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The Billionaire Hostage Bride

DaoistpuyfCC
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
I was his unwilling bride, purchased to secure an empire. Now, he wants more than just an heir—he wants my soul. My freedom was the price for my family's survival. In its place, I got a ring from Damien Vance, a billionaire CEO whose cruelty is legendary. In public, I am his adored wife. In private, I am his humiliation, a living doll in a gilded cage. The rules were simple: provide an heir, earn my freedom. But the rules are changing. With every whispered command in the dark and every glance that sees straight through me, the line between hatred and a terrifying addiction blurs. He’s hiding a devastating secret, one that ties our fates together with bonds of blood and betrayal. They told me not to fall for the villain. They never warned me that the villain would be the only one to recognize the fire in my eyes... or that he'd want to play with the flames.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: The Pen and The Prison

The pen was a loaded gun in Elara Larsen's trembling hand. One signature, and she'd surrender her body, her freedom, her very soul to the man who already controlled every corner of her existence. Damien Vance's penthouse office, all obsidian and glass, closed around her like a cage, its sterile grandeur amplifying the dread churning in her gut. The city skyline sparkled beyond the towering windows, a cruel tease of a world she was about to lose. The Matrimonial and Procreation Agreement lay before her on the desk, its title a death sentence in crisp black ink. Her heart pounded, each beat a plea to run, but there was no escape. Not from him.

Damien sat across from her, his dark eyes locked on her with predatory intensity. His tailored suit hugged his powerful frame, accentuating the lethal control he wielded so effortlessly. He didn't speak, didn't need to. His silence was a weapon, slicing through her resolve, forcing her to feel the weight of his power. Elara's fingers tightened around the pen, its cold metal biting into her palm. One stroke, and she'd be his—bound, owned, imprisoned.

Twelve hours earlier.

Her phone had jolted her awake at 2 a.m., her father's name flashing on the screen. His voice, usually steady, was fractured with panic. "Ellie, the bank's calling in the loans," he'd choked out. "Larsen Enterprises… it's over. They'll take everything—our company, our home—unless we find a miracle."

Her family's legacy, built on her grandfather's sweat and her father's pride, was crumbling. Elara had spent the night pacing her cramped apartment, dialing every contact, begging for investors, but no one would touch a failing business. By morning, her hope was a ghost, burned away by desperation. Then came the text, cold and commanding, from an unknown number: Office. Now. – D.V.

She knew it was Damien. Her boss of three years, the billionaire CEO whose empire cast a shadow over her family's modest company. The man whose every glance felt like a claim, whose every word was a chain. She'd arrived at his office at dawn, her stomach knotted, and found him waiting behind his desk, a folder in front of him.

"Read it," he'd said, his voice a low, unyielding command.

The document was a nightmare spelled out in legal precision. Marriage to Damien Vance. An heir within a year, as mandated by his grandfather's will. A public role as his perfect, devoted wife. In exchange, Larsen Enterprises would be saved—debts erased, contracts restored. But the cost was her. Her body, her future, her dignity, all his to command. The terms were explicit: total submission, absolute obedience, her life reshaped to serve his needs.

"Why me?" she'd asked, her voice a whisper.

Damien's lips had curved, not a smile but a predator's baring of teeth. "Because, Elara, you've always been mine. This just makes it legal."

Now, in the suffocating silence of his office, those words echoed in her mind. The pen shook in her grip, ink gleaming like poison. Damien watched her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dark—possession, hunger, obsession. She hated him. Hated the way he'd orchestrated her ruin, hated the way her body betrayed her with a shiver under his gaze. For three years, she'd been his shadow, his efficient assistant, anticipating his needs, organizing his world. But this? This was slavery dressed in a wedding vow.

"Sign," he said, his voice soft but laced with steel. "Or your family loses everything."

Her throat closed, rage and despair clawing at her chest. She wanted to scream, to hurl the pen at his smug face, to run until her legs gave out. But her father's broken voice, her mother's tearful pleas, chained her to the desk. There was no choice. There never had been.

The pen scratched across the paper, each letter of her name—Elara Larsen—a betrayal. Her hand shook as she finished, the signature a jagged wound on the page. She was his now, bound by ink and desperation. Her breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs as she set the pen down, its finality echoing like a gunshot.

Before she could move, Damien was behind her, his presence a sudden, overwhelming force. His hands gripped her hips, strong and unyielding, pressing her against the edge of the desk. She gasped, her body tensing as his chest brushed her back, his heat searing through her thin blouse. His lips were at her ear, his breath hot against her skin, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine.

"The first rule," he whispered, his voice a dark, velvet promise, "from this moment, you belong to me. Your body is mine to possess, your womb is mine to fill. The contract is sealed. Let's go home, wife."