Contract Marriage To The Alpha King のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

Ava’s POV The first thing I became aware of was his warmth. It was a heavy, inescapable heat, not comforting, but suffocating. His arm was draped possessively over my waist, a crushing weight that pinned me to the mattress, his breath hot and even against the back of my neck. The faint scent of him—musk, a hint of something clean, and the lingering, primal smell of our entwined bodies—filled my senses, pulling me back to the raw, visceral memories of the night. For a moment, I lay there, eyes open, staring at the faint, grey light creeping tentatively through the heavy curtains. The world outside the oppressive silence of the room was beginning to stir, but for me, time felt suspended. And then, with a horrifying rush, everything came flooding back: the brutal intensity of his hands, his voice, rough and demanding, the terrifying way he’d claimed me over and over, like I was nothing more than property, a body to be taken, a will to be broken. The raw, searing pain of his possession

Ava’s POV The heavy door of the luxury car shut behind me with a dull, resonant thunk, the sound sealing me inside the suffocating silence of the cabin. It wasn't truly silent, of course; the muffled hum of the engine, the distant whisper of city traffic, and the frantic drum of my own heartbeat filled the space. But in here, everything felt muted, oppressed. The cool, supple leather seats provided no comfort, only a stark reminder of the opulence of my gilded cage. The faint, masculine scent of cedar and Damian's specific cologne clung to every surface, saturating the air, an invisible, inescapable declaration of his pervasive presence. It was his space, his scent, his dominion. I slid as far toward the tinted window as possible, pressing my shoulder against the cool glass, desperate for any sliver of personal space. My hands were clasped tightly in my lap, knuckles white, fingers intertwined so fiercely that they ached, a futile attempt to steady the tremor that ran through

Ava’s POV The morning at the office started with silence—the kind that stretched thin and brittle, making the very air feel heavy and suffocating, vibrating with an unspoken tension. It was the calm before a storm, a stillness so profound it hummed with menace. Damian walked ahead of me, a dark, formidable presence, like a storm barely contained within the perfectly tailored confines of his suit. His jaw was set so hard it looked like the bone might crack under the immense pressure, his profile a chiseled mask of barely restrained fury. I trailed behind him, a few steps back, my heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor of the executive level, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed corridor. My eyes were fixed on the intricate patterns of the tiles, pretending not to feel the pervasive weight of everyone’s stares, the quick, averted glances, the palpable fear that preceded his every entrance. The hushed whispers died as we passed, replaced by an almost reverent silenc

Damian’s POV The raw, metallic tang of blood still clung to my skin, an iron-rich scent that mixed unsettlingly with the faint, sophisticated cologne I’d applied this morning. It was a potent, visceral reminder of the unleashed beast within, a testament to the brief, violent rupture in my meticulously cultivated control. My right hand, a dull throb beneath the freshly applied bandage, pulsed with a rhythm that mirrored the lingering echoes of the confrontation. Ava had wrapped it—too tight at first, her fingers trembling visibly, then hesitating, pulling back, only to continue with a focused determination as she tried to make it right. Her hands had shaken, yes, but she hadn’t run. She had stayed. That was… unexpected. Truly unexpected. A variable I hadn't accounted for in my calculations. I sat in my high-backed leather chair, the polished mahogany desk between us now marred with faint, iridescent smudges of crimson, glistening subtly in the sharp morning light. The scattered pap

Ava’s POV The city streets, usually a vibrant tapestry of noise and motion, were unnervingly quiet at this hour, a stark contrast to the chaotic turmoil churning within me. And yet, despite the relative silence, the air still felt heavy—suffocating—as though his pervasive presence was chasing me, clinging to my very skin, even here, miles from his watchful eyes. I pulled my thin coat tighter around myself, the fabric offering no real comfort against the biting chill that had settled deep in my bones, a cold knot of dread that now resided permanently in my chest. My heels clicked against the cracked, uneven sidewalk, each sharp sound a frantic drumbeat against the quiet, urging me faster, urging me to outrun the inevitable. I hadn’t meant to leave the office like that. Not really. It was an impulsive, desperate act. But when his voice had barked my name over the intercom earlier, the sound rattling through my office, summoning me, when I remembered the way his hand had bled, th