The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, typical London weather that seemed to match my conflicted emotions as I stood in Damon's guest bedroom, staring at the designer luggage that had appeared overnight. Everything was perfectly organized—silk lingerie, designer swimwear, elegant evening gowns, and casual resort wear in exactly my size.
Not Isabelle's size. Mine.
"The staff worked through the night to prepare everything for the honeymoon," Damon said from the doorway, making me jump. He was already dressed in a charcoal business suit, looking every inch the billionaire CEO despite the early hour. "I hope you find everything suitable."
I fingered the silk fabric of a sundress that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. "How did you know my measurements?"
Something flickered in those storm-blue eyes. "I'm very good at observing details. It's how I've survived in business for the past decade."
The way he said it made me wonder exactly what other details he had observed about me—and what conclusions he had drawn.
"Where exactly are we going?" I asked, closing the suitcase with hands that trembled slightly.
"Skye Island," he replied, referring to his private retreat in the Scottish Highlands. "It belonged to my mother's family for generations. Completely private, completely secure. The perfect place for a new couple to get acquainted without... outside interference."
The emphasis he placed on the last words made it clear he was thinking about Adrian's threats from the night before.
Two hours later, we were aboard Damon's private jet—a sleek machine that screamed wealth and power. The interior was appointed with cream leather and polished wood, every surface gleaming with expensive perfection. I settled into a seat that was more comfortable than most people's beds and tried not to gawk at the luxury surrounding me.
Damon worked on his laptop throughout the flight, occasionally taking calls in rapid French or German that reminded me just how international his business empire was. I found myself studying his profile as he spoke, noting the way his jaw tightened when discussing certain deals, the slight furrow between his brows when he was calculating figures in his head.
He was beautiful in the way that dangerous things often were—sharp edges and deadly grace wrapped in expensive packaging.
"See something interesting?" he asked without looking up from his computer, and I realized I had been staring.
"Just wondering what kind of man builds a business empire by thirty-two," I replied, refusing to be embarrassed about my curiosity.
"The ruthless kind," he answered simply. "The kind who never stops calculating odds and measuring risks."
The way he said it felt like a warning.
Skye Island appeared below us like something from a fairy tale—rugged cliffs dropping into crystalline water, ancient forests that had never known the touch of civilization, and perched on the highest point, a castle that looked like it had been built by gods rather than mortals.
"It's beautiful," I breathed, pressing my face to the window.
"It's isolated," Damon corrected. "No phones, no internet, no way to contact the outside world without my permission. The perfect place to have honest conversations."
Again, that warning tone that made my wolf Luna pace nervously in my mind.
The helicopter ride from the airstrip to the castle was brief but breathtaking. As we approached the ancient stronghold, I could see it was a perfect blend of medieval architecture and modern luxury. Solar panels were cleverly hidden among the slate roofs, while satellite dishes disguised as weather vanes provided communication links to the outside world.
The staff who greeted us was minimal—just a housekeeper named Mrs. MacLeod and a groundskeeper called Hamish, both of whom looked like they had been born on the island and would die here as well. They treated Damon with the easy familiarity of long service, but their eyes held the sharp intelligence of people who knew how to keep secrets.
"Welcome to Silverstone Castle, Lady," Mrs. MacLeod said in a thick Highland accent. "Everything has been prepared for your stay."
Lady. Not Mrs. Silverstone, not even Seraphina. Just Lady, as if my real identity was something they had been specifically instructed not to acknowledge.
The castle's interior was a masterpiece of restoration—medieval stone walls hung with priceless tapestries, suits of armor that had actually seen battle, and furniture that managed to be both authentically ancient and surprisingly comfortable. But it was the subtle modern touches that caught my attention: security cameras disguised as decorative elements, reinforced glass in windows that looked original, and doors that appeared medieval but were clearly designed to withstand military-grade assault.
This wasn't just a retreat. It was a fortress.
"Your room is in the east tower," Damon informed me as we climbed a spiral staircase that had been worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. "I thought you might appreciate the view of the sunrise."
He showed me to a bedroom that belonged in a luxury magazine—a massive four-poster bed draped in midnight-blue silk, a fireplace large enough to roast a whole pig, and windows that offered a panoramic view of the Scottish Highlands. It was beautiful, romantic, and completely separated from his own chambers by the width of the castle.
"Dinner is at eight," he said, pausing in the doorway. "We'll have plenty of time to talk then."
After he left, I explored my temporary prison with growing unease. The room was luxurious but secure—windows that didn't open wide enough for escape, a single door that I suspected was electronically monitored, and walls thick enough to muffle any sounds.
I was a guest, but I was also a captive.
That evening, I dressed carefully in one of the gowns that had been provided—a deep emerald silk that brought out the green of my eyes and hugged my curves in all the right places. If Damon wanted to test me, I would give him something worth looking at while he did it.
Dinner was served in the castle's great hall, a cavernous room dominated by a table that could seat fifty but was set intimately for two. Candles flickered in ancient sconces, casting dancing shadows across stone walls that had witnessed centuries of Highland history.
Damon had changed into dark slacks and a white shirt open at the collar, the casual elegance making him look less like a businessman and more like the dangerous predator he truly was. When he saw me descending the stairs, something heated flashed in those storm-blue eyes.
"Beautiful," he murmured, offering me his arm. "Though I suspect that dress is strategic rather than seductive."
"Can't it be both?" I replied, allowing him to seat me at the massive table.
The meal was exquisite—fresh seafood caught from the waters around the island, vegetables grown in the castle's own gardens, and wine that probably cost more per bottle than most people earned in a week. But I was too aware of Damon's intense scrutiny to truly enjoy the food.
"Tell me about your childhood," he said as Mrs. MacLeod cleared the appetizer plates.
"What would you like to know?" I asked carefully.
"Everything. What it was like growing up as Victor Blackwood's illegitimate daughter. How you learned to survive in a household that saw you as expendable."
His directness caught me off guard. "Why does it matter?"
"Because I need to understand what drives you," he replied, leaning back in his chair with predatory grace. "Are you a victim seeking escape? A schemer looking for an opportunity? Or something else entirely?"
The question hung in the air between us like a challenge. This was it—the test he had brought me here to conduct.
"I learned early that survival meant being useful," I said finally. "Victor kept me around because I could do things Isabelle couldn't or wouldn't. I spoke four languages by the time I was twelve, learned to manage household accounts by fourteen, and could handle diplomatic correspondence by sixteen."
"Impressive skills for a child who was supposedly just tolerated," Damon observed.
"Victor isn't stupid," I replied. "He recognized potential when he saw it, even in an illegitimate daughter. The question was whether I would use those skills to serve the family or serve myself."
"And which did you choose?"
I met his gaze directly. "Both. I served the family when it benefited me and pursued my own interests when it didn't. Self-preservation isn't a sin, Mr. Silverstone. It's a necessity."
Something that might have been approval flickered in his eyes. "And Adrian Cross? Where did he fit into your survival strategy?"
The mention of my former lover made my chest tighten, but I kept my expression neutral. "Adrian was a mistake. I let emotion cloud my judgment and trusted someone who saw me as a convenient secret rather than a worthwhile partner."
"Yet you maintained the relationship for six months."
"Because I was lonely," I admitted, hating how vulnerable the words made me sound. "Because for a few hours each week, I could pretend someone actually wanted me for myself rather than what I could do for them."
Damon was quiet for a long moment, studying my face with those penetrating blue eyes. "And now? What do you want from this marriage?"
The question I had been dreading. The test that would determine whether I lived as his wife or died as his enemy.
"I want what everyone wants," I said carefully. "Security. Respect. A chance to be more than just someone's expendable asset."
"And if I offered you all of that, what would you give me in return?"
"Loyalty," I replied without hesitation. "Complete, absolute loyalty. Not to your name or your money or your title, but to you. The mate bond doesn't allow for anything less."
The last part was pure instinct, the words coming from some deep part of me that recognized the truth even as my rational mind questioned it.
Damon's eyes darkened at the mention of the mate bond, and I felt that electric connection pulse between us like a living thing. The air in the great hall seemed to thicken with tension that had nothing to do with his interrogation and everything to do with the primal attraction that neither of us could deny.
"The mate bond," he repeated quietly. "Tell me what you feel when I'm near you."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I forced myself to answer honestly. "Like I'm incomplete when you're not here. Like my wolf recognizes something in yours that my human mind doesn't understand yet. Like..."
I trailed off, embarrassed by my own honesty.
"Like what?" he pressed, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that made my pulse race.
"Like I could fall in love with you if I let myself," I whispered.
The admission hung between us like a confession, raw and vulnerable and completely true.
Damon rose from his chair with fluid grace and moved around the table until he was standing directly beside me. When he reached out to cup my face in his hands, his touch sent sparks through our mate bond that made my whole body come alive.
"The feeling is mutual," he said quietly. "Which is why this is so dangerous."
"What is?"
"This. Us. The fact that what started as a business arrangement has become something neither of us expected or prepared for."
His thumb traced across my lower lip, and I fought the urge to lean into his touch like a cat seeking affection.
"I brought you here to test you," he continued. "To determine whether you were Victor's spy, Adrian's pawn, or something else entirely. But the mate bond makes all of that irrelevant, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" I asked, genuinely curious about his answer.
"It should," he replied. "But I've survived this long by never trusting completely, never letting anyone get close enough to destroy me. The mate bond asks me to do both of those things."
I understood what he was really saying. The attraction between us, the protective instincts the bond triggered in both of us, the way we seemed to fit together despite being strangers—all of it terrified him because it represented a loss of control.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," I said softly. "I'm asking you to trust the bond. Trust what your wolf knows even if your mind has doubts."
His answer was to lean down and kiss me.
This kiss was nothing like the ceremonial one at our wedding. This was raw, desperate, full of all the tension that had been building between us since we met. His hands tangled in my hair, and I could taste the wine on his lips, could feel the barely controlled power in the way he held me.
The mate bond exploded between us like lightning, sending waves of heat and need through my entire body. I could feel his wolf calling to mine, could sense the moment when his careful control began to slip.
He pulled back abruptly, his breathing harsh and his eyes dark with desire.
"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he said, but he didn't move away from me.
"What?"
"Losing control. Wanting something more than power or money or revenge."
"Is that such a terrible thing?"
He studied my face for a long moment, as if he were memorizing every detail. "Ask me again in the morning."
With that cryptic comment, he stepped back and offered me his hand. "Come. Let me show you the castle's most impressive feature."
He led me up another spiral staircase to the highest tower, where a door opened onto a stone balcony that offered a view of the entire island. The moon was full overhead, casting silver light across the Highland landscape and turning the surrounding water into a mirror that reflected the stars.
"It's beautiful," I breathed, leaning against the stone battlements.
"My mother used to bring me here when I was young," Damon said, joining me at the wall. "She said this was where the Silverstone family came to remember who we were beneath all the business suits and political maneuvering."
"And who are you?" I asked.
He turned to look at me, and in the moonlight his face was all sharp angles and mysterious shadows. "Wolves. Predators. Survivors. We've held this island for eight centuries, through clan wars and religious persecution and two world wars. We endure because we're stronger than our enemies and more ruthless than our competitors."
"And now?"
"Now I'm the last of my line," he said quietly. "No siblings, no cousins, no heir to carry on the bloodline. When I die, eight hundred years of history dies with me."
The loneliness in his voice matched something deep in my own soul. We were both the last of our kinds—he as the final Silverstone heir, me as Victor's forgotten daughter who would never truly belong anywhere.
"The mate bond doesn't happen by accident," I said, echoing his words from the night before. "Maybe we're meant to build something new together. Something that belongs to both of us."
He turned to face me fully, and in his eyes I saw the same desperate hope that I felt in my own heart.
"Is that what you want?" he asked. "To build a life here, with me?"
The question hung between us like a bridge waiting to be crossed. I could give him the safe answer, the diplomatic response that would keep my options open. Or I could tell him the truth that was burning in my chest.
"Yes," I whispered. "I want that more than I've ever wanted anything."
This time when he kissed me, there was nothing desperate or testing about it. It was a claiming, a promise, a statement of intent that made my wolf sing with joy.
Through the mate bond, I could feel his decision crystallizing—not just to keep me as his wife, but to make this marriage real in every way that mattered.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine.
"No more tests," he said quietly. "No more games or strategies or careful calculations. If we're going to do this, we do it honestly."
"Agreed," I replied, meaning it completely.
"Good," he said, his smile sharp and predatory and full of promise. "Because tomorrow, the real work begins."
"What do you mean?"
"Tomorrow, I start teaching you how to be a Silverstone. How to rule beside me, how to command respect, how to destroy anyone who threatens what we're building together."
The prospect should have terrified me. Instead, it filled me with a fierce anticipation that matched my wolf's excited pacing.
For the first time in my life, I was about to become exactly who I was meant to be.
End of Chapter 4