Lahat ng Kabanata ng One More Hot Contract with the Shadow Alpha: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

CLYDE'S POV The steam is a thick, white shroud that clings to the marble and coats my lungs, making the air taste of humidity and ozone. The shower is a relentless roar, the water splashing against the tiles with a deafening rhythm. Through the haze, I see her.Coralina is a collapsed vision of ivory and silk on the wet floor. She is breathtaking—the curve of her hip, the soft arch of her waist, the way her body seems to hold the light even in this dim, humid cavern. For a split second, the man in me, the one who has been starving for her since the night of the gala, feels a surge of dark, heavy heat.Then I see the red.The smear of blood on the brass tap is like a brand on my own eyes. It trickles down her temple, a stark, jagged contrast to the paleness of her skin. The heat in my blood douses instantly, replaced by a cold, protective fury that vibrates through my teeth. My wolf isn't just snarling now; he is a wall of shadow and teeth, ready to tear the world apart for allowing h

CORALINA'S POVThe morning light is a cruel intruder. I wake with a start, my hand instinctively clutching the empty space on the mattress where that massive, grounding warmth had been only hours ago. The bed is cold. The room is silent.​My eyes fall on the nightstand. A single glass of water sits there, beads of condensation still trekking down the sides in slow, silver lines. He stayed until the last possible second. Beside it lies a slip of heavy cream cardstock. I reach for it, my fingers still slightly shaky from the remnants of the fever.​The ink is sharp, the handwriting a series of aggressive, elegant slashes. It’s a cold note. It’s a professional note. It’s the note of a man who is terrified of what he felt in the dark.​I trace the letters, feeling a strange, hollow ache in the center of my chest. It isn’t the burn of the fever; it’s the absence of his hum. My wolf is silent, curled into a ball of mourning in the back of my mind. She doesn't understand "strategic retreats.

CORALINA'S POV I can feel the weight of a thousand gazes, each one feeling like a jagged stone aimed at the red silk covering my skin. Brielle is panting, her eyes wild with the temporary high of a successful assassination. She thinks she has won. She thinks the "Gold-Digger" brand is permanent.I wait for the explosion. I wait for Clyde to unleash the terrifying, bone-shaking roar that defines the Shadow Alpha.But Clyde doesn't roar.He steps forward, the motion so fluid and calm it’s like a predator emerging from a thicket. He doesn't look at the crowd. He doesn't even look at Brielle. He steps into my personal space, his shoulder brushing mine, and when he speaks, his voice is a quiet, devastating clarity that cuts through the whispers like a surgeon’s scalpel."It’s a fascinating story, Brielle," he says. He isn't shouting, yet the room goes so silent you can hear the flickering of the candle flames. "But like most of your narratives, it suffers from a lack of truth."He turns h

CORALINA'S POV The fortress of the Far South smells of woodsmoke, old blood, and a cold so ancient it feels like it predates the sun. As I step into the Great Hall, my boots click against uneven stone—not the polished marble of the Everest estate, but raw mountain granite.The Elders wait for us in a semi-circle of shadow. They are formidable, a collection of weathered skin and sharp eyes draped in the heavy furs of mountain cats. Their chests are adorned with ancient symbols carved into bone and silver, clinking as they breathe. They don't look at Clyde with the deference of a CEO’s staff; they look at him like a wayward son who has returned with a piece of expensive, fragile luggage.Their gaze shifts to me, and the temperature in the room seems to drop another ten degrees. They take in my "city beauty"—the remnants of my polished hair, my clear skin, the way my clothes fit with tailored precision."You bring us a glass doll, Clyde," one of the Elders rasps, her voice sounding like

CORALINA'S POV The violet glow of the moon spilled through the high stone slits of the Great Hall, casting long, skeletal shadows across the granite floor. The morning after the trial, the air was different—it no longer felt like a blade at my throat, but like a heavy silk cloak. I sat on the edge of the massive stone hearth, the Eternal Flame now a steady, emerald-pulsing warmth behind me.Clyde stood by the arched entrance, his silhouette carved from the darkness of the mountains. He had discarded the leather jacket, his white shirt open at the throat, revealing the jagged lines of his own history etched in skin. The Elders had vanished into the shadows of the upper galleries, their silence more deafening than their judgment. I traced the mark on my neck, which felt less like a brand and more like a heartbeat, vibrating in perfect synchronicity with the mountain beneath us. Clyde turned, his eyes reflecting the strange, ethereal fire of the pit.There was no patience of the cold bu