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You're not allowed to fall apart.
Last Updated:
2025-06-21 22:40:44
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Contract Marriage To The Alpha King To choose your engagement ring.
Ava's POV My fingers shook violently, an uncontrollable tremor that intensified with every page. I signed the pages one by one, my name, Ava Sinclair, flowing onto the crisp white paper. Line after line. Page after page. Each scrawl of ink felt like a drop of my own blood, each signature a severing. With every stroke, I felt something in me unravel, detach, float away. My freedom. My future. My very name. Ava Sinclair, soon to be erased, replaced by his. When I finished, the pen finally dropping from my nerveless fingers, I pushed the contract across the desk with a faint, scraping sound. The stack of papers, now irrevocably binding, slid toward him like a surrender. He picked it up without a word, his movements precise, unhurried. His eyes, sharp and practiced, scanned through it, confirming the signatures, the legalities. Then, with an air of finality, he placed it neatly into a sleek, dark leather folder, as if tucking away a valuable acquisition. And then… he smirked. Tha
Contract Marriage To The Alpha King Marriage Contract.
Ava's POV The morning light poured into the office, soft and golden, painting the familiar glass walls and sterile cubicles in a deceptive warmth. But it felt distant—unreal. Like I was watching it all from behind thick glass, a silent observer in a world that wasn't truly mine. My limbs were heavy, each movement an effort, and my eyes felt dry, gritty from another restless night spent staring at the ceiling, replaying every agonizing moment of Eli's fragile existence. The dull ache in my chest, a constant companion since the surgery, never seemed to dull, a persistent throb beneath my ribs. I was running on fumes, holding myself together with nothing but sheer, unyielding duty and a desperate, unwavering hope for my brother. I was halfway through my first report, the words blurring on the screen despite my efforts to focus, when the intercom buzzed sharply, a sudden, jarring sound that cut through the quiet hum of the office. “Ava. My office. Now.” Damian’s voice—cold, compos
Contract Marriage To The Alpha King Just two more days.
Damian's POV I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, the glass in my hands tightening, my knuckles whitening against the crystal. “I’m not gambling anything, Grandmother. I have a plan. I always have a plan.” My voice was low, controlled, but an undercurrent of irritation was evident. She raised a single, imperious brow, her silver gaze dissecting me. “Do you? A plan that involves alienating the very people who could assist you? A plan that involves waiting until the eleventh hour?” Her tone was laced with skepticism, and it crawled under my skin, igniting a familiar spark of defiance. “I’ve chosen someone,” I said, the words sharp, clipped, forcing them out. “It’s handled. The arrangements are being made. She will be my wife.” She tilted her head, watching me with hawk-like precision, her eyes boring into mine. “That poor girl you’ve been tormenting in the office, the one whose brother is in the hospital, is that who you’ve chosen? Ava Sinclair?” Her voice held a not
Contract Marriage To The Alpha King I haven’t forgotten, Grandmother.
Damian’s POV The fireplace in the grand study of Blackwood Manor crackled softly, a warm, inviting sound that did little to thaw the glacial chill in my chest. Flames danced and flickered, casting shifting shadows against the high walls lined with dusty, leather-bound books—volumes of history, economics, and philosophy that spoke of centuries of Blackwood ambition—and grim portraits of stern ancestors whose legacies I had not merely inherited, but profoundly exceeded. The rich, heady scent of aged scotch lingered in the air, a familiar comfort, mingled incongruously with a subtle trace of lavender from the fresh floral arrangements the staff, at Grandmother Eleanor’s insistence, placed in every damn room, even my private study. It was a domestic touch I found irritatingly out of place in a house built for power, not comfort. I sat deep in my favorite leather armchair, a relic from my grandfather’s time, worn smooth by generations of Blackwood men. One leg was crossed casually ov
Contract Marriage To The Alpha King You're not allowed to fall apart.
Ava's POV “You’re not allowed to fall apart,” my wolf whispered gently, her voice a low, soothing murmur inside my head. “Not yet. Not until Eli’s okay. We must hold on. We must endure. For him.” I clenched my jaw, the muscles aching with the effort, and pushed through the next report, forcing my tired mind to focus on the numbers, the data, anything but the agonizing reality of my brother’s fragile life. The untouched coffee sat beside me, emanating a faint, pleasant warmth that slowly faded, turning cool as the minutes ticked by. Just like me. The afternoon dragged on, each minute an eternity, each task a monumental effort. My fingers, stiff and aching, flew across the keyboard, driven by a desperate, almost manic energy. The words on the screen blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. My eyes burned, gritty and dry, but I blinked away the discomfort, refusing to give in. I pushed my glasses higher on my nose, trying to gain a clearer focus, but the exhaustion was too p
Contract Marriage To The Alpha King Take a break. Just a few minutes. Step away. Please.
Ava’s POV The numbers on the spreadsheet, the endless lines of text in the legal documents, the very words themselves, blurred and danced in front of my eyes. Each letter seemed to melt into the next, forming an illegible haze that made my head throb with a dull, persistent ache. I had already gone through two of the daunting stack of files Damian had dumped on my desk, my fingers trembling uncontrollably as I typed each report, drafted each email, input each line of data. My head pounded with a relentless rhythm, a drumbeat of pain, and my entire body ached from the sheer physical and emotional toll of stress and the sleepless nights that stretched behind me like an endless, desolate highway. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. The thought of collapsing, of failing, was more terrifying than the exhaustion itself. Damian’s cutting words still rang in my ears, echoing in the cavern of my skull, a brutal mantra: “This isn’t a charity.” His cold, unfeeling dismissal, his absolute l
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