Contract Marriage With Alpha Snow novel Chapter 242

Chapter 242: M.M. Devereaux

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Chapter 242

~Zara’s POV~

The pounding in my head felt like a relentless drumbeat, each throb echoing behind my eyes as I blinked them open.

The dim light in the room made it hard to see, but I forced myself to sit up, gritting my teeth against the soreness in my body.

Thanks to my wolf’s abilities, most of the smaller bruises had already faded, and the deeper wounds felt closed, though tender. But something was wrong.

"Astrid?" I called in my mind, desperate to feel her presence.

No response.

I tried again, this time more urgently, "Astrid, please!"

Silence.

Panic began to creep in at the empty void in my mind. Astrid had always been there, even in my darkest moments.

I shifted, the cold clink of metal chains rattling around me. Glancing down, I noticed the heavy silver shackles wrapped around my wrists and ankles, burning into my skin and attached to thick chains bolted to the wall.

My heart sank further when I saw my attire—a loose white t-shirt and black shorts, both unfamiliar.

"What the hell..." I muttered, trying to piece together what had happened.

And then it hit me. _{ƒгeewёbnovel.com}

"Ivan."

The memory of his face, his mocking smirk, flashed in my mind. The fight. The rogues. The ambush.

Before I could process more, a smooth, almost casual voice cut through the dimness.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, beautiful, hold on. Let’s not get too worked up."

The voice sent a chill down my spine. As familiar and off as it sounded, I couldn’t quite place it.

I squinted into the shadows, trying to pinpoint its source. As I strained my eyes, a sharp, piercing ache coursed through my skull. I winced, raising a trembling hand to my head.

"Astrid?" I tried again, whispering now, as dread tightened around me. Still nothing.

I knew then it was useless. The silver was hurting her, us. And she had to focus her remaining strength on me.

A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the weak light of the room. My heart leapt into my throat, my breath hitching as I recognised that person.

"Marcus Devereaux," I whispered.

The man who had haunted Snow’s every waking thought stood there, towering over me. But something was... off.

I scanned him from head to toe, searching for anything—any detail that could betray him as an imposter. My eyes darted over his features: the strong jawline, the piercing eyes, the confident stance.

It was all the same.

But his smirk—it was different.

More devilish. Crueller.

"It’s not him," I murmured to myself, shaking my head. "It can’t be."

He chuckled darkly, folding his arms as he leaned casually against the wall. "You won’t find what you’re looking for. I’m cut from the same tree, darling."

I eyed him carefully. "What does that even mean?" I demanded, though my voice trembled.