Page 198 of The Contract

Over-the-top.

So goddamn Damien.

My throat tightens, emotions slamming into me all at once—shock, confusion, anger. But underneath it all, there’s a sliver of something dangerous.

Something stupidly hopeful.

In the center of it all is Damien Wolfe.

Tall. Immaculate. Beautiful in that dark, devastating way that should be illegal.

He stands in the middle of the space, looking every bit the man I spent the last two weeks falling for—but there’s something different in his eyes.

A rawness. A desperation.

Like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump if I tell him to.

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to be steady, cold.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Damien doesn’t move.

For a long second, he just looks at me—really looks at me, like he’s committing every detail to memory.

“I needed to see you.” His voice is hoarse, like it’s been dragged over broken glass.

I exhale sharply, shaking my head.

“You don’t get to do this, Damien.” I gesture around at the ridiculous display of flowers. “You don’t get to show up with grand gestures and expect everything to just—” I choke on the word, my chest tightening. “—fix itself.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet. Earnest.

But I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t want him to apologize, because that means I have to relive it.

The anger. The betrayal. The way he looked at me like I was nothing—like I was exactly what the world had always tried to reduce me to.

I turn toward the door, ready to leave.

“Wait.” His voice catches, and something in it makes me stop. “Just five minutes.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my nails biting into my palms.

I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.

But the second I stopped heading toward the door, I knew I would stay if he asked me to.

When I turn around, his expression guts me.

Like a man who has already lost but still has one last prayer left to whisper.

“Five minutes,” I say, my voice flat. “And then I walk.”

His chest rises and falls, and he nods once.

“Okay, thank you.”

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