All Chapters of Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

Ava's POV We drifted toward sleep in those little glances—the password touches, the way his thumb never stopped its small, protective circles on my skin. He pressed a final kiss to my forehead, and everything inside me settled as if obeying an ancient order: rest now, you’re safe. The night held us. When I woke at the edge of dawn, the room was a pale pool washed in the faintest gray. The space next to me was warm but empty. I stretched, found the trace of him in my ribs—your heartbeat first, then mine—and smiled without meaning to. From the kitchen came a low hum, followed by a sound I didn’t expect: the burr of a grinder, a careful rhythm of pouring, the hush of water meeting grounds. I sat up, dragging the duvet around me, hair mussed and skin cooling. The scent reached me by degrees: dark chocolate, smoke, a whisper of citrus. I closed my eyes and breathed in like it was story and promise all at once. Damian appeared moments later with a tray balanced in one hand. He’d thr

Ava's POV “Only if you promise me a story,” I said. “A true one or an invented one?” “Invented,” I decided. “Something with a ridiculous ending.” He offered his arm. We stepped onto the path. The ground was still damp, the air cool as a fresh start. He told me about a prince who fought the wind because he was jealous of what it could carry, then loved a girl who taught him that the wind wasn’t a thief, it was a messenger. He made me laugh at the right places. He looked at me when he said the ridiculous ending: They stopped fighting everything and opened all the windows. We sat on a wrought-iron bench and let the world move. He took my hand, thumb brushing over the pulse there. I could have fallen asleep. He would have let me. “Promise me something,” I said finally. He turned, eyes attentive, mouth grave. “If it starts to get cruel,” I said, picking a dead leaf from the bench and rolling it between my fingers, “if the world asks too much and takes too much, tell me fir

Ava's POV The city surged around us, the sky overhead a bruised blue, streaked with sunlight fighting through the last reluctant drizzle. In the car, every passing mile pulled me tighter into the shape I wore for the world: shoulder squared, hair and smile polished to perfection, walls rising. And still, Damian’s hand kept finding me, thumb catching the pulse at my wrist, a silent reassurance. His wedding band glinted—a small, private shield against everything outside. The driver steered through the maelstrom of morning traffic, sliding the Rolls into the reserved entry of Blackwood Tower. Rain beaded on the car, the world outside cold and slick, but inside Damian radiated a watchful heat. I caught his gaze in the reflection—sharp as glass, but softer when it met mine. He pressed a black umbrella into my hand as the driver opened our door. “Hold tight to me,” he murmured, low enough for only me. The umbrella was not necessary; the carport was covered, staff quick to offer she

Ava's POV The city unfolded outside the windows in quicksilver streaks—iron, glass, a world that spun on rumor and ambition and hunger. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, still feeling the thrum of adrenaline in my veins. Damian’s hand never left my knee, grounding me, thumb flexing in a rhythm older than any rivalry—gentler than any possessive display. The city could watch us glide away, but it couldn’t touch what we held between us now.For several moments, neither of us spoke. Damian watched me out of the corner of his eye, attentive but careful not to crowd. His hand was steady—warm, a living anchor. The city faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hush of wide streets and the memory of the office like an old bruise.He broke the silence first, voice softer than anyone else ever heard. “You did well, Ava. You always do.”I shifted to glance at him, catching the way the morning light gilded the sharp arc of his jaw. “You didn’t have to storm the castle for me.”He smiled

Ava's POV By the time the rain ebbed and the city’s fever cooled, the world outside our windows had slipped into the half-light of Monday—the sky a flat, stubborn silver, clouds heavy with secrets not yet spent. The city, of course, cared nothing for the comfort we had stolen. Damian was sprawled on the chaise at the end of the bed, shirt undone, feet bare, hair mussed from my hands and his own restless sleep. The view behind him spilled thirty floors above the city, streaks of dawn bruised by storm.If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe we existed in a pocket of time immune to everything else—his phone silent, the world quiet, no Blackwood Tower, no boardroom, no whispers or stares or headlines to endure. I could. I wanted to. But the phone began buzzing, a dry, insistent insect pulse that never truly stopped, not for him. Not for us.Damian let it ring until the silence became a pressure. He tossed the phone aside, met my eyes over the rim of his coffee. “They won’t wait fore