MARRIED TO THE COLD-BLOODED ALPHA

Arabella Monroe's fingers traced the carved banister of the marble staircase, the weight of her mother's words still ringing in her ears.

"You will meet him tonight, Arabella. No more excuses. This family has waited long enough."

She paused, her gaze trailing across the wide corridor where light from the stained-glass windows splashed the polished floor in hues of crimson and gold. The Monroe estate was too quiet, as though the mansion itself was holding its breath.

Jasmine drifted in through the windows, blending with the lemon-scented polish coating every surface. Her sapphire gown swayed gently with her movements, shimmering beneath the chandelier light like water beneath the moonlight. Her silver heels clicked softly against marble, but even that sound felt distant, swallowed by the silence.

Her heart pounded. Twenty-one years old, and she had never truly lived for herself. Cotillions, etiquette lessons, elite boarding schools in Switzerland and France-Arabella's life had been a performance. A polished jewel raised in a glass cage, groomed to shine but never to fly.

Born after fifteen years of her parents' yearning and loss, she had always known she was more than a daughter to them-she was an heirloom. The culmination of their legacy.

And now, she was being gifted away like an antique necklace, exchanged for power and status.

As she descended the last few stairs, her gaze lifted to meet the drawing room's open double doors. Her mother stood like a portrait brought to life-immaculate, elegant, cold. Her father, tall and straight-backed, offered a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

And there, between them, stood a stranger.

Lucian Black.

He rose at her entrance, every inch of him composed, intimidating, perfect. A tailored black suit hugged his frame like armor. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a strong brow and high cheekbones that could have been carved by hand. But it was his eyes-storm-gray and unreadable that made her stop.

They held no warmth.

They held secrets.

Her father motioned toward him with the formality of a business transaction. "Arabella, meet Lucian. He's here to discuss your future."

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Lucian stepped forward, extending a gloved hand. She hesitated.

His hand waited, unmoving. Not a demand, but an inevitability.

When her fingers touched him, a chill spread up her arm-not uncomfortable, but unsettling. Like winter wind through a crack in the window.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice deep and precise. The kind of voice that didn't invite conversation but commanded it.

"Likewise," she murmured, barely audible.

Her mother moved behind her, gently guiding her forward. "Lucian comes from an old family. Established. Wealthy. Influential. You'll be in good hands."

Arabella resisted the pressure on her back, just a little. Her gaze shifted to her father, seeking... something. Reassurance. Escape. But he only nodded, the decision already made.

"I appreciate your concern for my future," she said slowly, "but I didn't agree to a marriage."

A flicker of tension passed through her mother's fingers.

"You will," came the soft reply.

Lucian said nothing, but the air around him seemed to be still. He didn't need to speak. He watched her like someone observing a portrait-not judging, just memorizing.

"This isn't a fairy tale, Arabella," her father added. "You've had many offers, but none are suitable. Lucian understands what it means to carry a legacy. He's the right choice."

She took a small step back, eyes locked on Lucian. "Do you always marry strangers?"

His lips twitched.

"Only when fate insists."

The sun had long set by the time Arabella found herself alone, seated beside her window in the east wing. Her fingers pressed to the cool glass. The stars outside twinkled through a thin mist, hazy and distant.

She thought she would cry, but the tears refused to fall. Her mind replayed the conversation on an endless loop.

Lucian. His name sounded more like an echo from an ancient novel than like a man of this world.

There was something behind his gaze. Something vast. Something... old.

The wedding happened with brutal efficiency. A cold cathedral ceremony. A priest who spoke in foreign tongues. No guests. No friends. No joy.

Lucian never hesitated. His vows were spoken with such confidence it felt rehearsed like he'd said them a hundred times before.

She, in contrast, barely remembered her voice.

It all felt like a dream-no, a ritual. One she had unwillingly participated in.

Three days later, she was whisked away on a private jet.

The landscape shifted from bustling cities to icy wilderness. Forests swallowed the roadways. Snow crept across branches like frostbite on fingertips.

Lucian's estate appeared as if summoned by the fog-a towering relic of stone and iron, surrounded by creeping vines and heavy silence.

Arabella shivered as she stepped from the car. The air bit at her skin, and not just from the cold. It felt ancient here. Like the land remembered things people had long forgotten.

The staff welcomed them in silence-no names, no smiles, no words. Just shadows moving through a museum of forgotten grandeur.

Her room was beautiful but impersonal. Every surface was polished, every corner darkened by candlelight. Like a preserved piece of the past.

Lucian left within an hour.

"Business," he said. "I won't be long."

He didn't say goodbye.

That night, Arabella returned to her window. The forest beyond the iron gates loomed like a myth waiting to be retold. Clouds shifted, revealing a silver moon that cast long shadows across the ground.

And then the howl.

Not a wolf.

Something deeper. Primal. Echoing through the woods like a call from another age.

She pressed her hand to her chest.

Then she saw it.

Two glowing eyes.

Low to the ground. Wide apart. Watching.

They blinked and were gone.

Arabella stepped back. Her mind raced.

She was not alone. Not really. The house was full of servants, after all. But she had never felt more isolated in her life.

Sleep eluded her. She sat awake, clutching the thick duvet, listening to the wind whisper against the windows.

Lucian returned at dawn.

He was pale. His suit wrinkled. His eyes are darker than night.

He didn't speak. He just nodded in passing, heading straight for his study.

The door locked behind him.

Arabella stared at the closed door.

Something was wrong.

Something had been wrong from the moment they met.

Lucian Black was not the man her parents thought he was.

He was not a man at all.

He was something else.

Something old.

Something dangerous.

And she had married him.

Now, she was trapped.