The Scarred Orc Who Bit Me First

My Pureblood husband won’t touch me. He sleeps in my stepsister’s wing.
So I bought a wrecked half-blind mongrel Orc on a curb for five grand.
By dawn, his bond mark was on my throat.
By morning, three Highborn uncles were at my door.
Turns out the “low-grade” Orc I just bought is the lost heir to an eight-hundred-million-dollar Drennan estate.
And every relative in that house paid to disfigure his face when he was eight.
They’re about to find out what I do to people who hurt what’s mine.