The Billionaire's Secret Blood Sacrifice Bride
Cora thought she was the luckiest woman alive, married to a devoted tech billionaire who showered her with custom haute couture and obsessive care.
But his "protection" involved locking her inside their San Francisco estate, forcing her to swallow foul neon-green supplements, and drawing her blood with highly classified veterinary needles.
She thought it was just his extreme paranoia, until a cynical doctor cornered her at a charity gala.
"Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. You're his personal pharmacy."
Terrified, Cora broke into Kendrick's hidden safe and found a medical report approving her total bone marrow and stem cell depletion.
Kendrick wasn't a doting husband. He was raising her as a human bloodbag to save his terminally ill cousin.
When she nearly uncovered the truth, Kendrick cried fake tears, claiming he only needed her antibodies.
"Tomorrow, we are going to my private island in the Caribbean. Just the two of us. No internet. No guards. Just peace."
Cora almost believed his vulnerable act, deeply confused by how a man who kissed her so tenderly could plan to slaughter her in cold blood.
Then, while packing for the trip, she dropped a wooden box, revealing a hidden flight manifesto.
Kendrick's return date was listed. Hers was completely blank.
Stapled to the back was a clinical schedule: Intensive Marrow Harvesting - Final Stage. Patient will not require return transport.
Hearing his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway, Cora gripped the sharp edges of the broken box.
She was not going to be a slaughtered lamb on that island.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 4
Cora stumbled into the women's restroom and slammed the heavy wooden door shut. She rushed to the marble sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed it violently onto her pale face.
She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Her chest heaved as she dragged air into her lungs.
After a minute, she grabbed a paper towel, dried her face, and pushed the door open to leave.
The hallway outside was dimly lit by antique wall sconces. She kept her head down, smoothing the silk of her dress, when she slammed hard into a solid chest.
A sharp scent hit her nose-a harsh mix of medical bleach and cheap tobacco.
Cora gasped and stumbled backward. A strong hand shot out, gripping her elbow firmly to keep her from falling.
She snapped her head up and locked eyes with a pair of amber irises. The man was staring down at her with a cynical, mocking smirk. It was Cayden Logan.
He was wearing a black velvet suit jacket, completely unbuttoned, looking entirely out of place in the formal, rigid environment of the gala.
He let out a low whistle, his eyes raking over her expensive gown with blatant disrespect.
Cora felt her skin crawl. She yanked her arm out of his grip. "Thank you," she said coldly, stepping to the side to walk past him.
Cayden shifted his weight, intentionally blocking her path. The smirk on his face deepened.
He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches from her ear. "That dress looks expensive," he whispered. "It looks exactly like a very high-end body bag."
Cora's eyes went wide. She shoved his chest hard. "Excuse me? You are completely out of your mind."
Cayden didn't move. He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver Zippo lighter. He flipped it open and shut, the metallic clack echoing in the quiet hallway.
His eyes suddenly lost their humor. He looked at her with the cold, clinical assessment of a doctor.
"Look at your nail beds, Cora. Look at the pallor of your skin," Cayden said, his voice dropping an octave, his amber eyes piercing right through her defenses. "Kendrick isn't raising a wife. He's curating a very rare, very fragile medical specimen. Look at what he feeds you. You're not his partner, sweetheart. You're his personal pharmacy."
The words medical specimen hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. A violent shudder ripped through her spine. The image of the needle piercing her vein that morning flashed behind her eyes, followed by the metallic taste of the neon-green supplement. Her mind raced, desperately trying to connect the dots. Pharmacy? Is he harvesting my blood? My plasma?
All the color drained from Cora's face. Her knees went weak. She pressed her back against the wall, her teeth biting down so hard on her lip she tasted copper. She refused to scream.
Cayden watched her panic. A flicker of something complex-something like regret-flashed in his amber eyes, but he instantly buried it under his arrogant smirk.
The heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the end of the hallway. Kendrick's security detail was coming for her.
Cayden moved with lightning speed. He reached out and slipped a stiff, black business card deep into the hidden pocket of her silk gown.
He immediately stepped back, creating a massive gap between them. He raised his voice, adopting a sleazy, drunken tone. "I must say, Mrs. Pope, your perfume is absolutely intoxicating."
Two massive men in black suits rounded the corner. Their eyes locked onto Cayden, their hands instinctively dropping to their holstered weapons. They stepped in front of Cora, shielding her.
"Identify yourself," the lead guard barked.
Cayden raised both hands in the air, a lazy smile on his face. "Relax, boys. Just a lost doctor trying to find the bar."
He gave Cora one last, piercing look, then turned and sauntered down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.
The guard turned to Cora, his face completely devoid of emotion. "Mr. Pope is waiting, madam. He is getting anxious."
Cora reached down, her fingers gripping the sharp edges of the black card hidden in her pocket. Her palm was slick with cold sweat.
She took a deep breath, pasted the perfect, blank smile back onto her face, and followed the guards back into the blinding lights of the grand hall.
Kendrick was standing by the bar. The moment he saw her, his dark eyes scanned her body like a spotlight, searching for any sign of damage.
Cora walked up to him, forcing herself to hold his gaze, while her heart hammered violently against her ribs.
You may also like
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.
9.1
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.
7.2
For three years, I was imprisoned by Anderson Hopper, the monster who forced me to watch my fiancé, Kendall, plummet into a freezing river.
But when I saw the morning news, I realized Kendall wasn't dead. He had returned as Eben Gill, a ruthless tech billionaire.
I risked my life to escape and find him, only to be met with eyes full of absolute hatred.
He publicly humiliated me, dragged me to the exact bridge where he "died," and sneered at the C-section scar on my stomach.
"Anderson Hopper's bastard," he spat, completely unaware that the baby was actually his—the very child Anderson had murdered in the operating room to break me.
To make matters worse, Anderson used Kendall's dying mother as a hostage to force me back into my cage.
I knelt on the freezing asphalt, begging the man I loved to just visit his mother, while he coldly ordered his driver to run me over.
I had lost my baby, my freedom, and my dignity, all to protect him from Anderson's blackmail. Why was I the one being tortured and treated like a traitor?
"Don't think your little kneeling stunt earned you my forgiveness."
He whispered those cruel words before walking away without looking back.
Staring at his cold, retreating figure, the last shred of my love finally turned to ash.
That night, under the cover of a torrential storm, I bypassed the estate's laser grids and walked out into the dark.
8.4
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
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."