Bought By The Cold Billionaire Husband
I sold myself into a loveless marriage for $500,000 just to afford my little niece's life-saving surgery.
But my new husband, Kash, despised me, completely convinced I was a shameless gold-digger after his assets.
At 2:00 AM, he called to demand I fulfill my end of our twisted bargain: giving him an heir.
He forced me to sign a supplementary agreement surrendering all custody rights before I was even pregnant, treating me like a rented womb he bought at auction.
When my niece's condition suddenly worsened and I desperately begged him for a $50,000 advance, he hurled a black credit card directly at my face, leaving a stinging red welt.
"Take the money and get out," he sneered, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
He immediately set up real-time transaction alerts to track my every purchase, waiting to catch me on a selfish shopping spree.
He thought I was a parasite, completely unaware that every single penny went straight to the pediatric intensive care unit.
Even my abusive former guardians cornered me at the fertility clinic, loudly mocking me for selling my body while my niece was dying.
I endured the degrading contracts, the cold IVF appointments, and Kash's relentless contempt, suffocating under the weight of his cruel assumptions.
Why did he have to strip away my dignity when he already owned my life on paper?
But as I clutched the hospital receipt that finally secured my niece's surgery, the fear inside me died.
With a new career starting tomorrow and a high-powered lawyer suddenly stepping in to audit my stolen inheritance, I was done playing the helpless victim.
I was going to show my arrogant husband exactly what happens when you push a desperate woman too far.
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Chapter 5
Davina burst into the hospital billing office, her chest heaving. She slapped the black credit card down on the counter.
"Fifty thousand," she gasped out. "For Daisy Maddox's surgery. Room 402."
The clerk picked up the card, glancing at the name on the front. She swiped it through the machine. A second later, the receipt printed out.
"Approved," the clerk said, sliding the receipt across the counter.
Davina signed her name, her hand trembling so badly the signature was barely legible. She grabbed the receipt and the payment confirmation, clutching them to her chest like a lifeline.
The weight on her lungs lifted, just a fraction. Daisy would get her surgery. She would live.
She walked down the hallway toward Daisy's room, forcing a smile onto her face. She peeked inside. Daisy was asleep, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a comforting sound.
Davina stepped inside, gently brushing a strand of hair from the little girl's forehead. "It's okay, baby," she whispered. "Aunt Vina fixed it."
She slipped back out into the hallway, leaning against the cool tile wall. The adrenaline faded, leaving her hollow. She let the tears fall, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.
"Excuse me? This is ridiculous!"
A loud, obnoxious voice echoed down the hall. Davina froze, her breath catching.
She knew that voice.
She walked toward the noise. At the end of the hallway, a man in a dirty leather jacket was yelling at a nurse. Mitch. Her sister's ex-husband. Daisy's deadbeat dad.
"I'm not paying for that brat!" Mitch shouted, spittle flying from his lips. "She's not my problem!"
Davina marched up to him, her sadness replaced by a burning rage. "What are you doing here, Mitch?"
Mitch turned, a sneer twisting his features when he saw her. "Well, well. The little sister. Come to beg for more money?"
"I'm not the one begging," Davina shot back, stepping into his space. "Why aren't you paying for your daughter's surgery?"
Mitch laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "She's not my daughter. Not anymore. And she's better off dead than a burden on me."
"You son of a-" Davina raised her hand, but she stopped herself. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Mitch leaned in, his breath hot and sour. "Or maybe she isn't mine at all. Your sister was a slut, just like you. Spreading her legs for anyone with a wallet."
Davina saw red. She didn't think. She just acted.
Her hand flew through the air, connecting with Mitch's cheek with a resounding crack. The force of the slap sent his head snapping to the side.
The hallway went dead silent. Mitch clutched his face, his eyes wide with shock, then narrowing with rage. "You bitch!"
He lunged at her, his hands reaching for her throat. Davina stumbled back, her heel catching on the floor. His fingers closed around her arm, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise.
"Hey! Let go of her!"
A security guard ran down the hall, his hand resting on his taser. Mitch dropped his grip, raising his hands in surrender.
"Whatever, man," Mitch muttered, backing away. "She's crazy. They're all crazy."
He shot Davina a venomous glare. "You'll regret that."
He turned and scurried down the hall, disappearing around the corner.
Davina rubbed her arm, her heart still pounding. The security guard asked if she was okay, and she nodded, dismissing him.
"Miss Maddox?" A deep voice spoke from behind her.
She turned. A man in an expensive suit stood there, holding out a crisp white handkerchief. He was older, with silver hair and a kind face.
"I'm from the Blackwell Foundation," he said. "I was asked to look in on your niece's case."
Davina took the handkerchief, dabbing at the red mark on her cheek. "The Blackwell Foundation?"
"Yes. Someone very influential asked us to ensure Daisy receives the best care possible." He handed her a business card. "If you need anything, please call."
He nodded politely and walked away.
Davina stared at the card in her hand. Blackwell. Kash's boss. He must have asked him to help. Despite his cruel words, he had still pulled strings for her.
A warm feeling flickered in her chest, but it was quickly extinguished when her phone buzzed.
A text from Kash.
I see the card is active. Spend it wisely, gold-digger. I'm watching.
The warmth vanished, replaced by a cold dread. He was watching. He thought she was out shopping for shoes, not fighting for her niece's life.
She deleted the message, her jaw tight. She didn't need his approval. She just needed Daisy to survive.
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7.8
Elie Joyce’s entire life was controlled by Ebert Ewing, a ruthless billionaire who held her sick grandmother's survival and her family's freedom in his hands.
But on a freezing, stormy night, he forced her into a scandalous scrap of red silk and handed her over to a notorious, disgusting predator.
"You aren't an escort. You're just a free gift."
Ebert mocked her, using her as a disposable bargaining chip to secure a corporate funding round.
When the predator humiliated her, forced high-proof vodka down her throat, and violently pinned her to the floor, Ebert simply watched with dead eyes.
And when Ebert finally intervened to brutally beat the man, it wasn't out of mercy.
"She is my property. Even if she is trash that I threw away, a filthy pig like you doesn't get to touch her."
Afterward, he dragged her battered, barefoot body into his car, only to kick her out into the torrential rain, leaving her on the dark streets to die.
Standing in the storm, shivering and bleeding from broken glass, the last shred of Elie's hope shattered.
She had sacrificed her dignity and soul, enduring his violent bites and cruel control, just to keep her family alive.
Why did she have to suffer this endless, twisted humiliation for a psychopath who only saw her as trash?
But she didn't break.
Tearing a strip of his expensive shirt to bandage her bleeding foot, Elie gripped her broken stiletto like a knife.
With her eyes turning cold and calculating, she limped out of the shadows.
She was going to survive, and Ebert Ewing would soon realize she was no longer his obedient prey.
8.6
For years, Elvera lived as the despised charity case in the cramped Wright household.
When she caught her foster sister Donita straddling her fiancé, they didn't even panic. Instead, they loudly framed Elvera for stealing a diamond necklace to justify kicking her out.
Her foster parents immediately sided with the cheaters, screaming at her to pack her trash and starve in the gutters. Only her dying foster brother tried to sneak her his medical savings, but the family violently shoved him away, mocking him as a walking corpse.
Standing in the freezing Brooklyn wind, Donita and Crockett followed her outside just to laugh. They waved a crisp twenty-dollar bill in her face, mocking her biological family as a bunch of unemployed street thugs.
They really thought she was going to freeze to death on the pavement with nothing but a faded backpack.
But then a roaring, matte-black supercar pulled up.
The man who stepped out wasn't a street thug; he was her real brother, an FBI task force commander.
He effortlessly snapped Crockett's shoulder out of its socket, put Elvera in the passenger seat, and drove her straight to a sprawling billionaire estate in the Hamptons.
Sitting by the fire in her biological parents' palace, watching them casually display an eight-million-dollar sculpture she had secretly designed, the head butler suddenly walked in.
"Sir, the fake heiress has returned from Europe."
Elvera took a slow sip of her coffee. The real game was finally about to begin.
7.5
To survive a lethal genetic breakdown, Holden, a legendary mercenary known as "Ghost," was forced into an arranged marriage with the wealthy heiress Julia Ramsey.
But the moment he stepped into the lavish estate wearing an oil-stained jacket, he was treated like absolute garbage.
Julia accused him of being a perverted stalker, pulling a gun on him and demanding he be thrown out. Even after Holden used a forbidden kinetic strike to save her grandfather from a fatal heart attack, the family still looked at him with pure disgust. Julia confined him to a cramped guest room, warning him to stay out of her life. To make matters worse, his other estranged fiancée, an elite military commander, barged into the penthouse just to throw an annulment in his face.
"You are a pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You have no ambition. You hide in this woman's apartment like a stray dog. You are entirely beneath me."
She mocked him in front of Julia, completely blind to the fact that Holden had just effortlessly incapacitated her Tier-1 operative with a single strike. They all thought he was just a greedy, low-class thug clinging to their wealth. They had no idea they were mocking an apex predator who commanded the city's underground and hunted mutant monsters for sport.
When Julia forced him to attend a high-society yacht party as part of a trap to publicly humiliate him, Holden just smirked and took a sip of his cheap beer.
He was more than happy to play along, already calculating exactly how he was going to tear their arrogant little world apart.
8.0
Aliya woke up in a dingy, freezing apartment with a throbbing headache, only to realize a horrifying truth.
She had transmigrated into the American romance novel she read just last night, becoming the ultimate vicious supporting character. The exhausted man walking through the front door was Cyrus Pace, an amnesiac billionaire currently living under the delusion that he was a broke laborer.
The original owner had trapped him with fabricated memories of being childhood sweethearts. Worse, she relentlessly abused him. Her phone was filled with toxic texts calling him a useless loser, and she had just staged a psychotic hunger strike to force him to buy a designer bag. Cyrus already looked at her with bone-deep, visceral disgust. In the original plot, the moment he regained his memory, his ruthless revenge would send her straight to a maximum-security prison for the rest of her life.
"Are you done playing your hunger strike game?"
Hearing his cold, mocking voice, the sheer terror made Aliya's blood run cold. How was she supposed to survive living with a future tyrant who already despised her? Every time his massive shadow fell over their cramped, shared mattress, her heart stopped. A single wrong move—even a microscopic mistake like accidentally crossing a physical line—would completely seal her doom.
Staring at the torn box of condoms hidden under the bed, Aliya made a desperate, life-or-death decision.
She had to completely rewrite her toxic persona, secretly hustle a high-commission real estate job, and save enough money to flee the country before the billionaire remembered exactly who he was.
7.1
For six years, I played the pathetic, wolfless Omega to honor the dying wish of the late Alpha who protected me.
But on our sixth anniversary, my fated mate, Alpha Kian, was photographed looking tenderly at his mistress.
When he finally stormed into our penthouse, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threw a fifty-million-dollar check onto the bed.
"Take the money and accept my rejection obediently, or I'll show you what happens when you defy an Alpha."
To force my compliance, he terminated all trade agreements with my best friend's pack, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. He accused me of blackmailing his grandfather into our marriage, entirely blind to the fact that his beloved mistress was actually a banished, feral Rogue.
I had spent six years swallowing my pride, drinking toxic herbs to suppress my true White Wolf scent, and enduring his absolute disgust just to keep his pack safe.
Why did I bleed for a man who despised my very existence?
I looked at the blood money, and the suffocating sorrow in my chest was instantly replaced by white-hot fury.
I didn't take a single cent. Instead, I submitted the rejection papers myself, dropped my pathetic disguise, and walked out into the freezing rain.
A towering warrior with a black umbrella dropped to one knee before me in the mud.
It was time to stop hiding and return home as the billionaire heir of the legendary Silvermoon Pack.
8.4
Harlene was locked out of her own family's estate in a freezing blizzard, still trembling from a severe panic attack.
Her mother delivered a cold ultimatum through a security screen: attend her golden-child sister Estella's award gala, or lose her medical funds.
To make it worse, her ex-fiancé, Dennis, had chimed in to call her embarrassing and pathetic.
At the gala, Harlene was treated like a diseased outcast.
Dennis fiercely protected his new lover, Jailyn—the very woman who had stolen Harlene's designs.
But the ultimate betrayal came when Estella flaunted a silver-embroidered antique dress.
It was Harlene's grandmother's dress, her only pure memory of love, handed over to the enemy as a trophy.
When Harlene demanded answers, her own father slapped her across the face in front of the press, just to protect their pristine image.
They had stolen her career, her fiancé, and her inheritance, all while branding her the crazy, unstable daughter.
The sheer hypocrisy and cruelty finally severed the last thread of her sanity.
Why should she play the silent victim while they played the perfect family?
Instead of crying, Harlene smiled.
She drew a hidden dagger, slashed the antique dress to ribbons, and dragged Estella and Jailyn to the center stage.
Standing under the blinding spotlight with a bloody blade, she looked out at the terrified crowd.
"The Beaumont family is done hiding," she declared into the microphone. "Tonight, the curtain falls."