
Contract Marriage With The Genius Heiress
Alysia lay on the freezing operating table, moments away from donating her kidney to her brother's fiancée.
But as the anesthesia set in, a violent shock tore through her brain, awakening agonizing memories of a thousand brutal deaths across a thousand past lifetimes.
She suddenly realized her family's true plan. Her brother and his fiancée weren't just taking her organ; they were secretly plotting to declare her mentally unfit post-surgery to steal her entire trust fund.
When Alysia abruptly stopped the procedure and exposed the fiancée's kidney failure as the result of severe drug abuse, her family's reaction was chilling.
Her father didn't care about the truth or the law. He ordered his bodyguards to lock Alysia up until she agreed to the surgery, while her brother threatened to freeze her assets and seize her late mother's penthouse.
"You have no heart, Alysia. You don't deserve the Kent name," her aunt spat in disgust.
For lifetimes, she had kept her head down, taking the blame and sacrificing everything for a family that viewed her as nothing more than a disposable blood bag and a financial pawn.
The resignation that had clouded her eyes for so long vanished, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
Ripping the IV from her hand and leaving her family in stunned silence, Alysia walked straight out of the hospital.
She had exactly forty-six hours to find a husband to secure her inheritance, and she knew exactly which ruthless billionaire CEO to target to help her burn the Kent family to the ground.
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Chapter 1
The operating room was freezing.
The chill didn't come from the air conditioning, but from the clear liquid pushing through the IV line into the back of Alysia's hand.
She stared at the blinding surgical lights above.
The anesthesiologist tapped her vein, his voice a dull hum behind his mask.
"Count backward from ten, Miss Kent."
Ten.
Nine.
A violent, electric shock tore through the center of her brain.
The heart rate monitor beside her spiked, emitting a sharp, frantic beep.
Alysia's spine arched off the sterile table.
Her lungs seized.
A tsunami of memories crashed into her skull, heavy and suffocating.
She saw the damp, rotting walls of a Brooklyn basement.
She felt the phantom agony of a festering surgical wound, the exact spot where her kidney had been harvested.
She tasted her own blood from a thousand different deaths across a thousand different lifetimes.
The anesthesiologist cursed under his breath, his gloved hand reaching for the dial to increase the dosage.
Alysia's eyes snapped open.
The resignation that had clouded her pupils seconds ago was gone, replaced by the absolute, zero-degree cold of a glacier.
She lifted her right arm.
Her muscles were heavy, fighting the initial wave of the drug, but she forced them to obey.
She shoved the anesthesiologist's hand away from the dial.
"What are you doing?" the man stammered, stumbling back a half-step. "The procedure has started. You can't stop now."
Alysia didn't speak.
She reached for the medical tape securing the IV to her hand and ripped it off in one brutal motion.
She yanked the plastic catheter out of her vein.
Dark red blood splattered across the sterile blue surgical drapes.
The heavy doors swung open, and the lead surgeon marched in.
"What the hell is going on here?" he barked, glaring at Alysia. "Restrain her! This is a severe violation of protocol!"
Alysia sat up, her bare feet hitting the icy floor.
She looked at the surgeon, her chest rising and falling in a slow, calculated rhythm.
"Account ending in 8492," she said, her voice raspy but steady. "A wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars from the Holloway family. Two weeks ago."
The surgeon's face drained of all color.
His jaw went slack, and his feet rooted to the floor.
He didn't dare take another step toward her.
Alysia ripped the thin hospital gown off her shoulders.
She grabbed a sterile surgical coat from a nearby tray and pulled it over her arms.
She took a step forward and her knee buckled slightly, the residual anesthesia messing with her equilibrium.
She nearly crashed into a metal instrument cart.
She closed her eyes, forcing her breathing into the precise, rhythmic pattern of a master martial artist she had been three lifetimes ago.
Her muscles tightened, aligning her spine perfectly.
She opened her eyes, completely steady, and walked to the automatic doors.
She slammed her palm against the release button.
The doors slid apart, and the blinding flash of camera bulbs hit her face.
Out in the hallway, her brother, Kaden Kent, was standing in front of a pack of tabloid reporters.
Tears streamed down his face as he spoke into the microphones.
"My sister's sacrifice is the purest act of love. She is giving Crystal a second chance at life."
Kaden heard the doors open.
He turned around.
His fake, sorrowful expression froze when he saw Alysia standing there, wearing a surgical coat, her right hand dripping blood onto the linoleum floor.
The reporters shifted their lenses instantly, shutters clicking like machine-gun fire to capture the emotional pre-surgery farewell.
Kaden's jaw twitched-his telltale sign of rising panic.
He forced a sickeningly sweet smile and stepped forward, opening his arms.
"Alysia, honey, what are you doing out here?" he hissed through his teeth, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "Get back on that table right now."
Alysia sidestepped his embrace.
She raised her uninjured left hand and slapped him across the face.
The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed down the corridor, silencing the entire crowd.
Kaden's head snapped to the side.
A drop of blood welled at the corner of his mouth.
He stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief.
This was the sister who had always kept her head down, who had always taken the blame.
The door to the adjacent VIP suite opened.
Crystal, Kaden's fiancée, rolled out in a wheelchair.
She immediately clutched the fabric at her throat, her fingers spasming as she feigned a look of sheer terror.
"Alysia?" Crystal's voice trembled. "Are you backing out? After you promised?"
Two reporters in the front row, clearly paid off by Kaden, started shouting.
"How can you be so selfish?"
"You're going to let your future sister-in-law die?"
Alysia reached into the pocket of the surgical coat.
Her fingers wrapped around the small plastic recording pen she had swiped from the nurses' station on her way in. On her way to be prepped, she had feigned a dizzy spell, 'accidentally' dropping it under a table in the VIP waiting room where Kaden and Crystal were celebrating, only to retrieve it moments later.
She pulled it out and pressed play.
The audio was crisp.
Kaden's voice filled the hallway, followed by Crystal's giggles.
"As soon as they take her kidney, we'll declare her mentally unfit during the recovery. The trust fund will default entirely to me."
"You're terrible, Kaden. But I love it."
The reporters gasped collectively.
The camera flashes intensified, blinding Kaden and Crystal, whose faces had turned the color of ash.
Kaden's jaw twitched violently.
He lunged at Alysia, his hands clawing for the recording pen.
Alysia didn't flinch.
She stepped into his space, grabbed his extended wrist, and twisted it sharply downward.
The sickening snap of bone breaking cut through the noise.
Kaden dropped to his knees, screaming in agony.
Alysia let go of his arm, letting him collapse onto the floor like a discarded rag.
She looked down at him, her eyes devoid of any human warmth.
"I'm keeping my kidney," Alysia said, her voice slicing through the chaos. "And I'm taking back everything that belongs to me."
She stepped over his writhing body and walked straight toward the elevators, leaving the hallway in absolute ruin.
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7.9
Elena Crane wakes up in a hospital bed after barely surviving a resort fire, only to discover the devastating truth. The kidney she donated to her husband Leo three days ago wasn't for him. It was for his mistress, Lydia. Worse, she overhears Leo instructing a doctor to kill her within five days and make it look like surgical complications so he can collect two hundred million dollars in life insurance. Their entire five year marriage was an elaborate scheme to steal her organs and murder her for money.
What Leo and Lydia don't know is that Elena is actually Roberta Alfred, the legendary jewelry designer and billionaire heiress who abandoned her empire for love. After enduring multiple murder attempts, including being locked in a morgue and losing her uterus to forced hysterectomy, Elena escapes. She divorces Leo, claims the insurance money herself, and returns home to reclaim her identity and her family's billion dollar empire.

9.0
Adaline Poole thought she had escaped her family's toxic corporate grip by moving to London and adopting a stray cat named Monty.
But when she returns to her empty apartment, her father delivers a chilling ultimatum: he has kidnapped the cat and will euthanize it by morning unless she accepts an arranged marriage with Barron Cooke, a notoriously elusive billionaire.
Her entire family becomes complicit in her sale. Her mother demands she secure their elite status, and her brother secretly spies on her social media to feed Barron her every move. Horrified to discover Barron is a thirty-three-year-old "fossil" twelve years her senior, Adaline resorts to sabotage. She goes to a Soho club, takes a scandalous photo with a frat boy, and sends it to the old billionaire to disgust him into canceling their upcoming dinner.
But her rebellion backfires horribly when the frat boy spikes her drink with a powerful narcotic. As her body burns with a terrifying, feverish heat, she collapses in a dark corridor. Stripped of her phone and betrayed by her bloodline, she is left utterly defenseless as a predator approaches to drag her away.
Suddenly, the heavy fire door is kicked open by a towering, terrifyingly handsome stranger who effortlessly neutralizes her attacker.
"Please... help me," Adaline begs, deliriously throwing her burning body into his arms.
She has absolutely no idea that the handsome savior she is clinging to is Barron Cooke himself.

8.4
Kathern was forced out of her sister's home by her abusive brother-in-law, who violently demanded she pay half the rent or get out.
To protect her sister from his rage, Kathern agreed to a six-month paper marriage with a stranger—an old woman's grandson, Bronson—in exchange for a simple apartment.
But her new husband treated her like a scheming gold digger from the very first second.
He showed up to City Hall in a cheap suit, shoved a brutal prenup in her face, and dumped her in a completely empty, dust-filled apartment.
"Just don't cause any trouble," he warned coldly, before leaving her alone.
When Kathern politely texted him to ask if he was coming home for dinner, he immediately blocked her number.
Kathern was furious and baffled. She didn't want a dime of his money, nor did she care about his boring middle-management job.
She had only agreed to this marriage for a place to sleep, yet this arrogant man treated her like absolute garbage.
Refusing to swallow the insult, Kathern immediately dialed his grandmother to expose his behavior.
She was going to build her own independent life, completely unaware that her "cheap corporate loser" of a husband was actually the ruthless billionaire CEO of the Vaughan empire.

8.8
On the eve of my glamorous Waldorf Astoria wedding, I went to the penthouse to surprise my fiancé, Hugh, wearing my late mother's heirloom pearls.
Instead, I heard my stepsister's familiar laugh and caught them tangled together on the sofa.
Through the cracked door, I heard Hugh slur that he was only marrying me for my family's financial backing.
"As soon as I secure my inheritance, she's the first thing I'm getting rid of," he promised her.
Floy giggled and asked for my mother's pearl necklace, my only legacy. Hugh agreed without hesitation, mocking my dead mother's naivety and my desperate dreams of building a family.
Every sweet word he had ever said was a lie, a knife he had been patiently sliding between my ribs for years. They planned to strip me of everything the moment I signed the prenup.
I didn't cry or scream. The crushing weight of their betrayal hollowed me out, leaving behind a terrifying, absolute calm.
Why should I be the one to lose everything while they stole my future and insulted my mother's memory?
I calmly walked down the hall, set the prenuptial agreement on fire, and vanished into the rainy night.
If Hugh wanted to play dirty for the Maxwell empire, I would play for keeps.
Using a forgotten, century-old family covenant, I was going to marry Hugh's uncle-the comatose, paralyzed war hero, Fleet Maxwell.
I would return not as a naive bride, but as their worst nightmare: his aunt, and the new lady of the house.

9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.

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."