His Defiant Luna: The Lycan King's Contract Bride

Alexa POV

A thin layer of cold fog clung to the windows of my Audi, blurring the lights of JFK like ghosts drifting through the night. The icy glass mirrored the numbness slowly creeping into my chest.

I had been sitting alone in the private aviation parking lot for nearly an hour, waiting for my fiancé, Floyd, whose flight from London had been delayed yet again.

My fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against the leather steering wheel, each beat matching the steady tick of the Patek Philippe wrapped around my wrist.

Every passing second stretched tighter than the last.

The silence inside the car was suffocating.

Suddently,my phone suddenly vibrated against the center console.The sharp buzz sliced through the silence like a blade.

I glanced down.

High-Priority Security Alert.The notification came from the dashcam in my Range Rover.

My heartbeat stumbled.That SUV wasn't supposed to be anywhere near JFK. It should have been sitting safely in the VIP parking garage of an upscale restaurant in Manhattan.

A security breach?My brows knitted together.

That garage had some of the city's best security, but this was Manhattan. Expensive things disappeared every day.

Suppressing the uneasy feeling rising in my chest, I tapped the notification.

The video feed loaded, illuminating the dark, leather interior of the SUV. The streetlights outside cast a sickly yellow glow through the windows. First, my eyes caught the limited-edition emerald Birkin bag I had just bought for my sister, Charlotte, sitting innocently on the passenger seat. Then, the camera's audio, tuned to pick up even the quietest sound within the vehicle, captured a wet, sickening gasp from the backseat.

I froze. My blood turned to ice as the night-vision lens revealed Floyd and Charlotte, tangled together in the shadows.

Floyd, my fiancé. The man who would kiss my eyes every time before we parted, saying "I love you."

His face was twisted by raw, unrestrained passion—a look I had never seen on his face before. His shirt buttons were undone, and his belt was loosened.

Then, Charlotte's face also came into view. Her hands were twisted in Floyd's hair. Charlotte leaned forward, her lips lightly brushing against Floyd's chin, her mouth slightly open, breath unsteady.

"Tell me, I'm better than her," Charlotte whispered. "Tell me, I'm better than Alexa."

Floyd took a sharp breath, his voice hoarse. "That's you. Oh my god, that's you. She has never——she's so cold compared to you. You have everything she doesn't have."

Charlotte laughed—a low, triumphant laugh. "Then why are you still engaged to her?"

"Because of family reasons," Floyd said, grabbing her buttocks with both hands. “But what I want is you. Always you.”

A strong wave of nausea washed over me.But I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply watched, my face impassive, as the three years of my life crumbled to ash on the screen.

With a steady hand, I saved the high-definition footage to my secure cloud server.

Then, I scrolled through my contacts and dialed my head of pack security. "This is Alexa Maxwell," I said, my voice flat, a metallic quality to it I barely recognized.

"My Range Rover is in the VIP lot at The Mark. I need you to have it towed to a scrapyard and crushed into a cube. Tonight. I don't want a single piece of it left."

I hung up as a text from Floyd popped onto my screen: London weather is a nightmare. Flight delayed again. Wait a bit longer for me.Babe.

The audacity of the lie was breathtaking. A cold, humorless smile touched my lips. I stared at the screen, the words blurring for a moment before I shoved the phone into my pocket. I needed air. If I stayed in this car for another minute, I might tear the steering wheel from the dashboard.

I pushed open the heavy door and marched toward the terminal, the click of my heels a sharp countdown on the asphalt.

Blinded by a suffocating, narrow rage, I stormed through the polished marble corridor of the VIP lounge. I had no idea what was around me; my world had shrunk to the cold marble floor beneath my feet and the searing heat of betrayal in my chest. I didn't see the towering figure stepping out of the shadows until it was too late.

I slammed face-first into a chest as hard as solid steel. The impact knocked the air from my lungs. My phone flew from my hand, skittering across the polished floor, and my ankles wobbled as I began to fall backward. I braced myself for the humiliating crash to the ground.

But it never came.

Instead, a massive, calloused hand clamped around my waist, pulling me against a solid wall of muscle with terrifying ease. The moment his skin touched mine, a violent, electric shockwave ripped through my body. I gasped, my knees buckling as a million hot sparks ignited along my nerve endings, an overwhelming, primal force that bypassed every rational thought.

Then, the scent hit me.

It was an intoxicating, suffocating blend of expensive tobacco, sharp cedarwood, and absolute, freezing ice, a scent that clawed into my very soul. For the first time in my entire life, the dormant White Wolf buried deep inside me stirred, letting out a faint, trembling whimper of recognition. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, not just from shock, but from a desperate, instinctual urge to submit.

I looked up into a pair of the most predatory, abyssal eyes I had ever seen. The man was a god carved from lethal shadows. His sharp jawline tightened, and a low, possessive growl vibrated in his broad chest, echoing against my own.

His assistant, a handsome man in a dark red velvet suit, stood motionless a few feet away, holding two cups of coffee. He stared at the stranger's hand placed on my waist, his eyes filled with extreme shock, as if he had witnessed an act that defied the natural order. I saw his mouth open and heard his rapid breathing. Instinctively, I realized this man had never had contact with anyone.

The sheer, crushing weight of his Lycan aura terrified me. It was a force of nature, demanding my complete surrender. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. Every cell in my body screamed at me to obey, to stay. But I was Alexa Maxwell. I did not submit.

"Let go of me," I choked out, shoving my trembling hands against his chest. The words sounded weak, even to my own ears.

He released me slowly, his fingers lingering on my waist for a fraction of a second, as if memorizing the curve of my hip. I didn't wait to see the dark calculation brewing in his eyes. I stumbled back, smoothing the front of my coat with hands I forced to be steady. My throat felt dry as I tore my gaze away from him and walked past him to retrieve my fallen phone from the floor.

I could feel his stare on my back. It was a physical weight.