The news of my deal with Laurel Crown Pictures detonated across the media landscape, creating a shockwave of success so immense it felt surreal. For three perfect days, Damien and I existed in a blissful bubble. The world outside, with its headlines and congratulations, faded to a distant murmur. Our world was the hushed quiet of the library, the warmth of the crackling fire, and the deep, rumbling purr of contentment that had become the soundtrack to my newfound peace.
It was on the third evening, as we were sharing a quiet dinner, that the encrypted satellite phone on Damien’s desk emitted a strange, low-frequency pulse. It was a sound I’d never heard before, a summons that cut through the tranquility of the room with the sharpness of shattered glass.
Damien’s entire demeanor shifted. The relaxed, doting mate vanished, replaced in an instant by the grim, absolute gravity of the Alpha of Alphas. He answered, listening intently, his face a mask of stone.
