All Chapters of Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

20 Years Later Raven University — Alexander’s POV The Blackwood crest loomed over the wrought-iron gates of Raven University like a sentinel carved from nightmares and myths—a massive silver wolf etched into obsidian stone, its eyes twin chips of moonstone that seemed to pierce the dawn fog, judging every soul that dared approach. Most students passed beneath it with wide-eyed awe, whispering prayers to whatever deity they favored, their footsteps quickening as if the wolf might lunge from the stone at any moment. Me? I strode under it every morning with a cocktail of irritation and reluctant pride churning in my gut. Because that wolf? That snarling, eternal guardian? It was my father. Damian Blackwood. Alpha of the Blackwood Pack. Chancellor of this sprawling bastion of supernatural academia. Legend to the old guard who'd fought beside him in the Blood Wars. Monster to the rogue elements who still whispered of his ruthlessness in shadowed taverns. Savior to the packs, covens, an

Inside Raven University — Chancellor’s Wing The elevator doors slid open with a whisper-soft hiss, revealing a corridor that seemed carved from the very shadows of the ancient forest surrounding Raven University. Polished black stone floors gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted sconces—flames that danced without heat, their light flickering like distant lightning storms. The air was cool and crisp, laced with the faint, metallic tang of old magic and the ever-present undercurrent of pine from the woods beyond the walls. This was the Chancellor’s Wing, Damian Blackwood’s domain, where every echo felt like a judgment and every shadow hid a secret. I stepped out, my boots—scuffed from too many late-night runs through the campus quad—making the barest scuff against the stone. Caution was the unspoken rule here. Everyone who walked these floors moved like they were threading a needle through a gale: professors with their stacks of grimoires clutched like shields, administrative aides

Alexander’s POV Elara didn’t settle into the chair so much as claim it. One smooth shift of her hips, one long inhale that seemed to draw the room's breath into her lungs, and suddenly the entire office seemed to bend around her center of gravity. The girl radiated a quiet kind of violence—controlled, elegant, the type born from surviving things most people never crawled away from. Her leather jacket creaked softly against the wyrm-leather arms of the armchair, a sound that cut through the heavy silence like a warning shot. Up close, she was even more arresting: skin pale as moonlit marble, freckles dusting her collarbones like scattered stardust, and those eyes—storm-violet, flecked with silver, holding depths that whispered of forgotten wars and half-remembered screams. Her hair fell in a wild cascade of midnight waves, tangled as if she'd wrestled a gale and won, and the faint scent clinging to her was wildfire and salt spray, undercut by something feral, something that tugged at

Alexander 's POV The word hung in the air like a noose, tightening around my throat until breath came shallow and ragged. *Reeks of it.* As if I were a stain on the world, a harbinger's mark etched into my skin without my consent. My wolf recoiled first, hackles rising in the cage of my chest, a snarl building that I swallowed down like broken glass. What *it*? The shadow-wraiths she spoke of? The unraveling spells? Or something older, burrowed deeper—like the prophecies Damian had half-whispered to me on sleepless nights by the fire, tales of a storm-born alpha who would either mend the fractured packs or drown them all in blood and thunder.Elara didn't flinch under Damian's stare, didn't so much as shift her weight. She just let her finger linger in the air, pointing at me like I was exhibit A in some cosmic trial, her violet eyes sliding back to him with lazy deliberation. "Don't look so shocked, Chancellor. You've smelled it too, haven't you? That tang on the wind whenever he wa

Alexander’s POV The second my skin met hers— the world didn’t just stop. It shattered. Time fractured into jagged shards, each one glinting with the raw, unfiltered essence of what was happening between us. The air turned viscous, heavy as molten gold, pressing against my eardrums until the only sound was the thunderous syncopation of our heartbeats—mine a frantic war drum, hers a wild, erratic storm chasing mine. The blue flames in the hearth hung suspended mid-roar, tongues of fire frozen in eternal flicker, casting eternal shadows that clawed at the edges of my vision like desperate fingers. Damian was a statue mid-lunge, his grey eyes wide with primal terror, mouth open in a shout that never came—lips forming my name, or maybe hers, or a curse against the gods themselves. The scattered papers from my dropped folder floated in lazy defiance of gravity, curling at the edges as if whispering secrets they weren’t meant to hold. The wardstone in the wall, that ancient lump of obsi