All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Marked Mate: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The tribunal chamber was carved from black stone, its vaulted ceiling arched so high it seemed to echo with every breath. Fire braziers lined the walls, casting long, flickering shadows that turned even still statues into watching figures. A crescent-shaped table dominated the room, where the senior council of the estate’s bloodline families sat like judges waiting to pass sentence. And tonight, sentence was exactly what they hungered for. Zaria stood at Lucien’s side, not behind him — never again. She wore silver, a color that marked her tether to him, subtle but undeniable. Some eyes gleamed with curiosity at that, others with outright malice. She felt every glance like a blade. But Lucien’s hand rested loosely against the small of her back, not possessive, but steady. A reminder: they were bound. If she burned, so would he. The air carried the sharp tang of incense, meant to purify. Yet beneath it, she caught something else. Something acrid, iron-rich, like blood drying on st

The silence after the accusation was worse than thunder. The council chamber of the estate was lit by hundreds of hovering witchlights, their pale glow catching on gilded columns and tapestries that depicted the dynasty’s bloody victories. Every noble faction had sent its best—the chamber bristled with velvet and steel. Zaria stood beside Lucien at the raised dais, her heart hammering so hard she swore the entire hall could hear it. On the table before the tribunal: stained crimson, torn at the edges, marked with a black smear that pulsed faintly like shadow essence. The “evidence.” Evidence planted in her own chambers. “It was discovered in her room.” The voice that delivered the blow belonged to Lady Selene, rival matriarch of the Ashcroft branch. Every syllable dripped with satisfaction. “Proof that the outsider has consorted with the shadow creature that stalks these halls.” A hiss of whispers rippled through the chamber. Zaria’s throat felt dry, but she raised her chin, for

Selene stood at the center of that silence. Her wrists were bound in iron that shimmered faintly with wards, designed to bind not just flesh but magic. The sharp arch of her cheekbones, once a weapon in courtly smiles, now only framed eyes too wide, too frantic. She tried for composure — chin lifted, lips pressed thin — but her breathing betrayed her. Lucien did not look at her. He stood beside Zaria, hand grazing hers just enough that she could feel his pulse: steady, deliberate, as though commanding her to anchor herself to his rhythm. The Lord Valerius voice broke the stillness. “Selene of the House Ashcroft. You stand accused of consorting with the shadow that stalks this estate, of conspiring to bring ruin upon these halls, and of—” “Lies!” Selene’s voice rang sharp, brittle as cracked glass. “You twist what you do not understand. This entire charade is nothing but—” But then the torches flickered. The chamber darkened — not in the way of flame waning but as though the ver

The dawn light spilled over, gilding the tribunal chamber in a cruel parody of serenity.Every noble line of the estate had gathered. Jewels winked on collars, rings heavy with blood-oaths glinted on trembling hands. Silks rustled as bodies shifted restlessly in the gallery, and the scent of amber oil clung to the air, as though wealth itself could shield them from what was to come.And in the center, stood Caelus.The shadow wore no mortal guise now. He was stretched tall and lean, skin like ash, eyes hollow furnaces of smoldering smoke. The man who had once been a guardian, a brother to Lucien’s bloodline, now looked every inch the revenant he had become—an echo given flesh by betrayal, power, and rage.“Bind me,” he rasped, his voice carrying without effort. “Or break. No chains can hold me otherwise. No walls, no seals. Only choice.”The tribunal hushed.Zaria could hear her heartbeat against her ribs. She felt Lucien beside her, the quiet storm of his presence a weight she leaned

The morning after the feast did not feel like reprieve.It felt like a spotlight.Zaria woke in sheets so soft they seemed poured rather than woven, her body aching not from chains but from the weight of too much silk, too much gold, too much watching. The banquet had crowned her with admiration and suspicion alike. The nobility of the House of Wolfe had clinked crystal and kissed her cheeks, but their smiles were all teeth.Now, sunlight sliced through the penthouse suite, glittering off the skyline. The Wolfe estate, for all its whispers of ancient lineage, was in truth a fortress of glass and steel—an empire Lucien had built as ruthlessly as his ancestors built their courts.And outside, helicopters still circled like vultures. The press hadn’t stopped since dawn.Lucien stood at the window, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, coffee in hand. He hadn’t spoken yet, but Zaria felt the silence was not peace—it was calculation.“They know,” he finally said, his voice low. “Not of Caelus—no