My Contract Husband Is A Cursed Billionaire

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.