Page 27 of The Contract

Deep, smooth—commanding.

Even before I look up, my stomach clenches.

No.

Itcan’tbe.

I lift my gaze, andeverythingstops.

It’s him.

Standing in the doorway, broad-shouldered, composed—the very picture of power and control.

The man I spent the night with.

The man whose touch is still burned into my skin.

The man whose name I don’t even know.

But I’m about to.

Because for the next two weeks, I’ll be playing the convincing role of his fiancée.

A slow, suffocating beat stretches between us, thick with recognition.

His sharp blue eyes lock onto mine, unreadable, but I see the flicker of realization. The shock he doesn’t want to show.

Lucian, oblivious to the sheer catastrophe unfolding between us, gestures toward him with an easy grin.

“Elena Moreau—meet Damien Wolfe.”

The name hits like a freight train.

Damien Wolfe.

A man I should have left behind in that hotel room, nothing more than a fleeting memory of heat and indulgence.

But no—he’s here, standing in front of me, threatening to unravel everything I’ve worked for.

I built my life on rules. Boundaries. Contracts that keep things clean, controlled.

And last night?

Last night was the opposite of that.

I need distance. I need separation.

I need him to be just another client I can pretend to love.

But how the fuck am I supposed to pretend when I already know exactly how he feels between my legs?

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The Wolfe Grand.

The luxury hotel The Ledger frequently books for its highest-tier clients.

The same hotel where I spent last night with him.

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