My Psycho Husband, Pregnant with the Mad Tycoon’s Heir

“Sign the contract. Be my incubator. And I will let you live.” That was the deal I made with the tyrant named Damon Lexton. I was his medicine. His prisoner. He did not love me—only the rare blood in my veins that kept him alive. When I died in the fire, he did not mourn his wife. He mourned the loss of his cure. Five years later, I returned from the dead with a new face and a heart of stone, ready to watch him suffer. Then my five-year-old son walked into his office. “Hey, Old Man. Are you the one who made my mom cry?” Damon stared at the child—the son he once called a bastard. For the first time, the tyrant fell to his knees. He cornered me against the wall, his eyes burning with madness and obsession. “You can run, Anna. But you and our son belong to me. I used to need your blood to live. Now I need your heartbeat to breathe.”