Contract Marriage To The Alpha King のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 161 - チャプター 170

Damian’s POVMorning in the mansion always arrives like an intruder—I can hear it before I see it, the thin sound of the city beginning to breathe, the light seeping under the curtains in pale, patient bars. For once I’m awake before it, more alert than the room deserves to be. Ava is curled against me, breath soft and even, the faint scent of rosewater and something that’s only hers drifting into my senses. I could stay like this forever, a predator lulled by a warmth it doesn’t deserve.My wolf paces, low and eager at the edges of my thoughts. Take the day. Claim the hour. Mark the world. I ignore him, because some parts of me have learned restraint, and because she looks like something fragile and priceless and I want to learn the shape of protecting rather than destroying.She wakes with a little sound—half-sigh, half-name—and turns, hair a loose fall around her face. The sheet slips and I let my hand fall across her ribs, feeling the quick, steadying beat of her heart under my pa

Damian's POV The mansion is quiet again—a rare and deliberate luxury, a hush earned through the day’s calculated violence. I refill both our glasses with Bordeaux, the vintage chosen not for status but for memory: the sunlight that ripened these grapes is the only thing tonight that's older than my ghosts.Ava sits across from me, framed in lamplight. The room is nearly all shadow, broken only by a slant of gold across the Turkish binder chairs and the glint of glass. No staff linger. No security checks pulse through the air. It’s just us—a dinner set for two, plates cooling between stories and silences that say more than words.She kicks my foot beneath the table, her gaze teasing. “Are you actually hungry, or is this all for show?”I glance at my untouched fillet, pretending to study its charred lines. “Not hungry for food,” I admit, swirling the wine. “But I’m trying.”She laughs, the sound soft but edged—it’s her gift to me, a melody meant to break the storm of my thoughts. “I no

Ava’s POVThe city burned, neon bleeding through the clouds, the pulse of Manhattan stamping its signature across the sky. The motorcade knifed through morning traffic, sirens parting like a sea at our approach. Inside the backmost car, the world dissolved to tinted glass: cocooned in quiet power, yet bracing for war.Damian Blackwood lounged beside me, all crisp dark wool and impossible focus. He looked out the window like a king surveying his domain—every inch the billionaire predator they all feared. But I sensed the tension winding through him, an alertness taut as a drawn bow. He rolled the tension between his fingers, slow and silent, until the final stretch to Blackwood Tower.His gaze slid to me—sharp, appraising, a secret touch behind his impassive façade. A singular brush of his hand found mine and remained, fierce and fleeting. It was just a heartbeat, but I felt it through every inch of me: a vow, an anchor. For him, I was something the world couldn’t touch—his shield, his

Ava’s POVDawn filtered through the penthouse windows in a gentle sweep, turning everything gold. I lay still, tangled in sheets that smelled of rain, expensive soap, and Damian’s cologne. My body was a map of last night’s journey—tender aches, fingerprints ghosted on my hips, the fading trace of his mouth on my skin. A memory to savor, but there was no time. Not today.Damian was already up, ruthless efficiency in every movement as he buttoned his cuffs and adjusted his tie. He caught my gaze in the mirror, his eyes sharp, unreadable.“We’re leaving before the office,” he said quietly—just two beats softer than a command, but softer all the same.He didn’t need to say Eli’s name. I felt it echo in the hollow of my chest. Worry fluttered through me, heavier than any lingering pleasure from the night before.I slid from the bed and into a simple navy dress, hands trembling slightly as I reached for my necklace. Damian watched, lips pressed thin; only the small furrow between his brows

Ava's POV The drive home felt like stealing—like we were carrying contraband in our laps and the city outside had no right to know any of it. The headlights smeared past in long, indifferent lines. Damian kept one hand at ten and the other on my knee, thumb tracing a slow, private alphabet across my skin. I let my head fall against the cool window and watched the lights blur into a watercolor I’d never tire of. “You handled it,” he said quietly, not looking at me. The statement was simple. The subtext? Everything. “I covered for you,” I corrected, because that’s the shape our truth usually takes—work and protection braided together. “And for me.” He gave a rare, soft sound that might've been a laugh. “You were precise. Ruthless even.” He sounded proud in a way no boardroom praise ever approached. “I didn’t enjoy being the center of gossip,” I admitted. “I felt exposed.” “You were luminous,” he said, thumb still moving. “Exposed isn’t the same as vulnerable when it’s you.” I sno