Bound By Blood: The Billionaire's Contract
I woke up gasping for air, expecting the cold concrete of a prison cell, but my fingers sank into the plush leather of a luxury Lincoln. I was twenty-four again, wearing the silver silk dress from the night my life was systematically destroyed.
Beside me sat my cousin Catrina, the woman whose carefully crafted lies had orchestrated my ruin and sent me to a penitentiary for five years.
In my first life, this was the night the dominoes fell. Catrina stole my jewelry to paint me as mentally unstable, and by morning, I was stripped of my medical license and labeled a criminal. My mother’s family, the Montgomerys, stood by and watched as my father’s company was devoured by wolves, treating my existence like a "liability" that needed to be managed. I still felt the phantom tremors in my hands from prison fights and the stinging betrayal of being discarded by the people I called family.
I had lived through five years of absolute hell, a former surgeon rotting in a cell while the people who framed me toasted to their success at galas I was no longer invited to.
"Don't be selfish, Dawn," Catrina whispered, reaching for the necklace that would later be used as evidence against me. "Let the jewelry shine on someone who actually matters."
She thought I was still the fragile victim she could manipulate, but she didn't realize I had returned from the grave with the cold, clinical calculation of a fixer.
Instead of walking into her trap at the gala, I forced the car onto a dark service road and dragged a dying billionaire, Jennings Stafford, from the wreckage of a burning SUV.
He was the only man powerful enough to destroy my enemies, and as I stitched his wounds with stolen supplies, I didn't ask for a thank you.
I looked him dead in the eye and proposed a contract that would set the world on fire.
"I want a strategic marriage. You get a harmless wife with a legacy name to calm your board, and I get immunity from everyone who ever touched me."
The bill for my five years in prison had finally come due, and I was here to collect.
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Chapter 5
"We need to get him up the hill," Dawn said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
O'Malley nodded, though he looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "Yes, Miss."
They hoisted Jennings up. He hissed in pain as his broken leg dragged over a root. Dawn winced in sympathy but didn't stop.
"Keep the leg straight," she ordered. "Don't let it twist."
It took them five minutes to scramble up the embankment. By the time they reached the road, Dawn's lungs were burning, and her silver dress was ruined, stained black with oil and red with blood.
Catrina was standing by the open door of the Lincoln, holding an umbrella over herself. She took one look at the bloody mess they were dragging toward her and shrieked.
"Oh my god! Don't bring him here! Look at him!"
Jennings, despite his condition, turned his head. His eyes narrowed at the woman screaming.
"Open the door, Catrina," Dawn said.
"No!" Catrina blocked the entrance. "He's bleeding everywhere! He'll ruin the upholstery! And think of the liability, Dawn! If he dies in our car, we'll be sued! We should just call 911 and leave."
Jennings let out a dry, dark chuckle that turned into a cough. "Liability," he muttered.
Dawn stopped. She let O'Malley take Jennings's weight for a second. She walked up to Catrina. She was shorter than her cousin, and barefoot, but in that moment, she loomed.
"Catrina," Dawn said, her voice low and dangerous. "If you don't move, I will send Aunt Eleanor the video of you and the senator's aide from last summer's polo match. The one you paid the stable boy to delete."
Catrina froze. Her hand went to her throat. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Then let's test that theory. Get in the front seat. Now," Dawn said. "And I'll also tell her about the money you skimmed from the charity fund last month."
Catrina's face went white. "You know about that?"
"I know everything," Dawn lied. She didn't know about the fund specifically, but people like Catrina always skimmed. It was a safe bet.
Catrina scrambled into the front passenger seat without another word.
"Back seat," Dawn told O'Malley.
They maneuvered Jennings into the spacious rear cabin. Dawn climbed in after him. There was barely enough room for his legs. She had to sit on the floor, kneeling beside him.
"O'Malley, go," she said. "West Wing entrance. The service road. No lights."
"Understood."
The car pulled away. Dawn immediately went to work. She ripped the hem of her dress-silk was strong, good for binding. She tied a tourniquet above the gash on his thigh.
"This is going to hurt," she warned.
"Do it," Jennings gritted out.
She tightened the knot. His body seized, every muscle locking up. He grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard enough to bruise bone.
Dawn didn't pull away. She let him anchor himself to her. She watched his face, monitoring his pain levels.
"You're a doctor," he said, his voice tight. It wasn't a question.
"I was," she corrected. "Now I'm just a liability."
He looked at her, really looked at her, through the haze of pain. "You're not a liability," he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as the shock began to set in. "You're an asset."
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7.4
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7.3
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Augustus Martin - a billionaire heartthrob, cold hearted business tycoon, CEO of Sunrise Industries
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Angelica Evans - A simple and a sweet girl who believes in herself and works hard to attain her goals.
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7.1
Warning: R18+
His pierced cock thrust deep, the metal barbell dragging along my G-spot with every relentless stroke, sending shockwaves that made me scream his name. I came again hard, squirting around him while he growled "mine" and filled me bare, hot pulses claiming every inch inside me.
Thirty minutes earlier I'd been drowning in heartbreak and gin at a Mayfair club.
Now I was unraveling in a billionaire's penthouse, owned by a stranger whose name I still didn't know.
One forbidden night.
No names. No promises.
Or so I thought.
One reckless night with a stranger ignites a billionaire's obsession.
Elara thought it was over at dawn.
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When her world crumbles, he offers salvation-with strings: Become his contract wife.
One forbidden night becomes a lifetime of possession...
8.5
Aileen transmigrated into a dark, unfinished novel as the villainous, abusive wife of a powerful billionaire.
The moment she opened her eyes, her husband's calloused hand was crushing her throat, and her six-year-old stepson was pointing a box cutter at her face, screaming for her to die.
A cold system voice suddenly exploded in her brain, forcing a mandatory mission: save the villainous father and son, or face immediate death.
To survive the system's strict Out-Of-Character warnings, Aileen had to keep playing the role of the deranged, hateful wife.
She was despised by everyone. Her husband threatened to drag her to an asylum, and her terrified stepson scrubbed the floor with his own pajamas just to avoid her wrath.
Things escalated when the novel's original female lead publicly framed Aileen in Central Park, throwing herself onto the grass and clutching her pregnant belly.
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Yet, no one cared, and her husband would always choose to believe his childhood sweetheart's fake tears.
Since everyone in this world was convinced she was an unpredictable lunatic, she decided to give them exactly what they expected.
Aileen turned her back on the ridiculous scene, a cold smile forming on her lips.
She was going to stage a massive, undeniable psychological breakdown, using her "insanity" as the perfect shield to play the system and rewrite her fate.