Semua Bab After Betrayal, I Married The Cursed Alpha King: Bab 31 - Bab 40

The party faded behind them like a dream that lingered on the skin.Draven’s hand remained at the small of Violetta’s back as they walked through the palace gates, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if to reassure himself that she was real, that this peace was real. When the guests dispersed, Draven pulled Violetta into a dark corner with a teasing smile plastered on his face. “So, what were you saying, My Queen?” Violetta furrowed her brows and acted clueless. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” She answered, and he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Let me remind you then, My Queen,” He said and pressed his lips to her plump lips. A groan escaped his throat, and Violetta’s heart fluttered. Heat pooled in her core, and she tried hard to control it. But his closeness was not making it easier for her. “F*ck! I can smell your arousal, Love. And you are not making it easier for me,” He growled and deepened the kiss. Violetta smiled and put a hand o

The hall chosen for the meeting was old—older than most of the men seated inside it. Dark wood. Stone pillars. Ancestral symbols carved into the walls like reminders that power here was inherited, not earned. Every Alpha present wore pride like armor, their Lunas seated beside them, elegant and watchful. Violetta walked in beside Draven, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm. She felt the tension ripple through the room the moment they entered. Whispers followed them. Curious. Judging. Measuring. Some still saw her as the outsider. Others as the woman who survived too much and didn’t break. A few—very few—recognized her as something more dangerous. Rafael King sat two rows ahead. Perfect posture. Calm expression. His wife sat beside him, pale but composed, her hand resting protectively over the child in her lap. A beautiful picture. A tragic lie. Violetta looked at the woman only once. That was enough. The grandfather entered last, leaning heavily on his cane, ey

She left for the Designer Competition in the morning and he wanted to accompany her but the emergency meeting held him back. He gritted his teeth when he ended the call of his assistant and told Violetta everything. He wanted to be there for her to assure her that someone was present to cheer her and to support her but this meeting... he groaned and left when she boarded the plane. He finished everything in just a day, and now, he was at the airport again because the competition will end in three days, and he only missed the first one. He still has the chance to accompany her. A smile crept on his lips with the thought of her. Who would have thought that this contractual marriage would change into something serious like this? He looked around. He was excited to see the reaction on Violetta's face when she saw him in front of her hotel. He never felt like this before today, so it was all new for her. His fingers were itching to send her a quick text but he controlled himself to

Morning light spilled through the curtains in soft silver streaks, brushing against the quiet confidence settling in Violetta’s chest. She stood before the mirror, tying her hair back with steady hands. There was no hesitation in her movements today. No doubt. The nervous girl who once shrunk under Claudia’s shadow no longer lived here. Behind her, Draven fastened his cufflinks, mask already in place. His presence grounded her—solid, unshakable. “You don’t have to come,” she said softly, though her heart hoped he would. He met her eyes in the mirror. “There is nowhere else I would be.” Something warm bloomed behind her ribs. The competition hall was fuller than the first round. Press cameras. Industry elites. Judges seated like silent gods. Contestants whispered nervously, sketchpads clutched like lifelines. Draven took his seat in the audience, arms crossed, posture composed—but his eyes never left her. When Violetta stepped onto the floor, his wolf stirred with

The hall buzzed with restless energy as the final bell echoed through the venue.Design boards stood illuminated under soft golden lights, each one carrying the soul of its creator. Contestants waited—some hopeful, some terrified, some already calculating their next move.Violetta stood very still.Her hands were clasped in front of her, posture composed, face calm—but inside, her heart beat unevenly. Too fast. Too loud. She had poured everything into that final piece. Not a strategy. Not politics. Herself.The judges gathered at the center table, murmuring among themselves. Papers were shuffled. Tablets dimmed and lit again. Minutes stretched into something uncomfortable.Finally, the head judge stepped forward.“Thank you, contestants,” he said smoothly. “The third round has concluded. Your works were… impressive.”Violetta searched his face for something—anything—genuine.Nothing.“However,” he continued, pausing just long enough to raise tension, “after careful consideration, the