Chapter 4 The Contract Bride

Selena’s hand shook as the velvet folder lay open between them, the pen heavy in her grasp. The sleek contract gleamed under the car’s interior light, a mockery of choice. The words blurred through her tears. Marriage. Bond. Protection.

Damian’s voice was low, commanding. “Sign, Selena.”

Her throat worked, dry and aching. “This is insane. You can’t just—”

“I can,” he cut in, cold as steel. “And I am. You’ll be safer under my name than you’ll ever be under the Goddess’ mercy.”

“I don’t want your name!” Her voice cracked, too fragile against his certainty. “I want my life back.”

He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the weight of his gaze. “Your life as you knew it is gone. Adrian made sure of that when he humiliated you. Every wolf who saw your rejection is waiting for your blood. Victor Kane won’t hesitate to take you.”

The name sent a chill down her spine. Victor Kane—the predator whispered about in every pack, ruthless in his hunger for power.

Her hand trembled over the page. “Why me? Why do you even care?”

Damian’s mouth curved in a humorless line. “Care? Don’t mistake me, little wolf. This is not kindness. This is strategy. You’re under my protection because I’ve decided you’re mine now. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Selena’s heart lurched. His words were knives, sharp enough to cut away hope, yet the way his eyes pinned her—icy, burning, unrelenting—left her unable to look away.

Her breath came shallow, ragged. “I’ll regret this.”

“Probably,” Damian said without hesitation. “But you’ll be alive to regret it. That’s more than I can promise otherwise.”

The pen touched paper. Her name crawled across the line, shaky but binding. Selena Frost. No longer her own.

Damian’s hand swept the contract back, snapping the folder closed with finality. “Good girl.”

The words scorched her ears.

The car engine roared to life, smooth and powerful as the vehicle devoured the winding road. Selena sank into the leather seat, numb, her hands clenched in her lap. Every mile pulled her farther from the only life she’d ever known, even if it had been filled with pain.

The silence between them was thick, broken only by the hum of the tires. She found herself stealing glances at him—the rigid line of his jaw, the calm control radiating from every movement.

Finally, she whispered, “Where are you taking me?”

Damian didn’t look at her. “Home.”

Her pulse jumped. “To your… pack?”

A pause, then a shadow of something unreadable in his tone. “To my house.”

The word house didn’t do justice to what loomed before them when the car turned through wrought iron gates. A mansion rose from the darkness like it had been carved out of shadow and glass—towering walls, sleek windows, light spilling onto immaculate stone. Isolated, fortress-like, dripping with wealth and menace.

Selena swallowed hard. It looked less like a home and more like a warning.

The car rolled to a stop at the front entrance. The doors opened as if by unseen command, and staff emerged—impeccably dressed, moving with silent precision. Their eyes flickered over her torn gown, her dirt-streaked skin. And then, in unison, they bowed slightly.

“Welcome, Mrs. Blackthorne.”

The words struck her like a slap.

Selena’s lips parted. “What did you call me?”

One of the staff, an older man with sharp eyes, repeated without hesitation. “Mrs. Blackthorne.”

Selena stumbled a step back, shaking her head. “No. That’s… I didn’t—”

Damian’s hand rested lightly at her back, guiding her forward with quiet authority. “Get used to it.”

The staff parted like water as he led her inside. The mansion glowed with cold beauty—marble floors, sweeping staircases, walls of glass that revealed the forest stretching endlessly beyond. Everything gleamed, yet it felt untouched, like a gallery. Beautiful, but hollow.

Selena whispered, “It’s a cage.”

Damian’s sharp gaze slid to her. “It’s a fortress. Learn the difference.”

He motioned to a woman in tailored black attire. “Show her to her room.”

The woman bowed her head. “Yes, Alpha.”

Alpha. The title hung heavy in the air.

Selena followed stiffly as she was led up the stairs, her shoes clicking faintly against polished marble. The corridor stretched long, lined with paintings and silver sconces. At the end, a set of double doors opened to reveal a room fit for a queen—soft cream walls, a canopy bed draped in velvet, gold-thread curtains swaying in the night breeze.

Her breath caught. Luxurious… but wrong.

“This will be your quarters,” the woman said smoothly. “Everything has been prepared for you, Mrs. Blackthorne.”

Selena shook her head, almost laughing. “Stop calling me that.”

The woman blinked once, as if puzzled, then inclined her head. “Of course, ma’am.”

When the door shut behind her, Selena sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. The room was too soft, too perfumed, too far from the earth she’d bled into hours ago. She should have felt relief. Safety. Instead, the silence pressed down like chains .

She sat there until the weight of exhaustion dragged at her bones. But just as her body began to surrender, a sound sliced through the stillness.

A growl. Low, guttural. Not human.

Selena froze, heart leaping to her throat. She lifted her head, listening.

Another growl, deeper this time, reverberated through the floorboards. It wasn’t just anger—it was feral, wild, something primal that made the hairs on her arms rise.

She slipped off the bed, her bare feet soundless against the rug. The growls grew louder, echoing down the hall like they came from the belly of the mansion itself .

Curiosity battled fear, driving her forward. She crept into the corridor, every shadow a threat. The sound drew her farther, until she reached a section of the hall that was darker, colder, lined with iron sconces instead of silver.

At the end stood a door—heavy, reinforced with iron, scarred as if something had clawed at it. The growls shook through the wood, raw and violent.

Selena’s pulse raced. She should turn back. She should lock herself in her room. But something compelled her closer, until she pressed her palm against the cold iron.

She leaned in, ear to the door.

The growls twisted, shifting into something half-formed, half-human. Words, buried beneath the beast.

Her blood turned to ice.

“Selena…”

It was Damian’s voice.

But not the one she had heard in the car. This one was ragged, monstrous, laced with a snarl that didn’t belong to a man at all.

Selena jerked back, breath stuttering. Her fingers trembled against the iron, her heart a drumbeat of terror

and disbelief.

Behind the door, Damian’s voice broke again, guttural and torn by something inhuman.

“Mine.”