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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
The main hall of the Marriage Bureau was loud, packed with couples holding cheap bouquets.
Alysia ignored them all.
Her eyes scanned the room and locked onto the VIP waiting area in the far corner.
Jude Cantrell sat on a leather bench.
He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that looked like armor.
His long legs were crossed, and he was staring down at a tablet, his thumb swiping aggressively across the screen.
He radiated a freezing, untouchable energy.
His chief of staff, Alex Vance, stood beside him.
Two massive bodyguards flanked the perimeter, their eyes scanning the crowd for threats.
Alysia walked over to a vending machine near the wall.
She bought a cup of scalding hot black coffee.
She held the flimsy paper cup in her left hand and walked casually toward the VIP area.
As she approached the invisible perimeter set by the bodyguards, she let her right ankle roll.
She pitched forward.
The hot coffee flew from her hand, splashing directly onto the chest of the bodyguard on the left.
The man hissed in pain, instinctively stepping backward and swatting at his ruined suit jacket.
The defensive line broke for exactly one second.
Alysia didn't apologize.
She slipped through the gap like a ghost.
Alex reacted instantly.
He lunged forward, his hand reaching for Alysia's shoulder to physically throw her back.
"Step back, miss!" Alex barked.
Alysia dropped her shoulder, letting Alex's hand slide off her coat.
With her right hand, she shoved a thick, matte-black business card directly into Alex's palm.
Alex looked down, ready to crush the card.
He froze.
Printed on the card wasn't code, but a single, elegant equation that redefined the project's core problem-the exact solution to the fatal flaw in the Cantrell Group's core AI project-the flaw that was currently tearing the company apart.
In the half-second Alex stopped breathing, Alysia stepped past him.
She stopped exactly two feet in front of Jude Cantrell.
Jude finally looked up from his tablet.
His slate-gray eyes met hers.
There was no surprise in his gaze, only a violent, calculating stillness.
The bodyguards recovered.
They drew their tasers, aiming the red laser dots directly at Alysia's chest.
The air in the hall turned to ice.
Jude raised his right hand.
He didn't speak, but the bodyguards instantly froze, lowering their weapons an inch.
Jude adjusted his left cufflink with his thumb-a slow, deliberate motion.
"Do you have any idea how stupid you are?" Jude's voice was a low, gravelly threat.
Alysia stared down at him.
Her heart beat in a slow, controlled rhythm.
"Stupider than getting ousted from your own board in ten minutes because you refuse to marry a socialite?"
Jude's eyes darkened. The news was public—every financial channel had been running the ticker for hours—but hearing it thrown in his face by a stranger still grated on his nerves.
Alysia pulled a plastic chair from a nearby desk and dragged it over.
She sat down directly across from him, crossing her legs, mirroring his dominant posture.
"One year," Alysia said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "A contract marriage. I act as your shield against your grandfather's arranged marriages. You act as my shield to secure my trust fund."
Jude let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
"Why the hell would I partner with a stray off the street when I have a line of heiresses waiting outside?"
Alysia leaned forward.
She could smell the sharp scent of cedar and expensive scotch on him.
"Because an heiress comes with a board seat and a father who wants to control you," Alysia whispered. "I come with nothing. I am clean. And I am easy to control."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"More importantly," she added, nodding toward Alex's hand. "I can fix the AI code on that card. You walk into your board meeting today with a working prototype, and you own the room."
Jude's eyes darkened.
He stared at her face, searching for the lie.
He found nothing but a terrifying, empty confidence.
Alex checked his watch, his face pale.
"Sir. Your grandfather's motorcade is fifteen minutes away. They are coming to pull you out of here."
Jude sat in silence for ten agonizing seconds.
The tension between them was physical, a heavy pressure pushing against Alysia's ribs.
Suddenly, Jude tossed his tablet to Alex.
He stood up, towering over Alysia.
"Where is the contract?" he demanded, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Alysia unzipped her bag.
She pulled out a thirty-page, legally binding prenuptial agreement.
Jude didn't read a single word.
He flipped to the last page, pulled a silver fountain pen from his breast pocket, and slashed his signature across the bottom line.
He threw the packet back at her.
His large hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist like a vice.
The heat of his skin burned through her sleeve.
"Let's go take the damn picture," he ordered, dragging her toward the registration window.
You may also like
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."