The mother of my child—the only territory I cared to conquer..

Damian's POV

Night staked its claim on the city, rain scrubbing the last of the day’s grime from glass and stone. From our penthouse, the world beyond the windows seemed somehow smaller, tamed by distance and weather. It could all burn, and I barely would have noticed. My universe had rearranged itself—drawn, inexorably, to the slim white arc of her shoulder rising and falling against the pillows.

Ava slept, her face turned toward the window where lightning pulsed behind the storm. I watched the play of shadow and light across her skin, the soft flutter of lashes on her cheeks. Her hair—my shirt—my mark on her. Possessiveness, yes. But more than that, a helpless, breathless reverence.

I’d spent years measuring the value of things. Equity, loyalty, risks. But how did you measure the weight of a life, cradled beneath her hand, so new and undecided it barely had shape? Everything in me—wolf and man, Alpha and husband—bent low in awed, shuddering devotion. I was not made for softness.