Bound By Blood: His Unwanted Contract Bride
Four years ago, I was drugged on a luxury yacht and ended up pregnant with twins.
I raised them in secret, enduring my stepfamily's daily abuse, until the billionaire West family patriarch cornered us at the airport.
He instantly recognized my son's face—an exact replica of his ruthless grandson, Bernardo West.
My malicious stepmother and stepsister immediately leaked to the press that I was a delusional gold-digger using fake kids to trap a billionaire.
They wanted the West family to destroy me to save their own social standing.
Bernardo himself looked at me with pure disgust, demanding a DNA test.
"If you ever lie to me, I will take the children, and I will make you wish you were never born."
I didn't want his money. I was a victim of that night too, left with a crescent-shaped bite mark on my collarbone and zero memory of who set us up.
Why did someone drug us? And how could I protect my babies from a corporate predator who could crush me with a snap of his fingers?
But when the DNA test came back 99.9999% positive, I didn't cower.
I showed him the scar he left on me, looked the most dangerous man in the country right in the eye, and made my demand.
"If you want to claim your heirs, you have to marry me."
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Chapter 3
The dining room of the Reynolds mansion was a shrine to old money and bad taste. Crystal chandeliers hung over a table that seated twenty. The smell of bacon and expensive coffee filled the air.
Darleen walked in, holding Julian's hand. Aria skipped beside her, her princess backpack bouncing. The moment they crossed the threshold, the clinking of silverware stopped.
Britteny sat at the table, draped over Kian's shoulder. She wore a silk robe that probably cost more than Darleen's entire wardrobe. Kian had his arm around her, his fingers playing with the collar of her robe.
Britteny looked up and flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Well, well," Britteny cooed. "The prodigal slut returns. And with two little souvenirs, I see."
Darleen didn't react. She pulled out a chair for Julian, then lifted Aria into the seat next to him. She placed napkins in their laps.
Kian smirked. He looked Darleen up and down, his gaze lingering on her faded jeans.
"Four years, Darleen," Kian said, shaking his head. "You disappear without a word, and now you show up with two kids in tow? Who was the unlucky guy? Let me guess, he didn't want you either?"
Julian stopped eating. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes fixing on Kian. The look was so cold, so intense, that Kian actually flinched, his hand freezing mid-air.
Britteny laughed, breaking the tension. She leaned forward, examining Aria's dress.
"Target clearance rack?" Britteny sneered. "Does your baby daddy even pay child support? Or is he as broke as you are?"
Aria's lower lip trembled. She dropped her fork and clutched her backpack to her chest, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Crash.
Darleen slammed her coffee cup down. The hot liquid splashed over the rim, staining the white tablecloth. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
She looked at Kian, her gaze lethal.
"You cheated on me with my stepsister," Darleen said, her voice low and biting. "You have absolutely no right to talk about dignity or face. You traded yours for a trust fund."
Kian's face turned red. He slammed his palm on the table and stood up.
"You watch your mouth," he snarled.
Britteny rolled her eyes. "Please, Darleen. You're living in our house, eating our food. You're an unemployed beggar. Don't act high and mighty."
Darleen stood up. She was tall, and standing at her full height, she seemed to tower over the seated couple. Her posture was rigid, her eyes blazing with contempt.
"I've only ever accepted what was necessary for the children," Darleen said. "Nothing more."
Britteny opened her mouth to retort, but Aria suddenly popped her head out from behind Darleen.
"My daddy is the stinky king!" Aria shouted, her voice ringing with childish defiance. "He has a big castle!"
Kian and Britteny stared at the little girl. Then, they burst out laughing. The sound was harsh and grating, echoing off the high ceilings.
"A king?" Britteny wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. "You're delusional. Did you hit your head, or are you just passing your crazy on to the kid?"
"Even a king wouldn't look twice at a boring nobody like you," Kian added, his laugh dying into a sneer.
Darleen didn't explain. She didn't defend herself. She just stared at them, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Ding-dong.
The front doorbell rang, loud and insistent. A maid came running in, her face pale and flustered.
"Ma'am!" the maid stammered, looking at Britteny. "There are... there are people at the door. Important people."
Britteny perked up. She smoothed her hair, assuming it was her socialite friends coming for brunch.
"Finally," she said, standing up. "Some real conversation."
She strutted toward the foyer. Darleen followed at a slower pace, holding the children's hands. She knew what was coming. She had been waiting for it.
The heavy oak front door swung open.
Four men in black suits stepped inside first. They moved with military precision, scanning the room, their earpieces glinting. The air in the house instantly dropped ten degrees.
Britteny froze, her smile vanishing. She took a step back, intimidated by the sheer size of the bodyguards.
Then, an older man walked in. He leaned on a silver-tipped cane, his posture stiff, his blue eyes sharp.
Kian, who had followed them, choked on his own spit. He recognized that face. It was on the cover of Forbes every other month.
"T-Thurston West?" Kian stammered.
Thurston ignored him. He ignored Britteny. He walked straight past them, his eyes locked on Darleen.
He stopped in front of her. He gave her a slight, formal nod. The gesture was respectful, almost deferential.
Britteny's jaw practically hit the floor. She looked like she had swallowed a bug.
"Ms. Reynolds," Thurston said, his voice carrying through the silent foyer. "Mr. West has agreed to the meeting. We leave for the island tomorrow."
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9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
7.4
I was a broke clinic doctor drowning in debt, so I took a confidential job to evaluate a billionaire heir's fertility.
I marched into the VIP ICU, pinned the struggling patient down, and injected a sedative. I finished the extraction and loudly declared to the family lawyer that the Holt heir was completely sterile.
But then, a chilling laugh echoed from the doorway.
The real heir, Jarrod Holt, the tyrant of Wall Street, stepped in. I had just sterilized his younger brother right in front of him.
Facing a decade in federal prison, I was completely at his mercy. To make things worse, my arrogant ex-boyfriend tried to publicly humiliate me, and my greedy uncle threatened to burn my dead mother's belongings for ransom. I was pushed to the absolute brink of ruin.
But instead of destroying me, Jarrod offered a terrifying lifeline. He bought out a Manhattan high-rise in five minutes just to ruin my ex, then handed me a marriage contract.
I was terrified and deeply confused. Why would this ruthless billionaire force a nobody into a fake marriage? He knew details about my past that no one should know. Did he discover my hidden identity as 'E', the underground surgeon the entire medical world was hunting for?
With my back against the wall, I signed the prenuptial agreement.
"I do," I whispered at City Hall.
He shoved his heavy, antique family ring onto my finger. It was supposed to be strictly business with absolutely no physical contact, but when his lips crashed violently onto mine, I knew I had just sold my soul to the devil.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
9.2
Nica caught her boyfriend, Chris, and her best friend, Ella, in a shocking betrayal. Chris was kissing Ella while caressing her close, and Ella only smirked at Nica as if she had won. Nica got pissed off and swore she would not let their betrayal go unpunished. What happens next? Read the story and find out for yourself.
7.5
I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters.
When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love.
Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess.
The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open.
"Get out of my house!"
My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me.
But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them.
I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate.
As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower.
Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle.
"I want him to be my new guardian."
9.5
Eda Roman clutched her father's diagnostic report, its sharp edge cutting her finger. His cancer had mutated, standard treatment failed, and a fifty thousand dollar deposit for experimental therapy was due by midnight. Fail to pay, and his hospital bed would be cleared.
Wife to Axel Foley, a multi-billion dollar CEO, Eda faced an impossible chasm. Her family trust, controlled by Keri Lane, offered a meager three hundred dollars.
An emergency fund request met a forty-eight-hour review—a death sentence. Keri's assistant denied expedite and blocked calls. Desperate, Eda called Axel, but his assistant dismissed her with lies, Axel's laughter echoing.
Humiliation and betrayal ignited cold fury. Wife to Seattle's wealthiest, yet begging on a hospital floor? Axel's indifference and Keri's games showed her: her father's life couldn't be left in their hands.
Wiping tears, the pleading girl vanished; her survival instinct roared. Red lipstick her war paint, Eda Roman marched to Foley Group Headquarters, ready to reclaim what was hers.