Semua Bab THE CEO'S CONTRACT LUNA : Bab 1 - Bab 9

The sheer audacity of the Rourke Tower was almost insulting. It didn't just stand against the Aethel City skyline; it dictated it. Eighty-something stories of seamless, dark glass and cold steel, designed with a ruthless efficiency that only money and absolute power could buy. As Evelyn Thorne stepped out of the taxi onto the polished granite plaza, she couldn't help but feel the building was pressing down on her, literally and metaphorically. The brutalist structure, which her architectural eye grudgingly admired, was the manifestation of the man she was about to face: Damon Rourke.​Her sensible navy-blue jacket felt threadbare, a poor armor against the cold wind whipping off the coast. In her hands, the manila folder containing the final, meticulously prepared proposal for Thorne & Sons felt impossibly light, yet also unbearably heavy. It held her grandfather's legacy, her father’s reputation, and the last shred of her own professional pride. Three generations of innovative design,

The official signing of the contract had been brutal, but the legal execution was starkly impersonal. Exactly twenty-four hours after Evie penned her name on the Alliance Pact, she found herself in a small, private chamber at the courthouse, a room furnished with nothing but a table, a few beige chairs, and the weighty presence of legality.​There was no romance, no white dress, and certainly no joy. The atmosphere was dominated by the rustle of paper and the dry drone of the judge reading through the statutory declarations. The only witnesses were Damon’s legal counsel, a severe woman with spectacles perched on her nose like a weapon, and Evie’s own newly appointed, Pack-approved lawyer, who kept his eyes fixed firmly on the contract’s financial dispersal clauses.​Evie wore a sensible black dress—a silent protest against the lavish spectacle waiting for them later. When the judge asked the critical question, “Do you, Evelyn Thorne, take Damon Rourke to be your lawful wedded husband?

​The sunrise over Aethel City was a spectacle of blinding orange and rose gold, usually a sight that filled Evie with creative energy. But from the hundredth floor of Rourke Tower, it felt less like a dawn and more like a cruel spotlight focused on her gilded cage.​Evie woke with the heavy weight of the diamond ring on her hand and the phantom ache of Damon’s dominant kiss on her lips. She dressed quickly in simple slacks and a tunic, a desperate attempt to cling to the sensible Evelyn Thorne, the architect, even though the reflection staring back was now the immaculate, high-society Luna Evelyn Rourke.​Jace, the silent sentinel, was already positioned near the living room window, a figure of absolute stillness. His presence was unnerving, an ever-present reminder that she was under guard. He moved with the quiet stealth of a large animal, requiring no space, yet dominating every cubic foot of the suite.​Her first interaction with the reality of the Pack’s influence came with break

​Evie spent the day following the strained family dinner immersed in the Silver Crescent archives. The more she read about Alpha Kellen’s ancestor, Lycanus, the more she realized that Kellen’s strategy was to attack the oldest points of Rourke’s legal foundation, hoping the modern corporate structure would crumble under the weight of historical precedent. Her logical mind found a fascinating, challenging puzzle in the mix of ancient territorial rights and twenty-first-century zoning laws.​She was in her private study, Jace standing like a statue near the door, when the sudden commotion in the main gallery interrupted her focus. A raised voice—a woman’s voice, sharp and imperious—echoed through the hallway, far exceeding the respectful tones usually permitted in the Alpha’s domain.​A moment later, Marcus appeared at Evie’s door, his face tight with controlled annoyance.​“Luna, I apologize for the intrusion. We have an unscheduled, unannounced visitor. She insisted on being brought d

​The morning after her confrontation with Marcus, Evie felt a renewed, almost fierce drive to work. The isolation of the penthouse, coupled with the heavy weight of the contract and the Beta's open suspicion, demanded that she focus on the only thing she truly controlled: her intellect. If she was going to be an indispensable weapon, she needed a battlefield.​She contacted Damon directly via the secure video link. He answered quickly, his environment suggesting he was already deep into his corporate routine—dark wood, sleek screens, and the unmistakable sound of a large office operating with quiet intensity.​“Yes, Evelyn. State your need,” he commanded, his golden eyes sharp and businesslike.​“I require meaningful work, Damon,” Evie stated, leaning toward the camera. “I am not a figurehead designed to wait for the next social function. My justification for being here is my professional capability. I need to be actively involved in countering Kellen’s legal strategy.”​Damon paused,