Lahat ng Kabanata ng Contract Marriage To The Alpha King : Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Ava's POV My fingers shook violently, an uncontrollable tremor that intensified with every page. I signed the pages one by one, my name, Ava Sinclair, flowing onto the crisp white paper. Line after line. Page after page. Each scrawl of ink felt like a drop of my own blood, each signature a severing. With every stroke, I felt something in me unravel, detach, float away. My freedom. My future. My very name. Ava Sinclair, soon to be erased, replaced by his. When I finished, the pen finally dropping from my nerveless fingers, I pushed the contract across the desk with a faint, scraping sound. The stack of papers, now irrevocably binding, slid toward him like a surrender. He picked it up without a word, his movements precise, unhurried. His eyes, sharp and practiced, scanned through it, confirming the signatures, the legalities. Then, with an air of finality, he placed it neatly into a sleek, dark leather folder, as if tucking away a valuable acquisition. And then… he smirked. Tha

Ava's POV The world around me had narrowed into the stark, almost blinding white glow of the screen in front of me. The cursor blinked with a maddeningly slow rhythm, like a failing heartbeat, and my fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, typing words I no longer processed. My head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, a constant companion, and my eyes burned, gritty and dry, but I kept going. The work was a shield, a numb, relentless distraction from the crushing weight in my chest—the agonizing ache of Eli’s silence, the hollow void Damian’s contract had left behind, a chasm that threatened to swallow me whole. The office had mostly emptied, leaving behind a hushed, almost eerie quiet. I didn’t hear the footsteps. Not the soft scuff of expensive leather on carpet, not the subtle creak of floorboards. Didn’t feel the air shift, didn’t register the faint, familiar scent of his expensive cologne. Not until his voice, sharp and precise, sliced through the room like a blade

Ava's POV The boutique was immaculate. Every surface gleamed, reflecting the warm, golden light cast by the elaborate chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling like glittering constellations. Polished marble floors stretched out beneath my feet, pristine and cold, reflecting my own pale, exhausted reflection. Velvet-lined cases, meticulously arranged, formed elegant displays along the walls, each one a silent stage for rings that sparkled with an almost blinding opulence, their silent gleam whispering of impossible wealth, of generations of old money that bought beauty without effort. The air itself smelled faintly of expensive perfume, a cloying floral scent mingled with the subtle, distinct aroma of old money—a dry, almost metallic scent of privilege and power. I followed Damian inside, a single step behind him, keeping my chin lifted even as the sting of his cruel words from the car still echoed in the hollow cavern of my mind. His presence was commanding, effortlessly so, fil

Ava's POV The moment the front door clicked shut behind me, the soft, mundane sound resonated like a final, irrevocable sealing of my fate. I didn't even make it past the small entryway. My legs gave out, and I crumbled, the carefully constructed facade of composure shattering into a thousand pieces around me. My fingers, still shockingly cold, instinctively curled into a fist, pressing the engagement ring into my palm. It felt alien, heavy—a cold, hard symbol of something I hadn’t chosen, a bond forged not out of love or mutual desire, but out of desperation, cynical manipulation, and the brutal instinct for survival. It glittered, even in the dim light of the hallway, mocking my despair. I stood there in the narrow hallway, enveloped by the encroaching darkness, the silence of the apartment pressing in, almost painful in its stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging within me. My handbag, still clutched loosely in my numb fingers, slipped from my shoulder and hit the polished wo

Ava's POV The gown lay on the bed like a silent, shimmering warning. Its pristine, ethereal beauty was a stark contrast to the churning dread in my stomach. It was made of pale cream silk, its fabric flowing like liquid moonlight, intricately woven with tiny pearls along the sleeves and delicate lace that cascaded like whispers. It looked like something that belonged in a fairytale, draped over a bed in a sun-drenched tower. But this wasn't a fairytale. This was a cage, exquisitely dressed in silk, waiting to snap shut. Today. It was today. The Mate Ceremony. The ancient, binding ritual that would irrevocably tie me to Damian Blackwood. Not in spirit, not in love, not in any form of genuine connection—but in law, in legacy, and in his absolute control. My stomach churned, a cold knot tightening with every beat of my heart. I stood frozen at the edge of the bed, the opulent fabric gleaming under the morning light filtering through the wide, arched windows of the guest suite. The