The Rolls-Royce glided through London's evening traffic with the smooth silence that only unlimited wealth could buy. I sat rigidly in the leather seat, hyperaware of Damon's presence beside me as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows. The mate bond hummed between us like a live wire, making every breath feel charged with electricity.
Neither of us had spoken since leaving the church, but I could feel his storm-blue eyes studying me with the intensity of a predator analyzing prey. Through our newly formed connection, I sensed his controlled fury, his confusion, and underneath it all—a possessive protectiveness that made my wolf Luna pace restlessly within my mind.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"My penthouse," Damon replied, his Scottish accent more pronounced now that we were alone. "It's time we had a proper conversation about exactly who I married today."
The way he said 'who' rather than 'what' sent ice through my veins. He knew. Somehow, despite Helena's perfect transformation, he had figured out that something was wrong.
Twenty minutes later, the Rolls pulled up to Canary Wharf's most exclusive residential tower. The building rose into the London sky like a glass and steel monument to power, its surface reflecting the lights of the financial district. Even the lobby screamed wealth—marble floors that probably cost more than most people's houses, modern art installations that belonged in museums, and security personnel who looked more like special forces operatives than doormen.
"Mr. Silverstone," the concierge greeted us with the kind of deference reserved for royalty. "Welcome home. The champagne and flowers have been delivered to the penthouse as requested."
Damon nodded curtly, placing his hand on the small of my back to guide me toward the private elevator. His touch sent another jolt through our mate bond, and I saw his jaw tighten in response to the sensation.
The elevator rose smoothly to the top floor, the numbers climbing higher than I had ever been in my life. When the doors opened directly into Damon's penthouse, I couldn't suppress a small gasp.
The space was magnificent in its understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of London that stretched from the Thames to the distant hills beyond the city. The interior was a study in masculine elegance—dark woods, rich fabrics, and clean lines that spoke of impeccable taste and unlimited resources.
Modern art decorated the walls, pieces I recognized from auction house catalogs that sold for millions. A piano sat in one corner, its black surface reflecting the city lights like a mirror. Everything was perfect, controlled, and coldly beautiful.
Just like the man who owned it.
"Drink?" Damon asked, moving to a bar cart that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
"I don't think that's wise," I replied, watching as he poured himself three fingers of what looked like very expensive whiskey.
He turned to face me, those penetrating blue eyes missing nothing as they swept over my transformed appearance. "No, I suppose clarity would be better for this conversation."
The way he said it made my stomach clench with dread.
Damon moved closer, each step deliberate and predatory. The power that radiated from him filled the space like a tangible presence, making my wolf want to either submit or run. I chose neither, lifting my chin and meeting his gaze directly.
"Let's start with something simple," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "What's your real name?"
My mouth went dry. "I don't know what you mean."
His laugh was completely devoid of humor. "Please. I've built a business empire worth twelve billion pounds by reading people, and you are definitely not who you're pretending to be."
He began to circle me slowly, like a shark scenting blood in the water. "The real Isabelle Blackwood is confident to the point of arrogance. She never would have met my eyes during the ceremony—she would have been too busy calculating what she could gain from the marriage."
My heart hammered against my ribs as his analysis hit uncomfortably close to the truth.
"She certainly wouldn't have stared me down like she was ready for war," he continued. "And she absolutely wouldn't have made the mate bond snap into place like a lightning strike."
I tried to back away, but found myself trapped between Damon and the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over London's glittering skyline.
"The mate bond doesn't lie," Damon said quietly, echoing my earlier thoughts with unsettling accuracy. "It forms between true partners, not strangers playing roles. So I'll ask you again—what is your real name?"
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed urgently in the small clutch purse I carried. Then again. And again. The sound echoed through the penthouse like gunshots.
With trembling fingers, I pulled out the device to find dozens of text messages from an unknown number. My blood turned to ice as I read the first few:
I know who you really are.
Did you think I wouldn't recognize you at your own wedding?
You can't hide behind that disguise forever, Seraphina.
He doesn't know what he's married, does he?
I'm coming to get you back.
You belong to me, not him.
I'll kill him before I let him have you.
Damon noticed my expression and plucked the phone from my nerveless fingers before I could protest. His face darkened as he scrolled through the increasingly threatening messages.
"Adrian Cross," he said, recognizing the number from the contact information. "The heir to Cross Industries. The man who was supposed to marry Isabelle until he called off the engagement this morning."
He looked up at me with those storm-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through to my soul. "He called you Seraphina. Twice."
There was no point in denying it anymore. The truth was written in the threatening messages, in Adrian's desperate calls from the church, in the way the mate bond had formed between us despite this being an arranged marriage.
"Seraphina," I whispered, the name feeling strange on my lips after hours of pretending to be someone else. "Seraphina Blackwood."
Damon's eyebrows rose slightly. "Blackwood. Victor's other daughter."
"His illegitimate daughter," I corrected, hating how small the words made me feel. "Isabelle refused to marry you, so Victor forced me to take her place. The Silverstone family had never met either of us in person, so he thought no one would notice the substitution."
Something shifted in Damon's expression—not anger, as I had expected, but something that looked almost like understanding.
"And Adrian Cross was your lover," he stated, not really asking.
I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "For the past six months. He said he loved me but couldn't leave Isabelle because of the family connections. He promised he would find a way for us to be together after the wedding."
"But instead, he called off the engagement and left you to face the consequences," Damon concluded, his voice carrying a note of disgust that surprised me.
My phone buzzed again with another message from Adrian, and Damon's expression went deadly cold as he read it.
I'm in the lobby. I know you're up there with him. Come down now or I'm coming up.
"He's here," Damon said quietly, and something in his tone made my wolf whimper in fear. Not fear of him—fear for Adrian.
"Damon, please," I said quickly, grabbing his arm without thinking. The contact sent sparks through our mate bond, and I saw his eyes flash with something primal and dangerous. "You don't understand. Adrian can be violent when he doesn't get his way. If you hurt him—"
"If I hurt him?" Damon turned to face me fully, and I saw something ancient and predatory in those storm-blue depths. "Sweetheart, he just threatened to kill me to get to you. In my own building. A building that belongs to my territory."
The last word carried the full weight of his Alpha authority, and I felt my knees go weak in response.
"He hurt you before," Damon continued, and it wasn't a question. Through the mate bond, he could sense my memories, my fears, the pain I had tried so hard to hide.
"Not badly," I said quickly. "Just when he was frustrated about having to keep our relationship secret. He said it was my fault for being born illegitimate, that I should be grateful he loved me despite my background."
Damon's hands clenched into fists, and I felt his rage through our connection like a physical force. When he spoke again, his voice carried the promise of violence.
"No one touches what's mine and walks away intact."
The possessiveness in his words should have frightened me. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my belly. No one had ever claimed me before, had ever considered me worth protecting.
A sharp knock echoed through the penthouse, followed by Adrian's familiar voice calling through the door.
"Seraphina! I know you're in there! Open this door right now!"
"Stay here," Damon commanded, his Alpha authority making it impossible to disobey. "Whatever happens, do not interfere."
He strode to the door with the fluid grace of a predator stalking prey. When he opened it, Adrian practically fell into the penthouse, his usual composed appearance disheveled and desperate.
"Where is she?" Adrian demanded, his golden hair mussed and his brown eyes wild with obsession. "Where's Seraphina?"
"Mr. Cross," Damon's voice was cordial but cold as winter ice. "How unexpected. Though I should mention that entering my private residence without permission is generally considered poor etiquette."
"Cut the bullshit, Silverstone," Adrian snarled, pushing past him into the living room. "I know you married Seraphina thinking she was Isabelle. The whole thing is a fraud, and I want her back."
"Want her back?" Damon's voice carried a note of deadly amusement. "That's interesting, considering you're the one who abandoned her at the altar."
"I never abandoned anyone!" Adrian's voice pitched higher with desperation as his eyes found me standing by the windows. "I called off my engagement to Isabelle, not Seraphina. She belongs with me, not with some cold-blooded bastard who treats women like business transactions!"
"And yet," Damon replied smoothly, closing the door behind Adrian with ominous finality, "she's wearing my ring. She took my name. And according to both human and wolf law, she's my wife."
He moved closer to Adrian with predatory intent, and I could feel his Alpha power filling the room like an approaching storm.
"So tell me, Cross—exactly what claim do you think you have on my mate?"
The word 'mate' hit Adrian like a physical blow. His face went pale as he realized what it meant—that the bond between Damon and me was real, unbreakable, sanctified by forces older than civilization.
"That's impossible," Adrian whispered. "She's mine! We've been together for six months. We love each other. This marriage is just a business arrangement!"
"Was," Damon corrected softly. "Past tense. Whatever you had with Seraphina ended the moment she said 'I do' to me."
Adrian's composure cracked completely. With a snarl of rage, he lunged toward me, but Damon moved faster than humanly possible. In one fluid motion, he caught Adrian by the throat and slammed him against the floor-to-ceiling window hard enough to make the reinforced glass vibrate.
"Let me be crystal clear," Damon said conversationally, as if he wasn't currently holding a grown man three inches off the floor with one hand. "Seraphina is under my protection now. She belongs to me, and I protect what's mine with absolute ruthlessness."
Adrian's feet kicked uselessly as he tried to find purchase, his face turning red from lack of oxygen. Through our mate bond, I could feel Damon's cold satisfaction, his wolf's pleasure at eliminating a threat to his mate.
"If anything happens to her," Damon continued in that same casual tone, "if she so much as gets a paper cut while you're breathing the same air—I will hold you personally responsible. And trust me, Cross, you do not want to discover what I'm capable of when someone threatens what belongs to me."
He released Adrian suddenly, letting him drop to the marble floor in a gasping heap. Adrian lay there coughing and wheezing, one hand pressed to his throat where Damon's grip had left red marks.
"Security will escort you from the building," Damon said, pressing a button on his phone. "And Cross? If I see you anywhere near my wife again, if you send her so much as a text message, I will destroy you completely. Your family's business, your pack territory, your reputation—all of it will cease to exist."
Adrian struggled to his feet, his brown eyes blazing with hatred and humiliation. "This isn't over, Seraphina," he wheezed, his voice raw from Damon's grip. "You think you can just move on like what we had meant nothing? Like he'll want you when he finds out what you really are?"
"She's exactly what she appears to be," Damon said coldly, stepping between us. "My wife. My mate. And under my protection."
Two security guards appeared in the doorway—large, professional men who looked like they could handle any situation with extreme prejudice.
"Escort Mr. Cross from the building," Damon instructed. "He's no longer welcome on Silverstone property."
As Adrian was led away, he turned back one final time. "You'll regret this, Seraphina," he called out. "Both of you will regret this."
After the door closed behind them, silence fell over the penthouse like a heavy blanket. Damon remained standing with his back to me, his hands clenched at his sides as he fought to control the predatory instincts that Adrian's presence had triggered.
"Are you all right?" he asked without turning around.
I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me. "Yes. Thank you."
When he finally faced me, his storm-blue eyes held something I hadn't expected—genuine concern mixed with a possessiveness that made my heart race.
"He won't bother you again," Damon said simply. "I give you my word."
"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "Why would you protect me? You barely know me. This marriage is just a business arrangement to you."
Damon crossed the room slowly, each step bringing him closer until he was standing directly in front of me. When he reached out to cup my face in his hands, his touch was surprisingly gentle.
"The mate bond doesn't form by accident, Seraphina," he said quietly. "Whatever brought us together—deception, arrangement, or pure chance—doesn't matter now. You're mine, and I protect what's mine."
The certainty in his voice, the absolute conviction that I belonged to him now, should have terrified me. Instead, for the first time in my life, I felt truly safe.
"What happens now?" I asked.
Damon's smile was sharp as a blade but warmed by something that might have been affection. "Now, Mrs. Silverstone, we figure out how to make this marriage work. Because ready or not, you're stuck with me."
Through the mate bond, I could feel his determination, his possessive protectiveness, and underneath it all—a loneliness that matched my own. Whatever game Victor had thought he was playing, whatever plans Adrian might be hatching for revenge, none of it mattered now.
I was no longer Seraphina Blackwood, the forgotten illegitimate daughter.
I was Mrs. Damon Silverstone, protected by one of the most powerful men in Europe and bound to him by forces that neither of us fully understood.
And for the first time in my twenty-three years of life, I felt like I might actually have a chance at happiness.
End of Chapter 3