Chapter 4

Elenor POV

The lock of his cage had just clicked shut in my mind, but my body was still frozen against the freezing edge of the marble counter. I stared at the bold letters on the document-*MATE-BINDING & PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT*-my vision swimming.

"Why?" The word barely scraped past my throat. I looked up into his ruthless, charcoal eyes. "Out of all the females in the world, why me?"

Damien's gaze swept over me, analytical and entirely devoid of warmth. He looked at me the way a billionaire evaluated a distressed asset. "You, a wolfless from a rival Pack, with no political standing, are the perfect, uncomplicated solution to this diplomatic incident. Your lack of connections makes you... efficient."

Efficient.

The word sliced through my chest with surgical precision. It felt exactly like Caleb Thornton's cruel voice echoing in my head, calling me a charity case in front of his entire Pack. To Caleb, I was garbage to be discarded. To the Lycan King standing before me, I was just a convenient tool. A blank slate to be used and erased. The familiar, suffocating humiliation of being absolutely nothing threatened to drown me.

Damien's eyes narrowed slightly. He noticed my flinch. He noticed everything.

Instead of backing away, he leaned closer. The intoxicating, heavy scent of sharp cedarwood, a raging rainstorm, and rich Cuban tobacco wrapped around me, short-circuiting my panic.

"It is a two-year contract," Damien murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, velvety register meant only for me. "When it ends, you walk away with an eight-figure trust fund. Enough money to ensure you and your brother, Jamison, never have to scrape by again."

My breath hitched at Jamison's name. He had investigated me thoroughly.

Damien's large hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, trapping me completely. "As my Mate, my Luna, you will never again be a wolfless charity case. You will be the Luna of the Blackwood Pack. No one will ever dare to look down on you again."

A tear slipped down my cheek. He had found the deepest, most bleeding wound in my soul and offered the exact cure I had spent my entire life begging for. Protection. Respect. A future for my brother.

My trembling fingers reached out. Damien immediately placed a heavy, solid gold Montblanc pen into my palm.

I didn't read the pages. I couldn't. Blinded by a toxic mix of trauma, exhaustion, and the desperate need to escape my pathetic past, I signed my name on the dotted line. Elenor Harmon.

The second the ink dried, I looked up. For a fraction of a heartbeat, a flash of raw, unfiltered, feral fervor ignited in Damien's eyes. It was a terrifying, predatory hunger that made my blood run cold. But before I could process it, the mask of the cold, calculating CEO slammed back into place.

He snatched the document, turned on his heel, and strode over to a titanium safe embedded in the wall. *Click.* The heavy metal door sealed shut.

"Go shower," Damien commanded, his tone suddenly brisk and entirely devoid of the seductive warmth from a moment ago. "There is a white dress laid out on the bed in the master suite. Put it on."

I blinked, my mind struggling to keep up with his whiplash-inducing shift in demeanor. "A dress? For what?"

"We are going to City Hall," he stated, checking the heavy Rolex on his wrist. "We have exactly two hours."

"Two hours?" Panic clawed its way back up my throat. "Today? You want to get married *today*?"

Damien turned to face me, his jaw set in stone. "The Pack Elders and my rivals are already circling. We must make this union official before they can interfere."

He didn't leave room for argument. The sheer force of his Alpha aura pushed against me, a silent demand for obedience. I was entirely powerless. In less than twelve hours, my life had been violently ripped from my hands and rewritten by a man I didn't even know.

Numbly, I pushed myself off the marble counter and walked toward the bedroom, the ticking of his watch echoing in my ears like a countdown to my own execution.