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 9
The SUV pulled away from the auction house. Cora leaned forward and tapped the glass partition.
"I need to stop at the private hospital on 5th Avenue," she told the guard. "Women's health issue. It's private."
The guard frowned but nodded. When they arrived, the guards waited outside the gynecology wing. Cora walked into the restroom, climbed out the ground-floor window, and sprinted across the courtyard to the main outpatient building.
She pulled a surgical mask over her face and put on her sunglasses. She navigated the maze of corridors, clutching her phone with the photo of the medical report, desperately searching for the hematology department.
She pushed open the door to a consultation room at the end of the hall.
She froze. Sitting behind the heavy oak desk, wearing a pristine white doctor's coat and gold-rimmed glasses, was Cayden.
He looked up from his charts. A flash of genuine shock crossed his face, but he instantly stood up and locked the door behind her.
Cora ripped off her mask. She marched up to his desk and shoved her phone in his face.
"What does this mean?" she demanded, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Is Kendrick sick? Does he need my bone marrow? Is he going to drain me dry?"
Cayden looked down at the screen. When he saw the matching codes, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He couldn't believe Kendrick had left a paper trail.
But he couldn't tell her the truth. If she knew she was a farm animal for the Yates family, she would panic and get herself killed.
Cayden pushed his glasses up his nose. He leaned back in his chair, adopting the cold, detached tone of a medical professional reviewing a stranger's file.
"This is a standard preventative health evaluation, Cora," Cayden lied smoothly. "Nothing more."
"You're lying!" Cora yelled, pointing at the screen. "It says 'stem cell depletion'! Why are you lying to me?!"
Cayden slammed his hands flat on the desk. He leaned over the wood, invading her space. The playful arrogance was gone, replaced by a terrifying, lethal intensity.
"Stop using your pathetic, microscopic brain to dig into consortium secrets," Cayden hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If you keep asking questions about this report, you won't just ruin your marriage. You will end up in a body bag."
The pure murder in his eyes made Cora's breath catch. She stumbled backward, her spine hitting the heavy wooden door.
Cayden saw the raw terror in her eyes. His chest tightened painfully, but he forced his face to remain a mask of stone.
He grabbed a prescription pad, scribbled an address on it, and shoved it into her trembling hand.
"If the day comes when you realize you can't survive in that house anymore," he whispered, "go to this address. Ask for Joe."
Before Cora could process the words, violent pounding shook the door.
"Madam! Open the door!" the security captain roared from the hallway.
Cayden moved instantly. He grabbed Cora by the shoulders, pulled her close, and violently messed up her perfectly styled hair. He ripped her dress slightly off her shoulder.
The door burst open. The guards flooded into the room, drawing their stun guns.
They stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the highly compromised, intimate position of the doctor and the billionaire's wife.
Cayden threw his hands up in the air, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "Whoa, boys! The beautiful lady walked into the wrong room and practically threw herself at me. I'm innocent."
Cora realized what he was doing. He was using a moral scandal to cover up the fact that she was investigating the medical report. She bit her tongue, lowering her head to play the part of the caught, panicked wife.
The security captain glared at Cayden with disgust. He grabbed Cora roughly by the bicep and dragged her out of the room.
As she was pulled down the hallway, Cora looked back over her shoulder. Cayden was watching her. The sleazy grin was gone, replaced by a look of profound, agonizing regret.
The guards shoved her into the back of the SUV. The captain immediately keyed his radio. "Mr. Pope. We have a situation at the hospital."
Cora clutched the crumpled prescription slip in her fist. Her mind was a chaotic, terrifying mess.
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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.