All Chapters of Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Ava's POVThe morning light filtered through the balcony curtains like a gentle promise, casting soft patterns across the four-poster bed where Damian and I had tangled in a restless sleep. His arm was still draped protectively over my waist, his breath steady against my shoulder, but I could feel the subtle tension in his muscles—the alpha's vigilance never fully dormant, even in repose. The pup stirred early, a series of soft flutters that pulled me from dreams laced with shadows: Hanlon's smirking face in boardrooms, whispers of betrayal echoing through endless corridors. I placed a hand on my belly, rubbing slow circles to soothe us both, the ache in my lower back a persistent companion now, amplified by the estate's antique mattress that, for all its luxury, couldn't quite cradle the growing weight.Downstairs, the mansion buzzed with activity, the air thick with the scents of baking bread, roasting meats, and fresh-cut flowers. Grandma Eleanor's voice carried up the stairs like

Ava's POVThe dawn crept in like a thief, pale light seeping through the heavy velvet drapes of our bedroom, turning the ornate four-poster bed into a gilded cage that felt both protective and confining. I hadn't slept much—tossing amid the tangled silk sheets that clung to my sweat-dampened skin, the pup's nocturnal acrobatics mirroring my own restless thoughts. Each kick felt like a Morse code of urgency, a tiny fist pounding against my ribs with increasing insistence, as if demanding action in a world that suddenly felt too precarious, too hostile for the fragile miracle growing inside me. My body ached in protest: the persistent throb in my lower back radiating like hot coals down my legs, swollen feet throbbing from last night's endless standing and dancing at the feast, and a fresh wave of bone-deep fatigue that made even lifting my head a laborious negotiation. Pregnancy had transformed me into a battlefield, beautiful and brutal, where every sensation amplified the stakes—nau

Damian's POVThe heir's first cry tore through the birth room like a war horn forged in the depths of the wildest storm, raw and unapologetic, a sound that clawed straight into my soul and rooted there, igniting a firestorm of emotions I hadn't known I could feel. It wasn't just a wail—it was a declaration, a tiny alpha staking his claim on the world, his voice piercing the haze of blood and sweat that hung heavy in the air. The healer, Elara, her auburn hair matted with perspiration and her hands slick from the delivery, swaddled him swiftly in linens woven with protective pack runes and infused with calming lavender and wolfsbane essence. His face, scrunched in furious protest, was a perfect blend of us: Ava's delicate nose, my dark curls already hinting at the mane he'd grow into, and those eyes—cracking open to reveal flecks of molten gold, the unmistakable mark of an alpha heir, glowing like embers in a dying fire.Ava slumped back against the mound of pillows we'd propped her o

Damian's POVThe nursery smelled of fresh linens and the faint, metallic tang of blood—mine, mostly, seeping through the hasty bandages Jax had slapped on during the retreat. Ava's eyes searched my face, wide with a mix of relief and horror as she took in the gashes, the silver burns mottling my skin like acid scars. Alexander—our little warrior—unlatched from her breast with a contented sigh, his tiny lips pursing as if sensing the shift in the air. He was perfect, unmarred by the night's horrors, his skin soft as velvet under my calloused fingers. I traced his cheek gently, marveling at how something so fragile could ignite such ferocity in me. "He's got your eyes," Ava whispered, her voice trembling, pulling me closer despite the grime coating me. Her hand slipped under my torn shirt, fingers probing the wound in my side, drawing a hiss from my lips. "Damian, this is bad. Silver—it's poisoning you."I shrugged it off, though the burn spread like wildfire through my veins, making m

Damian's POVThe victory howl still echoed in my bones hours later, a primal chorus that had ripped through the estate as Voss's lifeless body hit the mill floor. Blood—mine, his, the hybrids' metallic tang—still crusted my skin beneath the fresh shirt I'd thrown on. The pack had feasted that night: roaring fires in every hearth, tables groaning under venison and whiskey, songs of triumph bellowing until the rafters shook. Viktor had clasped my forearm again, his grip bruising with respect, promising Shadowclaw warriors for our borders "until the moon falls." Even Grandma Eleanor had allowed herself a rare second dram of scotch, her eyes glassy with pride as she toasted, "To the Blackwood line—unbroken, unbowed."But victory tasted like ash in my mouth.I stood now in the war room beneath the east wing, the one no one spoke of above a whisper. Stone walls sweated with cold, the single bulb overhead flickering over maps pinned like flayed hides. Mara had spread the new data across the