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Contract With A Monster: The Heiress's Revenge Novel Cover

Contract With A Monster: The Heiress's Revenge

It was my birthday, but instead of celebrating, I was bleeding on the floor of my own bedroom. My sister Serena had just smashed a champagne bottle over my legs, her eyes filled with a dark madness because our father allowed me to wear the family diamonds. To escape her, I bolted into a pitch-black guest suite, only to be grabbed by a man who felt like a wall of solid muscle. He was drugged, unstable, and pinned me against the wall, his teeth sinking into my neck in a primal claim that left a permanent mark. I managed to flee, but the nightmare was just beginning. My father didn't care about my injuries; he only cared that I had "insulted" the man in that room—Delos French, the most powerful CEO in New York. He threatened to stop paying for my mother’s critical care facility unless I went to Delos and begged for his forgiveness. My brother Julian was even worse, intentionally pouring scalding coffee over my bandaged wounds just to see me flinch. They forced me into a revealing gold dress, treating me like a high-priced commodity to be sold to the highest bidder to save their failing company. I didn't understand how the people who were supposed to love me could be more predatory than the monster in the dark. I had spent my life fixing their scandals, yet they were ready to throw me to the wolves the moment I became useful as a pawn. But when I stood before Delos French at his gala, he didn't see a trophy. He recognized my scent, my touch, and the fire in my eyes. He trapped me in his private lounge, kneeling to clean the blood from my injured feet. "Marry me," he whispered, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "And I will give you the power to burn your family to the ground." I looked into the eyes of the man who had hunted me and realized he was the only one offering me a weapon to destroy the people who had broken me. "Okay," I whispered.
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Chapter 1

Eve Harmon stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, but the woman looking back didn't feel like her. The silk of her dress was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat rising in her chest.

Downstairs, the bass of the party music thumped against the floorboards. It was a rhythmic, dull ache, like a headache that wouldn't break. It was her birthday. She was supposed to be smiling. Instead, her stomach felt like it was full of broken glass.

She smoothed the fabric over her hips, her fingers trembling slightly. Just breathe. Just get through the night without a scene.

Bang.

The door to her bedroom didn't just open; it exploded inward. The lock gave a sharp, metallic screech as the wood splintered.

Eve flinched, her body locking up. It was a learned response. Freeze first, assess second.

Serena stumbled into the room. She was holding a half-empty bottle of champagne by the neck, her knuckles white. Her mascara was smeared beneath her eyes, turning her into a weeping gargoyle.

"You think you're so special," Serena slurred. The words were wet and heavy. "Just because Daddy let you wear the vintage diamonds."

"Serena, please," Eve said. Her voice was steady, practiced. She didn't move. "You're drunk. Go back to your room before Father sees you."

"He doesn't see me!" Serena screamed. "He only sees you! The perfect Eve. The marketable Eve."

Serena's arm whipped forward.

The champagne bottle flew across the room. It smashed against the floor inches from Eve's feet. Green glass exploded. Shards sprayed outward like shrapnel.

Eve gasped as a sharp sting sliced across her calf. Warm blood immediately began to trickle down her leg, ruining the expensive silk.

"Oops," Serena giggled, but there was no humor in her eyes. Only a dark, swirling madness.

She reached behind her back. When her hand came forward again, it wasn't holding a drink. It was the silver letter opener from Richard's desk. The blade was dull, but the point was sharp enough to puncture.

Eve's pupils dilated. The air in the room seemed to vanish. This wasn't a tantrum. This was a hunt.

"Serena, put it down," Eve warned, stepping back. Her heel crunched on the broken glass.

"No." Serena lunged.

Eve didn't think. She grabbed the heavy ceramic lamp from her bedside table and swung it. It connected with Serena's shoulder with a sickening thud.

Serena howled, stumbling back, dropping the letter opener for a split second.

It was enough.

Eve kicked off her heels and bolted. She ignored the pain in her cut leg. She sprinted through the doorway, past her screaming sister, and into the hallway.

She couldn't go downstairs. If she ran into the party bleeding and barefoot, Richard would never forgive the embarrassment. The scandal would be worse than the injury.

She turned left, toward the guest wing. It was dark here, away from the noise.

"I'm going to kill you!" Serena shrieked from behind her. The heavy thud of footsteps resumed.

Eve tried the first door. Locked.

She tried the second. Locked.

Panic clawed at her throat. She could hear Serena's ragged breathing getting closer.

At the end of the hall, the double doors to the Presidential Suite stood slightly ajar. A sliver of darkness beckoned.

Eve didn't hesitate. She threw herself through the gap, squeezing inside, and shoved the door shut. Her fingers fumbled with the deadbolt, sliding it home just as a heavy weight slammed against the wood from the other side.

"Open it!" Serena screamed, pounding on the panels.

Eve backed away, her chest heaving. She pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound of her own breathing.

Eventually, the pounding stopped. Serena's footsteps retreated, accompanied by a string of vile curses.

Eve slid down the doorframe until she hit the floor. She closed her eyes, trying to command her heart to slow down. It was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She was safe. It was over.

Then, the sound came.

From the depths of the pitch-black room, a low, ragged gasp tore through the silence. It sounded like an animal in pain.

Eve froze. The hair on her arms stood up. She wasn't alone.

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