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 3
The black Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of the red carpet. Camera flashes exploded like lightning, capturing the arrival of Silicon Valley's most powerful couple.
Kendrick stepped out first. He extended a hand, his face the picture of absolute devotion. Cora placed her hand in his and let him guide her out of the car.
The moment her heels touched the marble floors of the Metropolitan Museum's grand hall, she felt the weight of a hundred eyes on her. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume and raw jealousy.
Within seconds, Kendrick was cornered by three Wall Street executives. He squeezed Cora's waist, whispered an apology, and stepped away, leaving her standing alone near a towering champagne pyramid.
Before she could even grab a glass, a group of women in designer silk moved in. They formed a tight circle around her, backing her into the corner of the room.
Chelsea, the heiress of a legacy real estate family, stood at the front. She snapped her decorative fan shut and looked Cora up and down with disgust.
"No matter how much Kendrick spends on you," Chelsea said loudly, her voice carrying over the music, "you can never wash off the stench of the Rust Belt, can you?"
A chorus of sharp, mocking laughter erupted from the women. Cora gripped her champagne flute. Her knuckles turned stark white.
Chelsea took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "I heard your brother is a convict. Tell me, Cora, how exactly did a slum rat like you climb into Kendrick Pope's bed? What kind of tricks did you have to perform?"
Cora's chest heaved. She looked Chelsea dead in the eye. "My brother's mistakes are his own. But at least my family isn't filing for Chapter 11 under the Bankruptcy Code this week, Chelsea. How is the liquidation going?"
Chelsea's face flushed a violent, ugly red. The humiliation snapped her control. She raised her glass of red wine and violently hurled the liquid straight at Cora's face.
Cora gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
But the wine never hit her.
Just as Chelsea's wrist flicked forward, Cora saw a blur of motion from the periphery of her vision. Kendrick's head had snapped toward the commotion. His eyes widened in absolute horror. He violently shoved past a stunned hedge fund manager, his expensive dress shoes skidding against the polished marble floor. He lunged across the open space, throwing his body directly between Cora and the incoming liquid.
He crashed into her, a solid, warm chest that smelled of cold cedarwood, taking the entire glass of red wine directly to the back of his light grey suit jacket.
The entire grand hall went dead silent. The music seemed to stop. Everyone stared in absolute horror at the tech giant.
Kendrick slowly took off his ruined jacket. He wrapped it gently around Cora's trembling shoulders, his hands lingering on her arms to make sure she wasn't hurt.
Then, he turned around. He looked at Chelsea. His eyes were completely hollow, like he was looking at a corpse.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. He put it on speaker.
"Pull every single bridge loan we have with Chelsea's family," Kendrick ordered, his voice echoing in the silent room. "Liquidate their assets by morning."
Chelsea's knees buckled. She collapsed onto the marble floor, sobbing hysterically and begging for mercy. Two massive security guards grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of the hall like a piece of trash.
The surrounding socialites turned pale, staring at the floor, terrified to even breathe.
Kendrick wrapped his arm tightly around Cora's waist. He looked around the room. "If anyone touches my wife, you deal with the Pope Consortium."
A wave of nervous, fake applause broke out. Cora leaned against his chest. Her heart swelled with a sudden, overwhelming sense of safety. He had protected her.
Kendrick guided her away from the crowd, leading her up the grand staircase to a dimly lit VIP balcony on the second floor.
"Kendrick, thank you," Cora started, looking up at him.
Before the words fully left her mouth, Kendrick lunged forward. He slammed her back against the freezing marble railing. His hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist like an iron vice. He squeezed so hard Cora felt her bones grinding together.
"Don't you ever provoke people in public again," Kendrick hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning with a psychotic rage. "Do you understand? You could have been physically injured!"
Cora gasped in pain, tears springing to her eyes. She stared at his twisted, furious face. The warmth in her chest turned to pure ice.
He wasn't defending her dignity. He was furious that her physical body-her organs-had been put at risk.
Kendrick felt her shaking violently. He looked down at his hand crushing her wrist. He blinked, and the rage vanished. He let go instantly.
He grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to the angry red marks on her skin. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cora. I just... I can't stand the thought of anything damaging you."
Cora nodded numbly, forcing herself to swallow the bile rising in her throat. Her stomach cramped with fear.
"I need to use the restroom," she whispered, pulling her hand away. Without waiting for his answer, she turned and practically ran down the dark hallway, desperate to escape his presence.
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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.