Secrets Of The Broken Genius Bride
I sold myself to a paralyzed billionaire to pay for my mother's life support.
But my step-sister staged a photo of me with another man, making my new husband think I was a cheating gold-digger.
In a jealous rage, Curtis locked me in a dark panic room.
While trapped, my step-mother sent a picture of her hand on my mom's ventilator plug, forcing me to sneak out to a black-market clinic.
There, they forcibly drained 800cc of my blood to sell.
Half-dead and in severe shock, I dragged myself back home, only for Curtis to confront me with another staged photo of my ex grabbing me outside the clinic.
Believing I had snuck out to see a lover, he ordered his guards to throw my blood-drained body into the freezing wine cellar.
"Please, don't put me down there! I'll die!"
I begged and clung to his wheelchair, but he just kicked my hand away in absolute disgust.
In the pitch-black, 55-degree room, my organs slowly shut down.
I didn't understand why I had to endure this hell, or why he was so blinded by his own fragile ego that he never even noticed how chalk-white my face was.
Hours later, his precious sister needed an emergency transfusion, and they dragged my icy body out to drain me again.
But when the doctor rolled up my sleeve and exposed the horrific, bruised puncture wound, Curtis finally realized the truth.
As he stared at my arm in absolute, paralyzed terror, the EKG machine attached to my chest flatlined.
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Chapter 7
Allie stared at the photo of Glendora's hand on the ventilator cord. Her heart seized in her chest, completely cutting off her air supply.
She scrambled off the cot. She didn't even look for her coat. She stumbled out of the panic room, her legs feeling like lead.
The top-floor hallway was empty. She knew the main elevators were heavily monitored by Curtis's security. Relying on her memory of the penthouse layout, she sprinted toward the kitchen, pushing through the swinging doors to find the emergency exit stairwell connected to the freight elevator.
She leaned her entire body weight against the heavy fire door, forcing it open, and started stumbling down the narrow, dimly lit concrete stairs. Her cheap heels clacked too loudly and made her already trembling legs dangerously unstable. She kicked them off, leaving them on the landing, and continued descending barefoot, her hands dragging against the rough wall to keep herself from collapsing. The freezing concrete bit into the soles of her feet, but the numbness of her starvation overshadowed the pain.
She bypassed the main lobby, slipping through a ventilation maintenance gate in the underground garage, and dragged her exhausted body out onto the chaotic Manhattan street.
She practically collapsed against the side of a yellow cab that had just pulled over.
"Upper East Side. The private clinic on 82nd," Allie gasped, throwing herself into the backseat. She dug into her pockets, pulled out the few crumpled twenty-dollar bills she had, and shoved them through the partition. "Run the red lights. Please!"
The cab screeched to a halt at the back alley entrance of the notorious private clinic. Allie shoved the door open and staggered inside, ignoring the receptionist as she used the hallway walls to support her failing body, inching her way desperately toward the VVIP wing. Her vision was already beginning to swim with black spots, and she was surviving purely on the adrenaline of her mother's ticking clock.
The moment she stepped off the elevator, a hand shot out, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and slammed her violently against the hallway wall.
"Ah!" Allie cried out, her head bouncing off the drywall with a sickening thud.
Glendora stood over her, her face twisted in an ugly sneer.
"You useless piece of trash," Glendora hissed. "You disappear for a whole day? My Brittanie had to suffer for hours because you wouldn't answer your phone!"
Allie ignored the blinding pain in her scalp. She grabbed Glendora's wrist with both hands, her eyes red and wild.
"Show me the video," Allie demanded, her voice shaking. "Show me the live feed of the ventilator. Now."
Glendora sneered. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, holding it up.
The live feed showed Danae lying perfectly still in the hospital bed. The machine was pumping rhythmically. The plug was in the wall.
Allie's tense muscles instantly gave out. She slumped against the wall, cold sweat soaking through the back of her thin dress.
The door to the VVIP suite opened. A man in a white coat with shifty eyes stepped out. He was a black-market doctor, operating completely outside of medical board regulations.
"Is the donor ready? We are losing time," the doctor said impatiently.
Two massive orderlies stepped out behind him. They grabbed Allie by the arms and dragged her into the adjacent blood-draw room, shoving her down into a freezing, stainless-steel medical chair.
Through the glass partition, Allie could see into the next room. Brittanie was sitting up in bed, scrolling on her phone, her cheeks flushed and perfectly healthy.
"She's not sick!" Allie screamed, struggling against the orderlies. "You're lying! You're just selling my blood to the black market!"
Glendora walked up and slapped Allie hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed in the sterile room.
"Watch your mouth," Glendora whispered maliciously. "Remember who holds your crazy mother's life in their hands."
The doctor didn't hesitate. He swabbed Allie's arm and jammed a massive, thick needle directly into her vein.
Dark red blood immediately began flowing through the tube into the collection bag.
Allie hadn't eaten or drank anything in over twenty-four hours. As the blood rapidly drained from her body, the room began to spin violently. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
The first 400cc bag filled up quickly. Allie let out a weak breath, thinking it was over. She tried to pull her arm away.
The orderly slammed his hand down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.
The doctor calmly swapped the full bag for a completely empty one.
"What are you doing?" Allie gasped, her eyes widening in pure horror. "You can't... I haven't eaten... it will kill me."
Glendora leaned down, her face inches from Allie's ear.
"I have a buyer who needs 800cc today," Glendora whispered like a demon. "If you die, I'll just send your mother's body to the county morgue."
That sentence shattered the last remaining piece of Allie's will to fight.
She closed her eyes. Tears of absolute despair slid down her pale cheeks. She went completely limp in the chair, allowing them to drain her life away.
As the second bag swelled with her blood, the last trace of color vanished from Allie's lips. Her breathing became incredibly shallow, her chest barely moving.
The heart monitor attached to her finger began to beep frantically as her blood pressure plummeted.
The doctor frowned, looking at the numbers. He quickly pulled the needle out. "That's it. Any more and she goes into hypovolemic shock."
Glendora grabbed the two heavy bags of blood. She looked at Allie's half-dead body with pure disgust, then turned toward the doctor. "Lock this door from the outside. Let her rot in here until we get paid. If she dies, just dump her in the alley," she commanded. walked out with the doctor, the heavy click of the deadbolt echoing ominously as they sealed her inside the freezing room.
Allie was left completely alone in the freezing room. No bandage was applied to her arm. No juice, no glucose was offered.
She slowly raised her trembling right hand and pressed her thumb hard against the bleeding puncture wound on her left arm.
She forced her eyes open, fighting the crushing wave of unconsciousness. She had to get back.
She pushed herself off the chair. The moment her bare feet touched the floor and she stood up, the world tilted sideways.
Her legs buckled instantly. Allie collapsed heavily onto the freezing tile floor, her vision fading to black.
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8.1
Terminally ill.
Betrayed by her husband.
Abandoned by the only family she had.
Ariel died with nothing... and no one.
But fate gives her a second chance.
Reborn three years before her death, she walks away from the man who ruined her life-and takes back everything they stole.
Her love.
Her identity.
Her power.
Now, the cold billionaire who once ignored her can't take his eyes off her.
The brother who abandoned her starts to regret.
Too late.
Because this time, Ariel isn't the woman who begs.
She's the one who makes them kneel.
9.5
The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern.
I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for.
The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me.
The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world.
So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject.
7.2
Every story in this collection is a direct line to your own wanting, each read leaves you drenched, and craving more thighs pressed together, breath caught in your throat.
From a stranger's fingers finding you in a crowded bar to the slow, devastating unraveling of a woman on her knees, these are the moments you'll return to, again and again, until you're trembling.
Warning: "Not for the faint of heart-only for the Dirty Slut-Seekers who crave the filth.
Open the book only when you're ready to be ruined, and consumed by your filthy fantasies.
7.7
Rory stood on the witness stand, forced by her father into an impossible choice: secure her dying mother's medical funding, or save her innocent boyfriend.
She looked Corbin right in his trusting eyes and lied to the court, testifying that he was the one driving the car during the fatal hit-and-run, sending him to a maximum-security prison for ten years.
The betrayal destroyed him. Corbin's father died of a heart attack upon hearing the guilty verdict. Six years later, Corbin returned as a ruthless billionaire and systematically blacklisted Rory from every job in the city. He cornered her into singing at his private club, humiliating her by forcing her to drink scotch—knowing she was severely allergic—and making her throw away his promise ring just to earn a stack of cash.
"Remember this moment. This is only the beginning."
She endured his cruel revenge because she was hiding a desperate secret: she was raising his five-year-old daughter, Willa. But when Willa's congenital heart defect suddenly worsened, requiring an impossible one-million-dollar surgery, Rory realized Corbin's calculated blockade had left her completely trapped with no way to save their child.
Staring at the sterile hospital walls, the last shred of her guilt burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. He had destroyed her career and backed her into a corner, but he was the only one with the money. Wiping her tears, Rory turned and headed straight for Vance Tower.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
9.4
Aria Mcgee was the unwanted second daughter of a decaying Long Island family.
To save their bankrupt corporation, her father and older sister drugged her. They shoved her into a town car and delivered her to a ruthless Wall Street billionaire's bed like a piece of meat.
They expected her to be the perfect sacrifice. The original Aria had no access to her own trust fund and was forced to live in a windowless broom closet. Even worse, a cold, synthetic System voice echoed in her skull, demanding she play the tragic, helpless female lead. It ordered her to endure her family's abuse and suffer the billionaire's humiliation to force a pathetic romance plotline.
"Host must follow the tragic trajectory and achieve the ultimate painful romance."
But the soul that woke up in that bed wasn't a weak, frightened girl. She was a dead Hollywood Oscar-winning actress. Why would a top-tier professional ever agree to play the weeping victim in such a garbage, B-list script?
Instead of trembling in fear as the System commanded, Aria looked at the billionaire and smiled. Using her flawless acting skills, she shattered his ego, extracted a hundred thousand dollars, and walked right out the door. Now, she was heading back to the Mcgee estate, ready to rip her money from her father's greedy hands and burn her sister's life to the ground.