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 6
When Davina walked into the apartment, the smell of garlic and onions hit her.
Elana was at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce. She looked up, a tired smile on her face. "Hey, you. Long day?"
Davina dropped her keys on the counter, avoiding her sister's eyes. "Yeah. I had a job interview."
"Really?" Elana's face lit up. "Where?"
"A marketing firm downtown." The lie slipped easily from her lips. She couldn't tell Elana the truth. Not about the marriage. Not about the money. Not about the cut on her cheek. "I don't know if I got it yet."
Elana walked over, wrapping her arms around Davina. "You'll get it. You're the smartest person I know."
Davina hugged her back, guilt gnawing at her stomach. "How are you feeling?"
"Fat," Elana laughed, stepping back and rubbing her swollen belly. "The baby is doing gymnastics."
They sat down at the small kitchen table to eat. The pasta was simple, but it tasted like home. Halfway through the meal, Elana dropped her fork, her face paling.
"What's wrong?" Davina asked, reaching for her sister's hand. "Is it the baby?"
"No, no," Elana said, shaking her head. "Just... anxious. About Daisy. The surgery is so expensive. I don't know how we're going to pay for it."
Davina squeezed her hand tight. "It's taken care of."
Elana looked up, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"I got an advance from the company," Davina said, the words tasting like ash. "And the Blackwell Foundation is helping out."
"The Blackwell Foundation?" Elana's brow furrowed. "How did you get them to help?"
"I pulled some strings," Davina said vaguely. "Don't worry about it."
Elana wiped a tear from her eye. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Davina."
"Just eat your dinner," Davina said softly. "And don't worry about the money."
The next morning, Davina drove Elana to the hospital for her prenatal checkup. The waiting room was crowded, filled with expectant mothers and nervous fathers.
In the ultrasound room, the technician spread cold gel on Elana's belly. The whooshing sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the room, strong and steady.
"There it is," the technician said, pointing to the screen. "Perfect heartbeat."
Elana smiled, her face radiant. "It sounds like a drum."
Davina stared at the screen, at the tiny, curled-up form. A new life. A baby that was wanted and loved.
Her hand drifted to her own flat stomach. In a few weeks, she might be carrying a child too. A child that was contracted for, bargained for. A child she would have to give away.
The thought made her feel sick.
After the appointment, Elana went to the restroom, leaving Davina alone in the hallway. Davina watched a couple walk by. The man had his arm around the woman's waist, guiding her protectively. They were laughing, happy.
A sharp pain pierced her chest. She would never have that. Not with Kash. With Kash, there was only cold transactions and bitter words.
Elana came out of the restroom, adjusting her shirt. "Hey, guess what?"
"What?"
"I got a phone call yesterday," Elana said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "From the Blackwell Foundation. From a senior manager."
Davina's head snapped up. "The Blackwell Foundation called you?"
"Yes! The manager had such a sexy voice," Elana giggled, then looked embarrassed. "I mean, he sounded very professional. He said it was a special request from the CEO's office. He wanted to know how Daisy was doing. He was so kind."
Davina frowned. The CEO of a massive corporation wouldn't just have a random patient's mother called by a senior manager as a personal favor. Kash must have really begged him to make that call.
The thought of Kash swallowing his pride to ask his boss for a favor made her feel a strange mix of gratitude and resentment. He was a jerk, but he had come through for Daisy.
But then she remembered the text message. Spend it wisely, gold-digger.
The gratitude evaporated. He wasn't doing this out of kindness. He was doing it to keep her compliant. To keep his investment safe.
"I need to get my own money," Davina said, her voice hard. "I can't depend on anyone else."
"Well, you might not have to wait long," Elana said, pointing at Davina's phone. "Your phone is buzzing."
Davina checked her messages. It was from Gavin Finch, the creative director at the digital marketing agency.
You got the job. Start tomorrow. 9 AM sharp.
A genuine smile spread across Davina's face. It was a small victory, but it was hers. It was the first step to freedom.
She took Elana's hand, and they walked out of the hospital into the bright afternoon sun. The city was loud and dirty and overwhelming, but for the first time in weeks, Davina felt a spark of hope.
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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."