Claimed By The Coldhearted Billionaire Alpha

ESSIE POV:

I forced my breathing to remain steady.

The silk sheets felt like ice against my skin, a stark contrast to the fire of terror licking up my spine. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, a spring wound to its breaking point.

I kept my eyelids sealed shut.

The air was thick with a scent that didn't belong to me. Cedar and musk, a heavy, masculine fragrance that clung to the back of my throat and made it hard to draw a full breath. It was the scent of a predator. The scent of him.

A distant, heavy door clicked open, then shut.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Footsteps echoed from downstairs. They weren't rushed. They were measured, deliberate, each one a drumbeat marking the slow approach of my fate. The sound of a lord walking through his domain.

My fists clenched under the covers, nails digging deep into my palms. The sharp sting of pain was a welcome anchor, a small, sharp point of reality in a swirling vortex of fear. It kept me from screaming. It kept me sane.

The doorknob to the bedroom turned with a soft click.

The sound ripped through the silence like a gunshot.

The door swung open. A tall, broad silhouette filled the frame, casting a long, oppressive shadow that swallowed me whole.

Damien Blackwood—my husband.

He stepped into the room, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it carelessly onto a nearby sofa. He didn't turn on the lights. The only illumination came from the sliver of moon filtering through the tall windows, leaving his face a landscape of sharp angles and deep shadows.

He walked toward the bed.

With every step, the air grew thinner, the pressure in the room building until I felt like my lungs would collapse.

He stopped at my bedside, looming over me. I could feel his gaze on my face, hot and intense. He knew. Of course, he knew. He could probably hear the frantic, terrified rhythm of my heart. The lie of my feigned sleep was pathetic against the sheer force of his presence.

He said nothing.

He just stood there, letting the silence stretch, letting his powerful Alpha aura press down on me. It was a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs, pinning me to the mattress.

I was suffocating.

My carefully constructed facade was crumbling with every second that passed.

He leaned down.

His scent washed over me, overwhelming, suffocating. A shiver I couldn't control wracked my body, a traitorous tremor that exposed my terror.

His voice, when it finally came, was a low rumble that vibrated through the mattress, through my very bones.

"How long are you going to pretend?"

My eyelashes fluttered violently.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

I was met with a pair of deep gray irises that seemed to gleam like polished steel in the darkness. They held no warmth, only a chilling, possessive intensity.

A gasp caught in my throat. I tried to shrink back, to put any distance between us, but my body was frozen, held captive by an invisible force.

He moved, but not to touch me. Not yet. He placed a hand on the mattress on either side of my body, caging me between his powerful arms. His shadow fell over me completely, blotting out the moonlight.

He looked down at me, and looked, and looked. So long that all my instincts to flee were drained away, leaving behind only a numb sort of resignation. I almost felt like I was waiting for him to make a move, to do whatever he was going to do—because there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Then, for a fleeting second, something flickered in the depths of his eyes—a softening I couldn't place, like a dark current passing beneath ice. It was as if he were looking through me, at someone else. The moment was so fleeting I almost believed I'd imagined it.

I had no memory of whatever he seemed to be searching for in my face, and the blankness there only seemed to irritate him, stoking a fire of frustration in his gaze. The brief softness tightened back into something suffocating.

All I saw was the cold assessment. The ownership.

My lips trembled, but no sound came out.

He broke the silence again, his tone laced with a cruel mockery. "You'd really do anything for that useless brother of yours, wouldn't you?"

These words pierced my deepest wounds like knives—my brother's gambling debts, the threat of family destruction, all the humiliation that forced me to wear my wedding dress and stand in this bridal chamber surged up all at once. I never willingly became his wife, but I had no way out, because only he was willing to pay that sky-high ransom for my brother's life.

So I closed my eyes, swallowed the choking in my throat, and tried my best to make my voice sound calm. "As long as he lives, I'll do anything."

The words came out slowly, each one squeezed from somewhere deep inside me. When I finished, I didn't even have the strength left to clench my jaw. My lips stayed slightly parted, too drained to close.

He reached out, and I flinched. But he didn't stop. His rough thumb brushed against my cheek, the unexpected contact sending a jolt of electricity through me. It wasn't gentle. It was an act of branding. My face looked so small in his palm, like something he could crush without effort.

"Since you're mine now," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "it's time you started fulfilling your duties as my Luna."

I didn't move.

He pulled me toward him, his strength absolute, leaving no room for escape. My arms hung limp at my sides, my fingers curled slightly but too weak to clench into fists. As he drew me in, I felt weightless—like a leaf carried along by a current, with no substance to resist.

And as his mouth descended on mine, a single, desperate tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down my temple.

I closed my eyes.

There was nothing I could do. Nothing but wait in the darkness for it all to pass.