All Chapters of Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Ava's POV The afternoon light was warmer now, its honeyed glow slanting through rain-washed glass and pooling over the oak floors, gilding the bedroom in gold. From the bed, I watched droplets etch delicate rivers down the windows, the hush of the house cocooning us and blurring every edge. Damian’s mugs—two, always two—sat sentry on the nightstand, rings tracing yesterday’s coffee and this morning’s devotion. The familiar scent lingered, laced with spice and memory, the kind of comfort that settled deep in my bones. I was drifting—not quite asleep, not fully awake, hovering in that liminal space where love could feel like a place. My head rested above Damian’s heartbeat, steady and sure, an ancient drum in the quiet. His hand cradled my hip, fingers splaying possessively over the silk of my nightgown, thumb sliding a gentle rhythm against skin he’d sworn was his home. It hit then—so fast it made me gasp. An ache in my stomach, subtle at first, then twisting hot and metallic, curl

Damian’s POVThe rain eased to a hush. In the brittle hush between thunder and morning, I watched her sleep.Ava’s breaths came slow and even, dark curls splayed across the pillow, the silk of my discarded shirt tangled around her shoulders. There was something almost holy about the way she surrendered to rest: the fierce woman who could shutter a conference room with a word, now made soft and open, hand curled with instinctive protectiveness over her stomach—a gesture that, days ago, would've meant nothing.My throat tightened just watching it—a small, unconscious cradle. There, beneath her palm, was a future I could touch but not yet see.I turned, pressing my knuckles to my eyes for a moment. Fear, always my old companion, circled with new teeth. It was one thing to ward off press leaks and hostile takeovers; another to protect something as fragile and miraculous as this. I didn’t know how to armor a life I hadn’t even met.I moved quietly, leaving her to sleep. In the bathroom, I

Damian’s POV Dawn, when it finally came, was the kind that crept—not the dramatic sluice of gold you see in paintings, but the shy, reluctant light of winter. A nearly imperceptible shift: shadows thinning over hardwood, pale blue leaking across the city’s spires, as if the world, too, tiptoed for fear of disturbing her. Ava slept still, but I could feel her stirring—her pulse thrumming, her breath shifting beneath the press of my palm. I lay awake, tangled with her warmth, and let myself linger in all the places I would never expose: the fragility of hope, the terror knotting my stomach, the animal certainty curling through my bones. My control had always been iron. Boardrooms and battlefields—I could silence a room with a single look, move money and power with a nod, leave competitors gutted in the wake of a spreadsheet. But none of those skills meant anything in the quiet, uncertain orbit of fatherhood. Protecting her was simple—keep her close, keep threats distant. But this h

Ava’s POV“…the way she stood up to him yesterday, and he didn’t even bark at her, not once…”I kept my head down, focusing on the Sable proposal, as the whispers from the outer office drifted in. The buzz was persistent, speculation blooming wherever I walked in Blackwood Tower. To them, I was just Mrs. Sinclair, Damian Blackwood’s long-suffering secretary, the one who delivered coffee and filed agendas and sometimes dared to match the Alpha’s glare.But there were things about me they would never guess. Not the softness of his voice when we were alone, nor the way his hand searched for me at night beneath the apartment’s expensive sheets. Especially not the simple, gold band he’d locked onto my finger months ago when no one was watching.A stack of contracts landed between us—a silent challenge. Damian reached for the top one, his knuckles brushing my skin. The warmth of the touch made my heart stutter, but I kept my face serene.He pitched his voice low, for me alone: “Ignore them.

Ava’s POV The world split wide with loss, leaving only the husk of routine to carry us forward. The funeral felt unreal. Everything about it—the formal black of my dress, the slick sheen of umbrellas against the rain, the scrutiny of strangers who came in careful, tasteful hordes—seemed designed to shield me from the truth, to wrap the day in ritual so I didn’t completely break. But I broke anyway. We held the service at the old cathedral Eli loved, white stone echoing with the hush of shared tragedy. Pew after pew filled with faces—family, colleagues, distant friends. Most sat clustered in black, eyes turned down, hands folded over programs printed with his name and the photograph I'd chosen: Eli leaning over a chessboard, grinning like he knew some secret move no one else could catch. Flowers crowded the altar. Rain hammered at the stained glass above, painting the marble aisle with trembling color. I hardly noticed any of it. I found myself staring at the casket—a gloss