My Contract Husband Is A Cursed Billionaire
As the eldest daughter of the Sharp family, I was treated worse than a stray dog, while my younger sister Seraphina was their precious princess.
When the family needed someone to marry a dying billionaire heir, they naturally chose me to take her place.
To force my consent, my brothers held a peanut butter sandwich to my face—knowing it was a lethal allergy—while dangling my EpiPen just out of reach.
On speakerphone, my own mother sighed in annoyance.
"Let her die. It might be for the best."
I choked out an agreement just as my throat closed up. But the forced engagement broke my sacred mystical vow, causing me to violently cough up my own lifeblood.
Seeing the blood, Seraphina dramatically fainted. My brothers instantly carried her to the hospital, stepping over my dying body and leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.
I had to use a forbidden blood rune, draining my last ounce of strength, just to survive the night.
Even the mystical Order I served offered no comfort, calling only to demand I secure ten billion dollars for them or forfeit my soul for eternity.
Abandoned by my blood family and my spiritual master, I was completely alone, left with nothing but a broken body and a ticking clock.
But they made one fatal mistake: they let me live.
I turned to the dying heir they forced me to marry, a man plagued by a dark curse only I could cure.
"I will be your wife, and I will save your life," I told him.
In exchange, I would use his unimaginable wealth and power to make everyone who threw me away pay the ultimate price.
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Chapter 2
A violent cough wracked Chloe's body, and it wasn't for air this time. She pushed herself up onto her elbows just as a spray of crimson erupted from her lips, splattering across the pristine white and blue patterns of the Persian rug.
The laughter in the room died instantly.
Jaleel's smile froze on his face. Damarion's celebratory posture went rigid.
"What the hell?" Damarion breathed, his eyes wide with a flicker of genuine fear.
Seraphina let out a piercing scream, pointing a trembling finger at the bloodstain. "Oh my God! What is she doing?"
Chloe clutched her chest. It felt as if a plug had been pulled from her very core, her life force draining away like water from a broken dam. This was it. The pact was fracturing.
She lifted her head, her lips stained red, and met her family's horrified gazes. "See?" she rasped, her voice a ghost of its former self. "This is the beginning."
"Stop it," Damarion snapped, his fear quickly morphing into anger. "Stop your damn theatrics! What did you do, bite your tongue?"
But the sight was too much for Seraphina. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.
"Seraphina!" Jaleel and Damarion yelled in unison.
In a second, Chloe was forgotten. Her brothers rushed to their fainted sister, their panic for Seraphina eclipsing any concern for the girl who was literally coughing up her lifeblood.
"Maeve, get water!" Jaleel commanded, cradling Seraphina's head.
Damarion frantically fumbled with the buttons on his sister's blouse, trying to give her more air.
The phone was still on speaker, forgotten on the table. "What's happening?" Eleanor's frantic voice crackled through the line. "What was that scream? Is Seraphina alright?"
Jaleel snatched up the receiver. "Mom, Seraphina fainted! Chloe... she's spitting up blood or something. I think she did it to scare her!"
"Forget that little monster!" Eleanor shrieked. "Call Dr. Evans right now! Get Seraphina to the hospital immediately! I'm on my way."
Chloe lay next to the cooling puddle of her own blood, invisible. Her family, her own flesh and blood, had created a frantic vortex of concern around Seraphina, and she was outside of it, a piece of discarded trash. The absolute, profound indifference was a colder blade than the threat of the sandwich had ever been.
She had to save herself. No one else would.
The teachings of the Order flooded her mind. Blood is a conduit. Life is the ink.
With a trembling hand, she dipped her fingers into the blood on the rug. It was warm and slick. Using the floor as her canvas, she began to draw. Her fingers moved with a desperate, practiced speed, tracing the complex, ancient lines of a rune.
The maid, Maeve, saw what she was doing. The young woman's eyes widened in terror, and she backed away, pressing herself against the far wall as if Chloe were a venomous snake.
The symbol was one of the forbidden arts, a dangerous gambit. It would cauterize the leak in her life force, but the cost was immense, draining what little physical strength she had left.
As she drew the final, connecting line, the bloody rune flared with a faint, crimson light for a single heartbeat. Then, it sank into the fibers of the rug and vanished.
Instantly, the hemorrhaging sensation in her chest stopped. The violent drain on her vitality was plugged, held in place by a fragile, mystical dam.
She was safe. For now.
But the effort had taken everything. Her limbs felt like lead. Her head swam.
Just then, the front door burst open and the family's private doctor rushed in with a medical bag. Jaleel and Damarion were already lifting a stirring Seraphina with the utmost care.
They carried her towards the door, their path taking them right past Chloe.
Damarion didn't even break his stride. He aimed a vicious kick at her side. "Get out of the way, you worthless freak."
The blow landed on her ribs, stealing the breath she had just fought so hard to regain. She didn't have the energy to cry out, to even flinch. She just lay there, watching them go, her eyes as cold and empty as a winter sky.
Soon, the mansion was quiet. The frantic energy was gone, transported to a hospital to fuss over a girl who had merely fainted.
Only she and the terrified maid remained.
This wasn't her home. It had never been her home. It was a tomb where her heart had finally been laid to rest.
Using a nearby armchair for support, Chloe dragged her aching body to its feet. Every muscle screamed in protest. She leaned against the wall, her breath coming in shallow pants, and began the slow, painful journey to the front door.
She was leaving this hell, one step at a time.
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7.8
Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library.
But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor.
"It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting."
He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case."
To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend.
That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery.
When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused.
"Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you."
For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes.
He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game.
The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold.
When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract.
She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent.
This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
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.
9.1
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.
9.1
For three years, June played the perfect, submissive wife to billionaire Augustus Pruitt, hoping a child would finally warm his cold heart and secure their marriage.
But when she cautiously suggested they have a baby, he looked at her with pure, unfiltered disgust.
"A woman who schemes her way into a marriage doesn't get to carry my blood."
He sneered, leaving immediately to lavish his mistress with diamonds. The nightmare only escalated from there. Augustus bought the one painting June desperately wanted—a piece she had secretly created herself—just to gift it to his mistress. He publicly outbid June at the gallery, mocking her lack of wealth, and left her to collapse in the freezing rain. When the storm gave her a severe 104-degree fever and she nearly died on their staircase, he didn't even stay by her hospital bed. Instead, he sent an assistant with a box of jewelry to buy her silence, then forced her to attend a family dinner where his mother and sister viciously mocked her barren womb and background.
Looking at Augustus, who sat there casually cutting his steak while his family tore her apart, the last flicker of hope in June's chest sputtered and died.
She finally understood that her three years of bleeding devotion were nothing but a pathetic joke to them.
She dropped her silverware, the sharp clatter silencing the entire room. She wasn't going to be their punching bag anymore. It was time to finalize the divorce papers, reclaim her hidden identity as the world-renowned artist 'mr.sun', and make them all regret it.
9.3
Elliana sat on the cold marble floor, staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. Overjoyed, she went to her husband Garrett’s study to surprise him.
But the room was empty. On his iPad, she accidentally opened a muted security video from the night before. As a graphic novelist trained in facial anatomy, she easily read Garrett’s lips as he spoke to their housekeeper.
"Increase the hallucinogens and the birth control. Let her become a complete lunatic."
The truth shattered her reality. Her three years of inexplicable exhaustion and mental collapses were orchestrated to keep her away from her ex-fiancé, who was now married to Garrett’s sister, Cristina. The nightmare worsened during a horrific highway crash. As their SUV flipped and caught fire, Garrett ruthlessly abandoned a pregnant Elliana in the crushed backseat. He dragged Cristina to safety, leaving Elliana to burn. She survived, but her right hand—her drawing hand—was permanently destroyed.
Lying in the hospital with her career ruined and her intellectual property stolen by the husband who forged her signature while she was drugged, a freezing void of hatred consumed her. She was nothing but a sedated decoy to hide Garrett's twisted, incestuous obsession with his own sister.
When Garrett knelt by her hospital bed with fake tears, Elliana didn't scream or expose him. Instead, she forced a pathetic, dependent smile, playing the perfect broken wife. She was going back to his penthouse to steal his encrypted files, ready to feed him to Manhattan's most cutthroat divorce lawyer and watch his empire burn.