Page 182 of The Contract

Lucian hasn’t moved either. His fists remain at his sides, still coiled, still ready—like a predator calculating its next strike.

James lingers just in front of Lucian. His posture rigid, his normally cool composure shattered. His eyes burn with something dangerously close to fury—at me.

Their stares weigh down on me like lead, suffocating in a way the fight wasn’t.

The adrenaline is still there, thrumming beneath my skin.

But it no longer has an outlet.

Lucian exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair, like even he’s barely keeping himself in check.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“Sit the fuck down.”

He doesn’t wait for compliance, pulling a barstool out harshly—like I’m nothing more than an irritation.

I don’t move at first.

Because I can’t.

My muscles are still locked, my breath coming sharp and uneven, my mind trying to make sense of the last five minutes.

Marcus stays close by, still not trusting that I won’t launch myself at Lucian. James walks over broken glass back to the elevator and picks up Marcus’s laptop bag from the floor.

Lucian pours four glasses of whiskey, setting them down with deliberate force, the crystal ringing against the marble counter.

He slides one toward me.

Lucian throws his liquor back in one go and rolls his shoulders. Dragging in a slow, measured breath, he keeps his steely eyes firm on me as he speaks.

“She was an orphan.”

“I know that.” I interject.

“Shut the fuck up and listen, Wolfe.”

Lucian bites back, pouring another whiskey and pushing mine closer to me.

I finally gulp it down and slam the crystal glass onto the counter.

“Elena St. James.” He pauses. “Not her real name. But they didn’t know who she was. All the unidentified kids are named after the orphanage. The only name she had to claim when she left its walls behind.”

It suddenly strikes me why she knew so much about the orphanage. Claiming she volunteered there. Margo’s contributions.

Because that was fucking real.

Lucian keeps going, oblivious to the revelation hitting me like a freight train.

“She lived there until she had to leave on her eighteenth birthday. Got a job at a strip club, living with a few of the other girls. She met Adrian there. He was her first real relationship. A connection she thought was something solid. Something secure.”

I already fucking hate this.

That video of the two of them on the beach—she couldn’t have been any older than eighteen, nineteen. Already having to fucking survive by herself, and she crosses paths with a snake.

“Adrian made a deal with some guys who were a bigger deal than he anticipated. They wanted Elena as part of it. He thought he could outsmart them. He fucked up, and they came to collect.”

Lucian pauses, the weight of the next part already bearing down upon the room.

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