Blood For Her Sins Novel by Lauren _ Novel




Blood For Her Sins Chapter 01

Rumor had it that Ezequiel Keigher, Chicago's golden boy, was hopelessly smitten with his fiancée, Octavia Dickra. Word was he had dropped a fortune on a private island just to make her smile.
But no one saw what really happened behind closed doors. Every night, Ezequiel returned to his hillside estate, taking Camille Faragher with ruthless intensity until the early hours—just to shatter the last remnants of her pride.
"Go to Tavi's studio later and stay on your knees. And don't you dare upset her," he said coldly, sliding into his pants.
The intense sex left Camillie exhausted, her body aching as if every bone had been crushed. She lay motionless on the cold silk sheets, eyes tracing the fresh scratches she'd left on his back.
Then she lowered her gaze, her long lashes shadowing her eyes. "I understand, Mr. Keigher," she said, her voice hoarse.
She sounded completely defeated—meek and submissive, with none of the passion they had shared just hours before.
In this house, even the maids knew exactly what she was—a plaything kept in the shadows, a breathing blood bank for the woman he actually loved.
Three years ago, Octavia suffered a shattered right hand while protecting Ezequiel during a car crash—an injury that eventually triggered a rare blood rejection disorder.
Everyone blamed Camillie, claiming she had tampered with the car's brakes out of jealous spite.
Seeking revenge, Ezequiel spared her a prison sentence but kept her confined, under his control.
Camille was meant to have a brilliant life with Stephen Whately, her first love of four years.
The two of them had planned to marry after she won that year's International Jewelry Design Award.
But Ezequiel cruelly destroyed everything, forcing her into a life of humiliation and atonement.
Camillie once knelt in the torrential rain outside the Keigher's residence, begging Ezequiel to let her go. "I didn't touch the car," she cried. "Please, just look into it..."
Ezequiel stood there under a black umbrella, looking down at her as if she were nothing but trash.
"Tavi lost the use of her hand because of you, and she could die at any moment. Camillie, your life belongs to her from this day on."
The following day, the core laboratory where Stephen worked was accused of leaking trade secrets. He was suddenly hit with crushing damages and ten years of jail time.
As Camillie, now wasted and frail, clutched the indictment, her fingers trembled uncontrollably. For the first time, she let her pride crumble, yielding to the all-powerful man.
"Fine. I'll give my blood. I'll be her ghost designer. I'll be at your beck and call." She paused, her lips bitten raw and bleeding. "Let Stephen go now, and set me free in three years."
If it meant protecting the man she loved and repaying the Keigher family for all they had done for her mother, she would resign herself to this fate.
From that day on, she stripped away every shred of her dignity. By day, she was the source of blood for Octavia's treatments. By night, she was the outlet for Ezequiel's fury, nothing more than a warm body in his bed.
Everyone labeled her a shameless, desperate social climber. Even Ezequiel saw her as a vicious woman who would stoop to any depth for money and power.
Because of that, he showed no concern for her at all when they were in bed. Every encounter was a slow torture—brutal and merciless, as if he intended to crush the last trace of her pride.
Having had 400 ml of blood drawn just the day before, Camillie was still weak, the puncture wound from her bone marrow biopsy throbbing painfully. Yet Ezequiel had forced himself on her repeatedly throughout the night.
Despite being his fiancée and having the world at her feet, Octavia was still deeply resentful of Camillie's presence. She took every opportunity to torment Camillie under the guise of "searching for inspiration."
After every blood donation or night with Ezequiel, Camillie was made to kneel in the studio, waiting on Octavia.
It had been three years, more than a thousand days and nights of relentless agony.
Today, Camillie entered the art studio once again, lifting the heavy paint tray with a practiced numbness and holding it high above her head.
The top-tier jewelry sketches she had stayed up all night perfecting now lay before Octavia—bearing Octavia's signature, ready to be showcased in Paris.
Camillie's arms shook with a dull ache, and cold sweat had long since soaked through her thin clothes, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent.
"Hold on," she told herself. "Just five more days of this."
Once the three-year contract ended, Stephen's case would be closed for good, and she would finally be free.
Even though her talent had been stolen and her body was exhausted, she refused to let herself collapse.
Her obsession with freedom was the only thing keeping her standing.
She stole a quick glance at the countdown calendar on the desk, only to be met by Octavia's venomous stare.
Across from her, Octavia sneered, picked up a cup of scalding hot coffee, and hurled it directly at Camillie's face.

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