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 6
Cora woke up the next afternoon. Her head throbbed with a vicious migraine, and her muscles felt like they had been beaten with a hammer.
She shot up in bed, her hands flying to her waist. She ran her fingers frantically over her skin. No bandages. No surgical scars. She let out a ragged breath and collapsed back onto the pillows.
The memory of Kendrick staring at her veins, and Cayden's warning about the pharmacy, crashed into her mind. She shivered violently.
She couldn't stay here. She couldn't be a bird in a cage waiting to be slaughtered. She needed an excuse to leave the estate, to interact with the outside world.
Cora crawled out of bed and went to her closet. She dug past the rows of designer clothes to a battered old suitcase she had brought from Ohio. Hidden inside the lining was her old, cracked cell phone.
She waited until she heard the guards changing shifts outside her door. She slipped into the bathroom, turned the sink faucet on full blast to mask the sound, and powered on the phone.
She dialed the number for Emma, the owner of a small independent art gallery in the city where Cora used to work.
"Emma, please," Cora whispered rapidly into the receiver. "I need a job. Anything. Filing papers, cleaning the back room. I just need to work."
Emma, who had always loved Cora's eye for art, didn't hesitate. "Of course, Cora. You can start tomorrow."
Cora hung up the phone. A tiny spark of hope ignited in her chest. She powered off the device and shoved it back into the suitcase lining.
She changed into a simple sweater and jeans and walked out of the bedroom. She found the butler carrying a lunch tray up the stairs.
Cora squared her shoulders. "Tell Kendrick I got a job at an art gallery. I start tomorrow."
The butler's face went completely blank. He set the tray down on a side table, pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt, and walked to the corner of the hallway, whispering rapidly into it.
Five minutes later, the house landline rang. The butler picked it up, listened, and then handed the receiver to Cora. His eyes were filled with pity.
"Cora," Kendrick's voice came through the speaker, smooth and absolute. "You don't need to work. I provide everything you could ever want."
"I need to get out of this house, Kendrick," Cora said, her voice shaking but firm. "I need to do something with my life, or I'm going to lose my mind."
There was a long, terrifying silence on the other end. Then, Kendrick chuckled softly. "Alright, sweetheart. If it makes you happy, you can go."
Cora stared at the phone in shock. She slowly hung up the receiver. She had won. It felt too easy, but the relief washed over her anyway.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, her old phone buzzed in the closet. It was a voicemail from Emma.
Cora pressed the phone to her ear. Emma's voice was hysterical, choked with sobs.
"Cora, I'm so sorry! The IRS just raided the gallery. They're seizing everything. They said there was an anonymous tip about tax fraud. Please, don't ever call me again. I can't afford this kind of trouble!"
The phone slipped from Cora's hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
The IRS. Kendrick had destroyed Emma's entire life in less than two hours just to keep Cora locked inside the house.
Pure, blinding rage eclipsed her fear. Cora bolted out of the bedroom, ran down the grand staircase, and sprinted out the front doors toward the driveway.
"Get the car!" she screamed at the driver. "Take me to the gallery now!"
Two massive security guards stepped in front of the car, crossing their arms. They looked at her like she was a ghost.
Cora slammed her fists against the guard's chest, trying to push past him. The guard didn't even flinch. He reached out with one hand and shoved her hard by the shoulder, pinning her in place.
The heavy iron gates of the estate swung open. Kendrick's black sedan rolled up the driveway and stopped right next to her.
Kendrick stepped out of the car. He waved the guards away. He walked up to Cora, his face perfectly calm. He reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against her earlobe. "The world out there is too dangerous for you, Cora. It's dirty. People get hurt."
He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "You belong here. You are my perfect wife. And you are never leaving this estate."
Cora stared at his handsome, twisted face. Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees on the gravel, completely crushed under the weight of his absolute control.
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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.