Alpha's Secret Bride-Chapter 75: The Winter Mate Contract: A Deal of Deception

Chapter 75: The Winter Mate Contract: A Deal of Deception

It was a cool season in Finland Territory. The sky stretched in a clear blue expanse, and the air carried a calm, gentle breeze. Yet, none of it could soothe Emma Greens’ restless wolf or ease the emptiness clawing at her chest.

She stepped out of the arrival den and scanned the surroundings. No she-wolf approached her. No one matched the image her father had mindlinked to her. The silence confirmed what her instincts already knew—no one was waiting.

Her wolf remained cold, distant. Even when she discovered the forbidden powder hidden among the portrait bundle her father had given her, she felt no shock—only confirmation. He had set her up. Deliberately. No escort. No welcome. Just exile wrapped in deceit.

She tried to reach the Alpha King through the contact he had given her, hoping to tell him where she was, to explain everything her father had done. But the link was gone. The number no longer existed, as though it had only ever been meant to guide her out of the royal den—and nothing more.

Her lips pressed together as she lowered her head, her wolf retreating deeper into silence.

After a while, she lifted her gaze again, her eyes finding Paige—held by territory enforcers for a crime she knew nothing about. Emma slowly turned away. There was nothing she could do. The silver they had was barely a handful of coins tucked in Paige’s pouch. She didn’t even know where to exchange it in this unfamiliar territory.

Still, she refused to stand still.

She rose, determination settling into her bones. Around her, wolves moved with purpose, their gazes forward, each heading toward their own destinations. No one spared her a glance. If she wanted help, she would have to take it—create it.

Her eyes landed on an upscale den nearby, its soft glow spilling into the street like a silent invitation. She walked toward it, her steps steady.

Exotic rides—sleek, powerful machines—were lined neatly outside, belonging to wolves of status and wealth.

Inside, a servant led her to the drinking section as she demanded.

Moonlit crystal lamps hung above the counter, casting a warm, alluring glow. She took a seat and, without hesitation, ordered a bottle of sparkling wine like a high-ranking she-wolf accustomed to luxury.

The bartender served her with immediate respect.

She lifted her hand in a casual wave, poured herself a glass, and sipped slowly. Around her, wealthy he-wolves dined with their mates, their low conversations blending into the atmosphere.

One he-wolf, seated alone, kept stealing glances at her. Each time their eyes met, he grinned—bold, amused—and winked without shame.

After a few minutes, he rose and approached her, that same grin still playing on his lips.

Emma glanced at him once, then turned her face away.

Unbothered, he took a seat beside her and spoke in a foreign tongue. When she didn’t respond, he switched to English, his accent thick and unusual.

"Pretty... are you alone?"

She gave a slight nod, pouring more wine into her glass.

"You’ve had enough, don’t you think? Two servings of this kind of drink can cloud your mind."

"I haven’t even started."

"What?" he said, amused, gently sliding the bottle toward himself.

She didn’t protest. She had no silver to cover it anyway. Now that it was on his side, it became his responsibility—and from the look of him, he could afford it.

"Do you ever smile?" he asked.

"I used to. Until I found a reason to stop."

"Tell me... did some wolf you love break your heart?"

"Change the topic."

He studied her briefly before asking, "What are you doing here?"

"I’m looking for help."

"You need help?"

"Yes."

"What kind?"

"My ally is in trouble. Forbidden powder was found in our bag."

He stiffened. "Damn... she could be thrown into the dungeon. Or forced to pay an outrageous fine—if she’s lucky and has no record. Is she with the narcotics wardens?"

"Yes. And I have no silver to help her."

"Poor wolf... did she know it was there?"

"No."

"Then she was set up," he muttered, signaling for another bottle.

Emma simply nodded, her gaze drifting to the bottle he had taken.

"I’m Ronan Blackmoor."

"Emma Greens."

"Is Emma Greens bonded... or unclaimed?"

The question lingered longer than it should have.

She no longer saw herself as a bonded wolf—even if the bond still existed, even if it hadn’t been severed. That Chapter of her life felt torn away, like it had never truly belonged to her.

It was time to begin again. New alliances. A new path. A new life built on silver and strength.

"Unclaimed."

He smirked. "You hesitated. Sounds more like... complicated."

"Call it whatever you want."

He chuckled softly and continued drinking.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"I am the first son of Alpha Aris Stormveil Blackmoor. My father will declare his final will tomorrow."

Emma barely reacted. Wealth, titles—none of it mattered to her now. It sounded as meaningless as a useless organ in a wolf’s body.

Still, he seemed to think it mattered.

He poured her another drink.

"Your ally needs help," he said. "And I need help too. I can help your ally... and you can help me. A fair exchange. What do you think?"

She turned to him slightly.

"You think I can help you?"

"Yes."

"Then it sounds like a deal. What’s your problem?"

"My father controls ten major pack enterprises. According to the healers, he has only days left. Tomorrow, he names his successor... and everything goes to my younger sibling."

"Why?"

"He’s disciplined. Respected. He has a mate, pups, and leads well. Everything I’m not."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-seven."

"And you?"

"Thirty-two. Unclaimed. No serious courtship. No she-wolf stays long enough to tolerate me."

Emma tilted her head slightly.

"What exactly do you want?"

"As the first he-wolf, I am entitled to half of my father’s dominion," he said, his tone edged with quiet frustration, "but he will grant me nothing unless I present my mate before him."

"What are you waiting for then? There are countless she-wolves in this territory."

"I’ve shared a bed with nearly half of them," he replied casually, lifting his glass, "and they all despise me."

Emma didn’t react.

"Would you pretend to be my mate for one winter?"

"Pretend..."

"We’ll bind it with a written pact. I’ll give you two million crowns of silver to begin, and once the winter ends, another two million to complete the agreement."

She needed the silver—to rebuild, to survive, to start anew. Refusal wasn’t an option.

"I’ll sign your pact," she said calmly, "on one condition—no mating privileges."

"None," he agreed quickly. "No conjugal claims, no hidden terms. I’m not built for that," he added with a grin, though it faded when she remained expressionless.

"Do you ever smile?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I haven’t found a reason."

He leaned back slightly, studying her. "Not even this deal is enough to make you smile?"

"I don’t smile, Ronan," she said flatly.

He fell silent for a moment, then took another sip.

"I have another offer," he said eventually. "But I doubt you’ll accept it."

"Say it."

"I’ll give you ownership of one of my father’s pack enterprises... if you give me an heir."

Emma lifted a shoulder in a faint shrug. "That sounds... beneficial."

The thought lingered—an heir. Her own pup. At least that bond would be real.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

"I see no reason not to," she replied. "Unless you plan to take the female pup from me."

He let out a short laugh. "I want a male pup. My healers will guide the process—track your cycle, determine the best time."

She didn’t flinch.

"When do we meet your father?"

"Tomorrow morning. Where are you staying? I’ll come for you."

"I have nowhere yet. We only just arrived."

"Then I’ll arrange a resting den close to mine. Or..." he paused, watching her, "you could stay in my den. You’d be safe. I have guards."

"I prefer a resting den."

She rose from her seat.

"You’re leaving already?"

"I need to see my ally."

"I’ll hire the best advocate after I meet my father tomorrow," he said. "Tell her. She’ll be released within a moon-cycle. It’s simple possession—no intent to trade. Whoever set you up couldn’t even afford three grams," he added with a faint grin.

"I’ll return," Emma said before walking away.

She found Paige again just as they were transferring her to the Fang Sentinels’ holding chamber. Paige no longer looked distressed—her wolf must have already sensed the shift.

"I found someone who will help," Emma said quickly. "We’ll come for you tomorrow."

Paige nodded before the transport vehicle carried her away.

Emma remained still, watching until she’s out of sight.

She liked this numbness—the silence within her. No pain. No joy. Just emptiness. Like a hollow shell moving through the packland.

She returned to the restaurant and resumed her place beside Ronan. He settled the entire bill without hesitation.

Later, he drove her to a nearby resting den. His sleek machine—crafted with precision and power—spoke of wealth and status. He stepped out first and opened the door for her before leading her inside.

At the reception, he secured a private chamber for her.

"I’ll send clothes s for you," he said. "Choose the finest. Tomorrow, you must look flawless. I intend to impress my pack-kins."

He left, and she made her way to the lift, ascending to her chamber.

Moments later, she stood within a luxurious space, her gaze drifting across its elegance. Tomorrow would be... interesting.

At least he had been honest—bold enough to admit his past without hesitation. Even if exaggerated, the truth remained: he had lived carelessly.

Hours later, the door opened again.

Ronan entered, carrying a bag filled with different garments. She selected only those that fit her perfectly, returning the rest.

"I’ll take my leave now, pretty wolf," he said. "Order whatever you desire. I’ll settle everything tomorrow."

"Alright."

Her voice carried no emotion.

"Please," he added, almost pleading, "practice smiling. You’ll need it tomorrow. You cannot face my father without one. He must believe this bond is real—that you chose it willingly."

"I’ll try."

"Please..." he repeated softly before turning to leave.