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 4
Cora stumbled into the women's restroom and slammed the heavy wooden door shut. She rushed to the marble sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed it violently onto her pale face.
She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Her chest heaved as she dragged air into her lungs.
After a minute, she grabbed a paper towel, dried her face, and pushed the door open to leave.
The hallway outside was dimly lit by antique wall sconces. She kept her head down, smoothing the silk of her dress, when she slammed hard into a solid chest.
A sharp scent hit her nose-a harsh mix of medical bleach and cheap tobacco.
Cora gasped and stumbled backward. A strong hand shot out, gripping her elbow firmly to keep her from falling.
She snapped her head up and locked eyes with a pair of amber irises. The man was staring down at her with a cynical, mocking smirk. It was Cayden Logan.
He was wearing a black velvet suit jacket, completely unbuttoned, looking entirely out of place in the formal, rigid environment of the gala.
He let out a low whistle, his eyes raking over her expensive gown with blatant disrespect.
Cora felt her skin crawl. She yanked her arm out of his grip. "Thank you," she said coldly, stepping to the side to walk past him.
Cayden shifted his weight, intentionally blocking her path. The smirk on his face deepened.
He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches from her ear. "That dress looks expensive," he whispered. "It looks exactly like a very high-end body bag."
Cora's eyes went wide. She shoved his chest hard. "Excuse me? You are completely out of your mind."
Cayden didn't move. He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver Zippo lighter. He flipped it open and shut, the metallic clack echoing in the quiet hallway.
His eyes suddenly lost their humor. He looked at her with the cold, clinical assessment of a doctor.
"Look at your nail beds, Cora. Look at the pallor of your skin," Cayden said, his voice dropping an octave, his amber eyes piercing right through her defenses. "Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. Look at what he feeds you. You're not his partner, sweetheart. You're his personal pharmacy."
The words medical specimen hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. A violent shudder ripped through her spine. The image of the needle piercing her vein that morning flashed behind her eyes, followed by the metallic taste of the neon-green supplement. Her mind raced, desperately trying to connect the dots. Pharmacy? Is he harvesting my blood? My plasma?
All the color drained from Cora's face. Her knees went weak. She pressed her back against the wall, her teeth biting down so hard on her lip she tasted copper. She refused to scream.
Cayden watched her panic. A flicker of something complex-something like regret-flashed in his amber eyes, but he instantly buried it under his arrogant smirk.
The heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the end of the hallway. Kendrick's security detail was coming for her.
Cayden moved with lightning speed. He reached out and slipped a stiff, black business card deep into the hidden pocket of her silk gown.
He immediately stepped back, creating a massive gap between them. He raised his voice, adopting a sleazy, drunken tone. "I must say, Mrs. Pope, your perfume is absolutely intoxicating."
Two massive men in black suits rounded the corner. Their eyes locked onto Cayden, their hands instinctively dropping to their holstered weapons. They stepped in front of Cora, shielding her.
"Identify yourself," the lead guard barked.
Cayden raised both hands in the air, a lazy smile on his face. "Relax, boys. Just a lost doctor trying to find the bar."
He gave Cora one last, piercing look, then turned and sauntered down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.
The guard turned to Cora, his face completely devoid of emotion. "Mr. Pope is waiting, madam. He is getting anxious."
Cora reached down, her fingers gripping the sharp edges of the black card hidden in her pocket. Her palm was slick with cold sweat.
She took a deep breath, pasted the perfect, blank smile back onto her face, and followed the guards back into the blinding lights of the grand hall.
Kendrick was standing by the bar. The moment he saw her, his dark eyes scanned her body like a spotlight, searching for any sign of damage.
Cora walked up to him, forcing herself to hold his gaze, while her heart hammered violently against her ribs.
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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.