The Billionaire's Secret Blood Sacrifice Bride
Cora thought she was the luckiest woman alive, married to a devoted tech billionaire who showered her with custom haute couture and obsessive care.
But his "protection" involved locking her inside their San Francisco estate, forcing her to swallow foul neon-green supplements, and drawing her blood with highly classified veterinary needles.
She thought it was just his extreme paranoia, until a cynical doctor cornered her at a charity gala.
"Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. You're his personal pharmacy."
Terrified, Cora broke into Kendrick's hidden safe and found a medical report approving her total bone marrow and stem cell depletion.
Kendrick wasn't a doting husband. He was raising her as a human bloodbag to save his terminally ill cousin.
When she nearly uncovered the truth, Kendrick cried fake tears, claiming he only needed her antibodies.
"Tomorrow, we are going to my private island in the Caribbean. Just the two of us. No internet. No guards. Just peace."
Cora almost believed his vulnerable act, deeply confused by how a man who kissed her so tenderly could plan to slaughter her in cold blood.
Then, while packing for the trip, she dropped a wooden box, revealing a hidden flight manifesto.
Kendrick's return date was listed. Hers was completely blank.
Stapled to the back was a clinical schedule: Intensive Marrow Harvesting - Final Stage. Patient will not require return transport.
Hearing his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway, Cora gripped the sharp edges of the broken box.
She was not going to be a slaughtered lamb on that island.
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Chapter 1
Cora tried to push herself up from the velvet mattress, but a violent wave of dizziness slammed her right back into the pillows.
Her vision blurred. The room spun in sickening circles. Before she could even catch her breath, the smart blackout curtains hummed to life, sliding open automatically. Harsh, blinding California sunlight flooded the master bedroom of the San Francisco estate.
Cora flinched, instinctively throwing her arm over her eyes to block the glare.
The heavy oak door clicked open. Kendrick walked in, carrying a silver tray. The moment his eyes landed on her pale face and furrowed brow, his jaw tightened. He set the tray down on the nightstand with a sharp clatter.
He sat on the edge of the bed. His large, warm palm pressed firmly against her forehead. His dark eyes scanned her face with a suffocating level of intensity.
"You're pale," Kendrick said, his voice a low, demanding rumble. "How is your body feeling? Tell me exactly."
Cora forced a weak smile, trying to sit up again. "I'm fine, Kendrick. Just a little dizzy-"
He didn't let her finish. His hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her back under the heavy duvet with a force that left no room for argument.
"Strict bed rest," he ordered, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "You are not pushing yourself today."
He turned to the silver tray and picked up a sterile blood collection needle. The plastic wrapper crinkled loudly in the quiet room. He kept his voice sickeningly soft, like he was talking to a frightened child.
"Just the routine health monitor, sweetheart. Give me your arm."
Cora stared at the sharp, gleaming tip of the needle. A cold spike of fear hit her chest. She instinctively shrank back, pulling her arm closer to her ribs.
Kendrick's eyes darkened instantly. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, dead stare. But it only lasted a fraction of a second. He blinked, and the gentle, doting husband returned. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her trembling hand.
"It's just to keep you safe, Cora. You know I worry."
The cold metal of the needle pierced her vein. Cora bit down hard on her lower lip. She watched the dark red blood flow rapidly into the collection tube. Her stomach churned.
Kendrick pulled the needle out with practiced precision. He pressed a cotton swab hard against the puncture wound, then carefully placed the vial of her blood into a temperature-controlled lockbox on the tray.
Next, he picked up a glass filled with a thick, neon-green liquid. He held it to her lips. His eyes locked onto hers, unblinking and absolute.
Cora smelled the metallic, chalky odor of the liquid. Her throat closed up in disgust. But under his heavy gaze, she opened her mouth and swallowed the foul-tasting supplement. Her stomach violently rejected it, twisting in knots, but she forced her face to remain completely blank.
Kendrick smiled. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a drop of green liquid from the corner of her mouth. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. It felt like a reward for a well-trained pet.
The silence in the room was shattered by a harsh buzzing. Cora's phone vibrated violently on the nightstand. The screen flashed with the name Blanch.
Cora reached for it, her heart jumping. Kendrick's hand shot out, grabbing the phone first. Without a second of hesitation, he hit the red button and rejected the call. His face was a mask of stone.
"Kendrick, wait," Cora pleaded, panic rising in her throat. "There might be an emergency at home. Let me just-"
She reached for the phone, but he tossed it out of her reach. He grabbed her waist, pulling her hard against his chest.
"I told you," he whispered against her ear, his voice a dark warning. "I am not letting your toxic family drain your blood anymore. You are mine to protect now."
The words drain your blood sent a physical chill down her spine. Cora's mind flashed back to the damp, pitch-black basement in Ohio where Blanch used to lock her up. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably against his expensive shirt.
Kendrick felt her shaking. His arms tightened around her like a vice, crushing her ribs.
"I will always protect you," he murmured into her hair. "Always."
A polite knock sounded at the door. The butler's voice filtered through the wood. "Mr. Pope, the Wall Street video conference is starting in two minutes."
Kendrick let out a heavy sigh. He slowly released her, standing up and adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. In a blink, he transformed back into the ruthless tech billionaire.
He walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the knob. He didn't look back at her. He looked straight at the butler in the hallway.
"The madam is not to leave the villa today," Kendrick ordered, his voice echoing with cold authority. "Not a single step."
The heavy door slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked loudly. The sound echoed in the massive bedroom, making Cora's skin crawl.
She threw off the duvet. Her bare feet hit the freezing marble floor. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down. A fleet of black SUVs surrounded Kendrick's car as it pulled out of the estate gates. Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't pull in a full breath.
Her phone buzzed again. It was a text from Blanch.
You ungrateful little bastard. Pick up the phone.
Cora stared at the screen. Her eyes burned. She slammed the phone face-down on the glass table, her hands shaking as she tried to force air into her lungs.
She turned and walked into the master bathroom to wash her face. As she reached for the sink, her eyes caught something in the stainless steel trash can.
It was the plastic wrapper from the blood collection needle Kendrick had just used.
Cora bent down and picked it up. She turned it over. At the bottom, printed in stark red ink, was a string of numbers and letters. It wasn't a standard lab code. It was a highly classified hematology research code-the kind used for experimental plasma extraction.
Her blood ran ice cold. Why would a routine health check require a specialized plasma extraction kit? The metallic taste of the green supplement rushed back up her throat, suddenly feeling less like a vitamin and more like a chemical catalyst.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her bedroom. The guards were patrolling. Cora gasped, her hands shaking violently as she shoved the plastic wrapper deep into the pocket of her silk pajamas. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
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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.
9.3
Chandler was the secret wife of Avery Osborn, a powerful media heir who kept their marriage hidden to avoid the scandal of her illegitimate birth.
After catching him openly flirting with a rival at a gala, Avery mocked her low status and told her she was nothing without his money.
Instead of crying, Chandler immediately signed a zero-payout divorce agreement, left her wedding ring on his glass table, and walked out.
To numb the pain of her shattered life, she went to a notorious underground club.
Drugged by a bartender, she lost her mind and ended up having a wild night with a handsome stranger she mistook for a high-end male escort.
Panicking the next morning, Chandler transferred her entire life savings of $50,000 to the man to buy his silence, then fled to her corporate job.
But at the afternoon executive meeting, her blood ran cold.
The man she had paid off was standing at the head of the boardroom table. He wasn't a gigolo. He was Brennan George, the ruthless new COO of her company.
Cornering her in the women's restroom, Brennan held up a printed copy of her $50,000 wire transfer.
"Wiring a massive sum of cash to your direct superior after a night together is classified as commercial bribery and solicitation," he whispered dangerously.
Chandler was terrified, realizing she had handed him the exact evidence needed to destroy her career and sue her into bankruptcy.
"Marry me," Brennan demanded coldly. "It's the only way to make this HR problem disappear."
9.1
Elise thought her life was finally falling into place. She turned down her father's company to work as executive assistant to Marcus Grey-the boy she's loved since childhood, now the powerful CEO she's devoted her life to.
But when Marcus proposes to another woman, Elise's world crumbles. Enter Sebastian Deluca-Marcus's tattooed, ruthless, long-estranged brother. He's everything Marcus isn't: dangerous, magnetic, and determined to take back his place in New York.
But, there's something odd about him.
Something changed since he arrived.
Bound by family secrets and a mutual desire to expose Marcus's fiancée, Elise and Sebastian form an uneasy alliance. But as sparks ignite between them, Elise must choose: remain loyal to the boy she thought she loved, or risk everything for the man who sees her as more than a shadow.
Some loves are safe. Others are consuming. Which one will she survive?
7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
9.4
I was the Thornton Pack's brilliant but "wolfless" assistant, a defect they treated like a charity case.
After years of letting the Alpha, Caleb, control me to prove my worth, he publicly humiliated and discarded me for a pure-blooded pack princess.
Heartbroken and drunk at a bar, I accidentally bit and marked a terrifying stranger who saved me from two creeps.
I woke up to find out I had drunkenly claimed Damien Blackwood—a ruthless billionaire and the apex Lycan King of the werewolf world.
To prevent a pack war over the claiming mark, Damien trapped me in a two-year contract marriage, treating me like a convenient political tool.
Right after we signed the papers, I got a call from the police.
My little brother, Jamison, had been arrested for punching Caleb, who was bragging about ruining my dignity.
At the precinct, Caleb sneered at my misery, threatening to destroy my brother's future.
Seeing the fresh bite mark on my neck, Jamison exploded in handcuffs, screaming that Damien had blackmailed me into his bed to get him out of jail.
I begged Damien to step outside so I could explain this horrific misunderstanding, feeling like I had sold my soul to a cold-blooded predator.
But Damien ignored my pleas. He pulled me behind him, his suffocating Lycan aura crushing everyone in the room.
"Yes, she was with me last night, because she is my wife."
Before anyone could process the shock, his eyes darkened with a terrifying, unhinged possessiveness.
"And I didn't marry her to solve a problem. I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years."
I stared at his broad back, my blood running cold as I realized I had no idea what kind of monster I had just bound my life to.