Page 110 of The Contract

We sit in that quiet moment together, connected across the miles, until she finally says, “All right, well, I gotta go be a person or whatever. But keep me posted, okay?”

“I will.”

“Take care of you.”

Our mantra.

“Take care of you.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, staring at the cheesecake through the oven window.

Golden edges. Perfect rise. It’ll need time to cool, but it’s already shaping up exactly how I imagined.

Maybe not everything is lost.

Maybe some things just take a little longer to rise.

With a deep breath, I push off the counter and head toward my bedroom.

The cheesecake will take time to set, which means I have time to take a shower.

And if I’m being honest… I’m more than a little curious about what Damien Wolfe has planned for tonight.

The quiet hum of the jewelry store surrounds me, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and luxury.

Light refracts off rows of diamonds and rubies, catching the gleam of precious metals encased in pristine glass. It’s all wealth and excess—the kind of place where status is bought, and sentiment is wrapped in velvet.

I’ve bought gifts before. Jewelry, cars, clothes—they were obligations. Expected.

But this?

This isn’t about a price tag or a duty.

It’s about seeing her wear something beautiful. Knowing that every time she takes the piece out of the little velvet box, she’ll feel them, think of me. And I like the idea of that.

Something that keeps me on her mind because she’s fucking living rent-free in mine.

The jeweler—a seasoned professional with a practiced, knowing smile—moves with silent efficiency, carefully selecting a few pieces to present on the black velvet display before me.

First, a bracelet—thin, elegant, with a line of emeralds catching the light like fractured stars in her hazel eyes. It’s beautiful, but not quite right.

Marcus’s voice crackles through my Bluetooth earpiece.

“I’m digging into the nephew,” he says. “Guy’s got skeletons. I just need to find where they’re buried.”

“Good.” I keep my voice low as the jeweler begins wrapping the earrings, his movements efficient from years of practice. “Your guy is on him?”

“About that…”

I stop rolling my cuff, tension lacing through my shoulders.

“What does that mean?”

Marcus exhales. “He lost him.”

Next, a ruby necklace—a delicate chain with a single pendant, subtle yet striking. I almost consider it. Almost.

I grit my teeth. “Marcus.”

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