Page 124 of The Contract

Never felt so completelyswept away.

The performance is breathtaking and somewhere between the second and third act, I realize my hand is resting against something warm and solid.

Damien.

The second I notice, I begin to pull away, but before I can, his hand moves over mine.

Catching it. Holding it.

Not letting go.

I still, my pulse hammering in my ears, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

His attention stays forward, eyes locked on the stage, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against my skin.

Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Like touching me is the most natural thing in the world.

And I let him.

I shouldn’t. But I let him.

Ididn’t check my phone once tonight.

Marcus is handling anything that comes up, and he was more than happy to do it—glad, even, that I was taking a night for myself. And for once, I let it happen. No meetings, no endless schedules, no work creeping into the corners of my mind.

It was just her.

It was a night unlike any I’ve had before.

One I don’t want to admit meant something to me.

Back at the penthouse, Elena made sure there was no more temptation, no more lingering moments to pull us closer than we already are. The moment we stepped inside, she told me goodnight and disappeared into her room.

I should go to bed too. I should let this night settle, let it remain what it was—a moment in time, temporary and fleeting, just like our contract.

But I can’t sleep.

I’ve been staring at the ceiling for too long, my mind replaying the way she looked in that dress, the way her lips parted in awe when the first notes of the opera filled the air, the way she smiled softly and said she had a great time.

She meant it.

That does something to me.

With a sigh, I push out of bed and pad toward my study, the glow of the city spilling through the towering windows, slicing through the darkness. The space is quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that should bring peace but doesn’t.

My feet carry me toward the grand piano without a second thought.

It’s been a long time since I played.

My fingers hover over the keys for a moment before pressing down, coaxing a single note into the stillness. Then another. And another.

The melody comes on its own, slow and deliberate, stretching through the room like a whispered secret.

My mother had made me play as a child.

“Fortune favors the bold, Damien. Play boldly.”

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