began to shake. The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin papery and thin.
"Surround them," Thurston rasped.
Black suits moved in from the shadows. Within seconds, a wall of muscle and dark fabric closed around Darleen and her children. The noise of the airport faded away, replaced by the suffocating silence of the bodyguards.
Darleen shot to her feet. She pushed Julian and Aria behind her back, her hands trembling but her spine rigid. She glared at the old man, her pulse thudding in her neck.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension. "Who are you?"
Thurston ignored her questions. He leaned forward, his blue eyes burning with a feverish intensity. His voice shook as he spoke.
"Who is their father?"
Darleen felt a drop of sweat slide down her temple. She recognized him now. The West family patriarch. The most dangerous man in the room. She swallowed hard, forcing her fear down into her stomach.
"That's none of your business," she said, her tone icy. "It's my privacy."
Thurston straightened up. The shock on his face melted into absolute certainty. He didn't blink.
"Bernardo West," he said, the name echoing in the space between them. "He is their father."
Darleen's stomach dropped. The airport seemed to tilt. Flashes of that night four years ago-the storm, the heat, the confusion-blasted through her mind. Her palms grew slick with sweat.
Aria peeked out from behind Darleen's leg. She tilted her head, looking at the scary old man.
"No, he's not," Aria said, her voice clear and high-pitched. "He's the stinky king daddy."
Thurston stared at the little girl. A strange, strangled sound escaped his throat. It was almost a laugh. The child's words confirmed everything. Bernardo had been called worse by his own family.
"Bring them to the estate," Thurston ordered, pointing his cane at Darleen. "Now."
A bodyguard reached out, his thick fingers closing around Darleen's arm.
She twisted violently, ripping her arm free. She bared her teeth, her eyes flashing with a raw, vicious fury.
"Don't touch me," she hissed. "Try that again, and I will scream kidnapping so loud every camera in this terminal will be on you."
Thurston saw the wildness in her eyes. He saw the protective stance, the way she was ready to fight a dozen armed men for her cubs. He held up a hand.
"Back off," he commanded.
The bodyguards stepped away, giving them a few feet of space. Thurston adjusted his grip on his cane. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by the cold calculation of a corporate raider.
"Why did you hide them for four years?" he asked, his voice hard and demanding. "Did you think we wouldn't find out?"
Darleen didn't cower. She lifted her chin, staring him down from across the gap.
"If the West family wants to claim their blood," she said, her voice ringing with defiance, "they should learn some manners first. You don't send goons to grab a mother in an airport."
Thurston's eyes narrowed. He hadn't been spoken to like that in decades. He studied her, reassessing the woman in front of him. She wasn't a scared little girl. She was a fighter.
Julian tugged on Darleen's sleeve. He looked up at Thurston and said clearly, his voice small but steady, "You look rich, but you're mean."
Darleen smoothed her son's hair. She reached into her purse, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out a simple white business card.
She held it out to Thurston.
He took it, his brow furrowing. The card was blank. No name, no company, no address. Just a single phone number printed in black ink.
"If you prove he is the father," Darleen said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register, "he has to marry me."
Thurston stared at the card. He looked up at her, his mouth slightly open in sheer disbelief. He thought he had misheard.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me," Darleen said. She didn't give him a second to process it. She turned, grabbing Julian's hand so tightly her knuckles were white. She forced herself to walk, not run, each step a battle against the urge to flee. She didn't look back, terrified that if she did, the fragile courage she had summoned would shatter.
Thurston stood frozen, his grip crushing the business card. He watched the three figures disappear into the crowd.
His eyes hardened. A fire lit in their depths, the kind that burned before a hostile takeover.
"Get me the head of security," Thurston barked into his earpiece. "I want every detail of Darleen Reynolds's life on my desk in one hour. I want to know what she ate for breakfast four years ago."
Continue Reading
Bound By Blood: His Unwanted Contract Bride of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
9.4
I thought the Burch family gave me a loving home when they took me out of the orphanage.
But when the global deep freeze apocalypse hit, my adoptive parents mercilessly kicked me out of the bunker to freeze to death.
As I lay dying in the snow, covered in horrific purple frostbite, my adoptive sister Kendal walked past me in a pristine designer jacket.
Around her neck was my only childhood possession—an antique gold necklace my adoptive mother had ripped off my neck to give to her.
Kendal gloated, bragging that my pendant held a magical space with infinite supplies and fresh food while the rest of the world starved.
I realized I had spent years emptying my life savings to fund their luxury cars and fake medical emergencies.
They had drained my bank accounts, stolen my bloodline's heirloom, and used my magical lifeline to live like royalty while leaving me to die.
I took my last ragged breath in that blinding blizzard, consumed by a toxic hatred.
Why was I so hopelessly weak? Why did I let them take everything from me?
Opening my eyes again, the painful frostbite scars were gone. My skin was warm.
I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up: November 12.
It was exactly three days before the world ended.
When my adoptive mother called, faking a tearful emergency to demand another thirty thousand dollars, I smiled coldly.
"Just tell me where to send the money, Mom."
This time, I'm taking my space back, and I'm going to drain them dry.
7.7
Not only was I drugged, blinded and assaulted. I was deceived into carrying a baby by a stranger I never knew. Then he appeared and took my child away.
I was sent to a militia by the father of my child. I thought I was rescued but I was recruited to be a weapon for killing. Who was manipulating me, I didn't know. The answers were far from what I knew.
Forced to blend into the world that I could never believe I would be to, a place where brutality reigned, kill or be killed was the only language. I have survived but he has to pay for everything he did to me, because I believed every phase of my life was set by him and him alone. Have I really survived?
Who would have thought, he existed twice in the same world? Do I really know who I should take revenge on? Him or the person I would sacrifice everything for?
Was my mother the one who orchestrated everything? What kind of pawn am I?
7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
9.3
On her wedding night at The Plaza Hotel, Clara went looking for her husband.
Instead, she found him in the dimly lit parking garage, passionately pinning down her bridesmaid.
She couldn't even scream or expose them. Just hours before the ceremony, Julian had tricked her into signing away her twenty percent shares of their co-founded company, leaving her completely penniless and unable to pay her grandmother's life-saving medical bills.
Fleeing in absolute despair, a sudden hotel blackout plunged her into a second nightmare. She was dragged into a pitch-black room and brutally violated by a heavily drugged stranger.
When a shattered Clara returned to the office to audit the books and reclaim her power, Julian demoted her to a dusty desk by the trash cans.
He flaunted his mistress in the executive suite and deliberately sent Clara into a horrifying trap. He arranged for vicious clients to drug and assault her, demanding high-definition blackmail photos so he could divorce her with absolutely nothing.
"Since you want to play rough, you can service Mr. Petrocelli tonight," the thug sneered, locking the VIP room door.
Clara was pushed to the brink of hell. Why was the man she devoted three years of her life to trying to destroy her so completely? And why did the freezing cedarwood scent of the stranger who ruined her in the dark perfectly match Conrad Vance, the ruthless CEO and Julian's untouchable uncle?
Rather than let Julian win, Clara smashed a glass bottle, held the jagged edge to her own throat to force the men back, and threw herself off the second-floor balcony into the freezing night.
But the bone-crushing impact never came. A massive figure shot out from the shadows and caught her, and her brutal counterattack finally began.
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
