All Chapters of BRIDE FOR RENT IS MY FATED MATE.: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Rebecca’s POV “I’m sorry that all these things are happening when we’re supposed to be having the time of our lives,” Donald said quietly after Koa had left. He had insisted on reporting the men to the local authorities himself, memorizing every face, every scar, and every tattoo. Koa had nodded gravely, promised swift action, and disappeared into the night.I reached up and touched Donald’s cheek. “It’s fine, baby. All that matters is that we’re here together. I would’ve felt bad if I was here all by myself while you went fighting monsters. This doesn’t change the fact that this is one of the best moments of my life.”He looked down at me, eyes soft in the dim light of the villa. “How did I get so lucky? Landing such a jewel?”I laughed, the sound surprising me because it felt light despite everything. “I’m a goddess, remember?”“Oh, that’s true,” he said, grinning now. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”“Tomorrow’s our last day here,” I reminded him, resting my head against his chest. “Wh

Rebecca’s POVI stared at Damon across my desk, the city skyline glittering behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The office felt suddenly smaller, and it made the air thicker. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since my secretary buzzed to say he was here. Now he was sitting in the leather chair opposite me, legs crossed, smiling in an easy, dangerous way. One he used to flash when he wanted something.“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl, like he was trying to keep the anger from spilling over.“I’m sorry, Damon. Don’t forget you sold me. I didn’t walk out the door myself. You handed me over to someone and got paid for it. You made a decision for my life without caring how it made me feel then.”He tilted his head, a mocking little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Point of correction, baby girl. I rented you out. Not sold. There’s a big difference.”“What difference does it make?” My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated myself

Damon's POVThe dim glow of neon lights flickered across the cracked pavement outside the bar, casting erratic shadows that danced like mocking specters under my heavy footsteps. I had driven all over the place since I left Rebecca’s office, and now I was here.My mind was a whirlwind, replaying every sharp word Rebecca had thrown at me earlier that evening, each one slicing deeper into the raw wound of my ego.“You belong to me, and no one else,” I had snarled at her, leaning on that pristine wooden table in her fancy office, but now, as I pushed through the scarred wooden door of O'Malley's Pub, those words felt hollow, echoing in the empty chambers of my regret.The air inside hit me like a stale punch. It was thick with the scent of spilled beer, cigarette smoke clinging to the walls, and the low murmur of forgotten souls nursing their sorrows at the scarred oak counter.I slid onto a stool at the far end, away from the cluster of regulars laughing too loudly at jokes that weren't

RowanThe grand hall felt colder tonight, even with the fire burning low in its iron cradle. Blue flames licked at the dragon-bone throne, casting long, shivering shadows that seemed to crawl toward me across the flagstones. I had come here alone after the last council meeting, telling myself it was only to think, to breathe, to remind myself that the seat still belonged to Donald. But the truth was heavier and it was that every time I entered this chamber, the throne pulled at something inside me, a silent, insistent summons I could no longer pretend not to hear.Two sets of footsteps echoed from the arched corridor, slow, measured, and deliberate. I knew them before the figures appeared. Elder Magnus, leaning on his yew staff like a man carrying the weight of centuries and Councilman Thalos, armored in an adamant plate that gleamed dully even in this dim light, his cloak chains whispering with every step. They had requested this private audience at dusk, insisting it could not wait

THIRD PERSON POVThe soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm halo across the luxurious suite of Donald’s penthouse, the city lights beyond the window shimmering faintly in the quiet of the late night. The air was calm, almost deceptively peaceful, as though the world itself had paused to allow the king and his queen a few rare moments of rest.Donald stood near the window, the communication crystal in his hand slowly dimming as the call ended.Behind him, Rebecca pushed herself up on the bed, the silk sheets rustling softly around her as she watched him with concern.“Was that Rowan?” she asked.Her voice carried the gentle sleepiness of someone who had been drifting toward rest before the conversation pulled her back to full awareness.Donald slipped the crystal onto the table beside the bed before turning toward her.“Yes,” he replied.Rebecca studied his expression carefully. She had come to recognize the subtle shifts in Donald’s face, the quiet tension in his shoulders whenever