Locked by the Billionaire Prince, I Married a Mad Heir

In my family, there's a tradition we have to follow.

The next heir must have a child with the strongest and most attractive man available.

Sounds noble, maybe even romantic, but it's more like The Bachelor meets a corporate blood pact.

In my last life, I pulled Desmond Caldwell’s name from the heirloom box of selection tokens.

The six-foot-two golden boy of the Caldwell dynasty.

Heir to a billion-dollar empire, all angles and cheekbones, with a jawline that made socialites swoon and an ego that could sink nations.