All Chapters of Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Ava's POV I didn’t wait for the elevator. I couldn’t. The thought of being confined in that small, metallic box, forced to breathe the same recycled air as the unfeeling automatons of Blackwood Industries, was unbearable. My lungs screamed for fresh air, for space, for any reprieve from the suffocating pressure of my own unraveling. Every step through the glass hallway was a blur, my vision tunneled by unshed tears and profound exhaustion. The polished marble floor seemed to stretch endlessly, the faces of passersby flickering in and out of my peripheral vision like distorted caricatures. People turned to glance at me, their expressions shifting from curiosity to fleeting concern, then quickly looking away, uncomfortable with the raw, exposed grief I must have radiated. I didn’t care. Their judgment, their pity, meant nothing. I couldn’t breathe properly—my chest was tightening, a vice-like grip squeezing the air from my lungs. My throat was raw, constricted, like the air itself

Ava’s POV The cold water I had splashed on my face had done little to stop the storm raging inside me. My cheeks still burned with the remnants of unshed tears, and my chest felt tight, constricted, a physical manifestation of the crushing grief that threatened to overwhelm me. But I was standing. That had to count for something, a small victory in the face of utter desolation. I smoothed down my blouse with trembling hands, noting how the fabric still seemed to cling to my damp skin. I attempted to fix my hair, running my fingers through the messy strands, even though it stubbornly refused to fall neatly into its usual composed style. I applied a soft touch of lip balm, feeling its cool, minty tingle against my chapped lips—not to impress anyone, certainly not him, but because I desperately needed to feel human again. To feel like I still had some semblance of control over something, anything, in a world that had spiraled wildly out of my grasp. My heels clicked softly this time,

Ava's POV “It’s already past twelve, sir,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper, straining for composure. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday. And I still haven’t finished the work you assigned this morning, let alone the backlog from my absence.” It wasn’t a plea, just a statement of fact, a desperate attempt to appeal to some sliver of reason, some acknowledgment of my human limits. “I don’t care,” he cut me off, his tone merciless, utterly devoid of compassion. His eyes held no warmth, no flicker of understanding. “This company doesn’t run on pity or personal problems, Miss Sinclair. It runs on efficiency and results. If you wanted sympathy, if you wanted your little family drama to be indulged, perhaps you should’ve chosen another line of work. Or perhaps,” he paused, a cruel, calculating glint entering his eyes, “you should have considered the consequences of signing a contract with me.” Something inside me cracked. A deep, agonizing fissure tore through the last ve

Ava's POV “You’re not allowed to fall apart,” my wolf whispered gently, her voice a low, soothing murmur inside my head. “Not yet. Not until Eli’s okay. We must hold on. We must endure. For him.” I clenched my jaw, the muscles aching with the effort, and pushed through the next report, forcing my tired mind to focus on the numbers, the data, anything but the agonizing reality of my brother’s fragile life. The untouched coffee sat beside me, emanating a faint, pleasant warmth that slowly faded, turning cool as the minutes ticked by. Just like me. The afternoon dragged on, each minute an eternity, each task a monumental effort. My fingers, stiff and aching, flew across the keyboard, driven by a desperate, almost manic energy. The words on the screen blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. My eyes burned, gritty and dry, but I blinked away the discomfort, refusing to give in. I pushed my glasses higher on my nose, trying to gain a clearer focus, but the exhaustion was too p

Damian's POV I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, the glass in my hands tightening, my knuckles whitening against the crystal. “I’m not gambling anything, Grandmother. I have a plan. I always have a plan.” My voice was low, controlled, but an undercurrent of irritation was evident. She raised a single, imperious brow, her silver gaze dissecting me. “Do you? A plan that involves alienating the very people who could assist you? A plan that involves waiting until the eleventh hour?” Her tone was laced with skepticism, and it crawled under my skin, igniting a familiar spark of defiance. “I’ve chosen someone,” I said, the words sharp, clipped, forcing them out. “It’s handled. The arrangements are being made. She will be my wife.” She tilted her head, watching me with hawk-like precision, her eyes boring into mine. “That poor girl you’ve been tormenting in the office, the one whose brother is in the hospital, is that who you’ve chosen? Ava Sinclair?” Her voice held a not