Welcome to hell, Mrs. Blackwood.

Damian's POV

"First," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor that still ran through her, "you will not touch me. Not in that way. Not ever."

A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. "Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind." A blatant lie, but one that served its purpose.

"Second," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "no girlfriends. Not in our house. Not anywhere near me. I won’t be a fool paraded in front of your… conquests."

I laughed again, the sound low and mocking. "Jealous, little Omega?"

Her glare was sharp enough to cut glass. "Third, you cannot break the contract. Once we’re married, you’re stuck with me."

I leaned in closer, a dangerous curiosity piqued by her unexpected boldness. "You think you can control me, little wolf?"

She lifted her chin, that defiant tilt back in place. "Yes."

My wolf growled, a confusing mix of rage and grudging amusement swirling within me. This little firecracker was proving to be far more… interesting than I had anticipated.

"I hate girls like you," I muttered darkly, the words laced with a genuine, albeit begrudging, respect for her audacity.

Her lips curled into a small, almost triumphant smile. "So that means you're into men, Mr. Blackwood?"

That did it. The thin thread of carefully constructed control I had been clinging to snapped. The insult, the insinuation, the sheer audacity of her words ignited a primal fury within me.

Without another thought, I crushed my mouth to hers.

She gasped, a surprised, involuntary sound that was quickly swallowed by my possessive kiss. Her hands, still trapped above her head, clenched into fists. She tried to push me away, her body stiffening in protest, but I didn’t budge. My grip on her wrists remained like iron bands, my body pressed relentlessly against hers, a brutal claiming. The kiss wasn’t soft, wasn’t tender. It was a raw, punishing act of dominance, a desperate attempt to silence her defiance, to brand her as mine.

She whimpered against my lips, a small, trapped sound that only fueled the possessive growl that rumbled in my chest. She tasted like fire and ice, a volatile combination that both repelled and inexplicably drew me in. I wanted to drown in it, to consume her entirely.

When I finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and bruised, her breathing ragged gasps. Her pupils were wide and dilated, reflecting the storm that had just passed between us.

"Still think I’m a pervert?" I asked, my voice rough and uneven.

She blinked, her eyes unfocused for a moment as she struggled to regain her composure. "You’re a monster," she finally whispered, the words laced with a raw, visceral hatred.

I grinned, a slow, predatory curve of my lips. I reached out, dragging a claw – a subtle extension of my wolf, a silent threat – slowly down the delicate curve of her throat. A thin red line appeared in its wake. "And don’t you ever forget it."

I stepped back, admiring the flushed fury that stained her cheeks, the fire that still burned in her eyes despite her obvious fear.

"We’ll be married by the end of the week," I said coolly, the tone leaving no room for argument. "Don’t be late."

Her glare was defiant, unwavering. "I’ll marry you, Mr. Blackwood. But I won’t be your puppet. I won’t be some simpering wife who caters to your every whim."

My smirk vanished. This little Omega had claws. And she wasn’t afraid to use them.

"You’re testing my patience, Ava." The warning in my voice was clear.

She didn’t back down. "I won’t let you humiliate me. I won’t let you parade your mistresses around like trophies. And I won’t let you treat me like I’m nothing."

My wolf roared in fury, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the office.

"You think you can dictate how I live?" I snarled, taking a step closer, the primal urge to dominate her rising within me.

"I think you need me just as much as I need you," she said evenly, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her hands.

My grip on her wrists tightened until she gasped, a small, sharp sound of pain.

"And why, pray tell, would Damian Blackwood need anyone, let alone you?" The sarcasm dripped from my words.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips, though her voice still trembled slightly. "Because if I disappear, your precious empire collapses. That little clause in your father’s will? The one that stipulates you must marry before your thirtieth birthday to inherit everything? The clock, Mr. Blackwood, is ticking."

I froze. The air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing down on me.

She was right. Utterly, infuriatingly right. My father, in his infinite wisdom, had woven a final, inescapable trap into his legacy. A contingency designed to ensure the Blackwood line continued, a line I had no intention of perpetuating until now.

And she knew. This insignificant little Omega had somehow unearthed my most closely guarded secret, the one vulnerability that could bring my entire carefully constructed world crashing down around me.

"You’ve done your homework," I murmured, the words laced with a grudging respect for her cunning.

"I don’t go into battles unprepared," she said, her gaze locking onto mine, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.

I stared at her, at the unexpected fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. This wasn’t the meek, desperate woman I had initially perceived. There was a steel beneath the surface, a resilience that both intrigued and infuriated me.

Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers in a feather-light whisper of contact.

"Then let’s make a deal, little wolf," I murmured, my breath ghosting over her skin. "You play the perfect, docile wife in public. You’ll stand by my side, a silent, beautiful ornament. I’ll play the cold, detached husband. And if you ever step out of line, if you ever forget your place…"

My teeth grazed her lower lip, a subtle, possessive bite. She shivered, a reaction that sent a jolt of something dark and possessive through me.

"I’ll break you. In ways you can’t even imagine."

She narrowed her eyes, her gaze unwavering. "And if you break your side of the deal, Mr. Blackwood? If you humiliate me, if you parade your whores in front of me?"

A dark laugh rumbled in my chest. "I don’t break promises, Ava. Especially not the ones that serve my own interests."

She met my gaze, her own filled with a mixture of defiance and a strange, unsettling resolve. "Prove it."

With a low growl, a sound that resonated deep within my bones, I kissed her again. Harder this time, deeper, a raw claiming that left no room for protest. She moaned into my mouth, a sound that both enraged and aroused me. She tried to fight, her hands finally freed as I shifted my grip, pushing against my chest with a surprising strength. But I didn’t move, didn’t yield.

When I finally pulled back, she looked dazed, her lips swollen and red, her breathing shallow and uneven.

"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Blackwood," I whispered, the words a dark promise.