Todos os capítulos de One More Hot Contract with the Shadow Alpha: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

CORALINA'S POV The heavy thud of the oak doors echoing through the registry hall is the only sound that remains after Maximus is dragged out. The silence that follows is thick, pressurized, and smelling faintly of the ozone his desperate Alpha scent left behind. I stand at the altar, my fingers curled so tightly around my bouquet that the stems of the white lilies begin to bruise. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic, jagged rhythm, but it isn’t the heartbeat of a bride. It is the adrenaline of a survivor who has just watched her past be forcibly evicted.Beside me, Clyde is a statue of terrifying calm. He hasn't moved a muscle since he threw the final verbal blow at his nephew. His profile is sharp, carved from shadow and indifference. He doesn't look at the doors, and he doesn't look at the whispering guests. He simply turns his gaze to the pastor, who is pale and clutching his prayer book as if it’s a shield.Clyde gives a single, curt nod. "Continue," he rumbles. His

CORALINA'S POV The sun hasn't quite crested the horizon when I wake, but the room is already filled with a sharp, pre-dawn grey. I reach out instinctively, my hand brushing against the silk pillowcase beside mine.It’s cold.I shift, my eyes tracing the shallow indentation in the fabric where Clyde’s head rested. He was here. For a few hours, the Shadow Alpha was a steady, rhythmic breath in the dark, a heat source that made the vastness of this suite feel a little less like a gilded cage. Now, there is only the lingering, faint scent of sandalwood and the unsettling silence of an empty room.A strange, hollow disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach. It’s a ridiculous sensation—one I immediately crush with the weight of cold logic. We are business partners. We are signatories to a high-stakes merger. I shouldn't be looking for the warmth of a man who views our marriage as a tactical maneuver. I sit up, the satin of my pajamas whispering against the sheets, and force myself to

CORALINA'S POV The morning air in the Alpha’s study is cool and smells of old leather, parchment, and the lingering, sharp scent of Clyde’s sandalwood. I haven't slept more than four hours, my mind still buzzing with the lines of code I laid into the Aegis-Locate honeypot, but I cannot remain in that bed once the sun is up. The mattress is slightly sunken in the place where Maximus has left vacant, and the white sheets seem to be asking a question I’m not ready to answer yet. Instead, I have retreated to the study, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of the Archives. My fingers trace the spines of heavy, cloth-bound ledgers. If I am to be the Luna of this pack, even if it is a role only in name, I need to understand the bedrock I’m standing on. “The histories of the Far South are not easily digested on an empty stomach, Luna.” I jump, nearly dropping a thick volume on the Treaties of the Frost Era. Mr. Henderson, the head butler, stands in the doorway. Unlike Thomas, who is a

BRIELLE'S POVThe candlelight flickers against the crystal flutes, casting long, elegant shadows across the table. I adjust the lace of my obsidian-black lingerie, ensuring the silk robe hangs just open enough to be a promise rather than a display. Perfection is a chore, but for a woman like me, it is a mandatory one.I’ve been waiting for three hours. The vintage Bordeaux I opened at eleven is now breathing a bit too deeply, much like my patience. For the last two days… ever since that wretched Solaris launch gala, Maximus has been a ghost. Oh, he’s physically present, but his eyes are vacant, filled with a haunting sort of longing that makes my skin crawl. It’s as if he’s lost something precious, something he only just realized had value.I know that look. It’s the look of a man grieving a shadow."Is the duck l'orange ready?" I call out, my voice smooth and melodic. I don't raise it; a future Luna doesn't screech at the help."Yes, Miss Brielle," the cook murmurs from the kitchen.

CORALINA'S POV The steam from the Great Frost Stew rises in thick, aromatic plumes, momentarily blurring my vision as I watch the kitchen through the distorted lens of my phone. I am tucked away in the shadows of the dry-pantry, the laptop hum tucked into my satchel, but my eyes are locked on the grainy security feed I synced ten minutes ago.I see her.The "sick attendant" with the charcoal mask moves with a frantic, jerky energy that has nothing to do with a lung fever. She reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a small, white packet. My blood turns to ice as I watch her pry up the lid of the primary Blessing Pot—the dish I personally prepared for the High Elders.I don’t wait. I move.I step out of the shadows just as she begins to sprinkle the fine white powder over the dark, rich gravy. My hand clamps around her wrist like an iron vice. The force of my grip sends the remaining powder fluttering onto the floor like poisoned snow."You’re a little late for seasoning, don't you thi