The Wolfless Contract Luna (Grace and Ethan) novel Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Highway Death Trap**

**Grace POV**

The driveway sprawls out before me, a line of vehicles standing sentinel.

Ten in total. Ten imposing black SUVs flanking a luxurious Rolls-Royce, which sits regally at the center, engines humming like a distant storm. The warriors inside, their silhouettes obscured by tinted glass, seem ready for battle.

“He brought an army,” I murmur under my breath, the weight of the moment settling heavily on my shoulders.

Ethan strides forward, effortlessly lifting my suitcases as if they were mere feathers. He carries them with ease toward the Rolls-Royce, a warrior materializing out of the shadows to assist him, loading my bags into the trunk with practiced efficiency.

Ethan opens the rear passenger door and steps back, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Our eyes lock across the distance, his gaze steady and expectant, filled with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

Behind me, I can feel Damien’s fury radiating, a palpable heat that prickles at my skin. Lilith’s malicious satisfaction is almost a tangible presence, feeding off my hesitation. The pack’s eyes are on me, a collective gaze that weighs heavily, waiting to see what choice I will make.

“Forward. Only forward,” I remind myself, summoning the courage I need.

With a deep breath, I cross the driveway and slide into the car.

Inside, the atmosphere is thick with luxury—soft leather seats that cradle my body, polished wood that gleams in the soft light, and a space that feels both expansive and intimately confining.

Ethan follows me, settling into the seat beside me. The door closes with a resonant thud, sealing us in this cocoon of opulence.

I press myself against the far door, trying to create some distance in the confined space, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

The driver—a Beta I recognize from the assembly—glances at me through the rearview mirror. His smile is brief but genuine, a flicker of warmth before he starts the engine.

As the convoy pulls away from Darkrock Manor, I watch through the rear window, the imposing structure shrinking in size. Damien and Lilith become mere shadows on the steps, my prison receding behind the trees, and I can’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration.

“I’m out. I’m actually out,” I whisper to myself, the reality crashing over me in waves—relief, disbelief, and a gnawing terror at the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

Twenty minutes pass in silence, the weight of our unspoken thoughts filling the air between us.

We merge onto the highway, the convoy moving in perfect synchronization. Ethan remains quiet, a statue of controlled power, his presence both reassuring and intimidating.

Then, without warning, his hand reaches for a panel nestled between the seats.

The partition rises, smooth and silent, cutting us off from the driver. Suddenly, we are cocooned in our own world, sealed away from the outside.

My breath hitches in my throat. “What are you—”

“Relax,” Ethan interrupts, his tone dry yet laced with an undercurrent of seriousness. “I’m not going to jump you, Grace. I just want to talk without an audience.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I wasn’t suggesting—I mean, I’m not interested in—”

“I know.” He cuts off my stammering with a wave of his hand. “You made that abundantly clear at the assembly. This is business. Nothing more.”

Right. Business. I force myself to breathe, to regain my composure. “Okay. Talk.”

“Have you thought about the contract?” He shifts to face me fully, his expression serious. “My offer. One year as my Luna in exchange for backing your separation and the reclamation of Aurorawisp.”

“I have.” I choose my words with care, weighing each one. “And I want to propose some modifications.”

His eyebrow arches, a flicker of curiosity in his gaze. “Modifications?”

“Conditions,” I clarify, my heart racing. “First—the contract doesn’t take effect until after my divorce from Damien is legally finalized. I won’t sign anything while I’m still technically his mate.”

Ethan studies me, his expression unreadable. “Agreed. But I need a timeline. This can’t drag on indefinitely.”

“How long are we talking?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“One month.” His voice is firm, unwavering. “Thirty days from today. If you’re not legally separated from Damien by then, the contract becomes void.”

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