Why did you sign without knowing every clause, every consequence?

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• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    This is the last moment you’ll ever be truly free, Ava.

  Damian's POV Time slowed. The opulent hall, the expectant faces, the very air seemed to stretch, to distill into this single, agonizing moment. She wore the gown I’d chosen. The pale cream silk flowed around her like a luminous mist, the pearl sleeves shimmering softly, the elegant neckline framing her delicate collarbones. Her hair was swept up, a cascade of loose, soft curls escaping around her face, softening its sharp angles, her skin glowing like she’d stepped directly out of moonlight, fragile and ethereal. But her eyes— Her eyes were empty. Devastatingly so. Stripped bare of all emotion, all life. They were wide, distant, reflecting nothing of the joyous occasion this should have been. She walked toward me, toward the altar, with a slow, measured pace, her movements stiff, almost mechanical. She looked like she was headed to her execution, not her own mate ceremony. There was no defiance in her tonight, no spark of the fire I had glimpsed beneath her exhaustion. No fire

• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    And then—she stepped in.

  Damian's POV The hall was pristine, almost unnervingly so. Every surface gleamed, every detail perfectly orchestrated. Golden chandeliers, massive and intricate, cast a warm, almost oppressive light over the vast space, illuminating the polished marble floors that reflected every flicker like captured fire. The air, usually crisp and cool in Blackwood Manor, was thick with the suffocating scent of formality, of ancient tradition, and the heavy weight of expectation. It was filled with the hushed, whispered voices of elders, of pack alphas from distant regions, of esteemed dignitaries and powerful business magnates—all waiting, all watching, their collective gaze a palpable force. But my mind wasn’t on them. My thoughts were a turbulent storm, fiercely battling against the cold, logical demands of my circumstances. It was on her. Ava Sinclair. The woman I was about to bind to my name, to my legacy, to my very existence. My mate, in contract if not in spirit. The irony was a

• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    The Gown of Sacrifice

  Ava's POV The gown lay on the bed like a silent, shimmering warning. Its pristine, ethereal beauty was a stark contrast to the churning dread in my stomach. It was made of pale cream silk, its fabric flowing like liquid moonlight, intricately woven with tiny pearls along the sleeves and delicate lace that cascaded like whispers. It looked like something that belonged in a fairytale, draped over a bed in a sun-drenched tower. But this wasn't a fairytale. This was a cage, exquisitely dressed in silk, waiting to snap shut. Today. It was today. The Mate Ceremony. The ancient, binding ritual that would irrevocably tie me to Damian Blackwood. Not in spirit, not in love, not in any form of genuine connection—but in law, in legacy, and in his absolute control. My stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with every beat of my heart. I stood frozen at the edge of the bed, the opulent fabric gleaming under the morning light filtering through the wide, arched windows of the guest suite. The

• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    Be in the ritual chamber by ten, Damian.

  Damian's POV The morning sun cut through the mansion’s tall, arched windows like blades of ethereal gold, harsh and blinding against the opulent, yet sterile, interior of my ancestral home. The dust motes danced in the unforgiving light, tiny, insignificant specks in the grand scheme of things, much like the emotions I ruthlessly suppressed. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, adjusting the cuffs of my crisp, black tailored shirt, the rich fabric cool against my skin. The weight of the impending moment settled like iron across my shoulders, a physical manifestation of the immense burden I carried. Mate Ceremony. The words tasted bitter on my tongue, like ash and resentment. They felt ancient, primal, a stark contrast to the modern, calculated existence I had built for myself. I wasn’t one for tradition. Especially not the archaic ones my kind clung to with a delusional, almost fervent reverence. My father had largely ignored them, focusing on the cold,

• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    He’s so cold. So empty.

  Ava's POV The moment the front door clicked shut behind me, the soft, mundane sound resonated like a final, irrevocable sealing of my fate. I didn't even make it past the small entryway. My legs gave out, and I crumbled, the carefully constructed facade of composure shattering into a thousand pieces around me. My fingers, still shockingly cold, instinctively curled into a fist, pressing the engagement ring into my palm. It felt alien, heavy—a cold, hard symbol of something I hadn’t chosen, a bond forged not out of love or mutual desire, but out of desperation, cynical manipulation, and the brutal instinct for survival. It glittered, even in the dim light of the hallway, mocking my despair. I stood there in the narrow hallway, enveloped by the encroaching darkness, the silence of the apartment pressing in, almost painful in its stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging within me. My handbag, still clutched loosely in my numb fingers, slipped from my shoulder and hit the polished wo

• Contract Marriage To The Alpha King    So why the hell was I angry?

  Damian's POV The echo of my footsteps filled the vast, marble hallway as I stepped into the suffocating silence of my home—if you could call this sprawling, empty mansion a home. It was more a fortress, a gilded cage of my own making, built for power and control, not comfort or companionship. Cold. Empty. Perfectly designed, down to the last, meticulous detail. Like me. I shrugged off my bespoke blazer, the expensive fabric sliding smoothly from my shoulders, and tossed it carelessly over the back of the antique leather armchair in my study. It landed with a soft thud, a muted protest in the oppressive quiet. The only light in the cavernous room was the amber glow emanating from the cut-crystal decanter on the antique bar cart in the corner. I strode towards it, the rhythmic tap of my shoes on the polished hardwood floor the only sound. I poured myself a generous measure of something aged, something sharp enough to burn the lingering taste of her voice off my tongue, to cauterize