Page 43 of The Contract

“It’s only on loan, Elena.”

I take her left hand in mine, my thumb brushing over the delicate bones of her fingers. Her skin is warm, soft.Toosoft. I shouldn’t be noticing that.

I slide the ring onto her finger.

Cool metal. Heavy.Perfect.

The moment it’s in place, I catch the way her breath hitches. Just slightly. Just enough for me to notice.

I should let go. I should step back.

Should.

I hold her hand for a second longer than necessary. My thumb moves without thinking, tracing along the band, as if testing how it feels there.

My gaze flicks up.

Not on the ring. Onher.

“Perfect fit,” I murmur.

I release her hand and turn away, adjusting my cufflinks—again—ignoring the tension coiled in my gut.

“Let’s go,” I say, my voice steady.

I don’t look back.

Because if I do, I might start wondering why it matters so much that the ring fits.

The Scallop is as polished and exclusive as it gets, a beacon of fine dining nestled in one of my top-rated hotels. Every detail, from the ambient lighting to the private sommelier service, is designed to impress. To remind people of their place in the hierarchy of power.

Elena fits here like she was carved for it.

She moves beside me with effortless grace, her posture impeccable, her presence impossible to ignore. Her gown—black silk—clings in all the right places, drapes in others. Just enough bare skin to tempt but never offer.

Elegant. Dangerous.

A walking contradiction of allure and restraint.

And every single man in this room notices.

The realization grates more than it should.

It’s instinctive, the way my hand settles low on her back as we’re led toward the private suite. A light touch. Possessive, but not obvious. Just enough to remind those watching who she belongs to.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t lean in, doesn’t cling like so many women before her.

She simply walks at my side, like shebelongsthere.

Inside, Marcus and his husband, James, are already waiting.

Marcus looks up first, standing as we enter. Not just my business partner—but my longest, most trusted friend.

He masks his amusement well, but I know him too well to miss it. The slight arch of his brow, the flicker of sharp curiosity in his eyes. He’s waiting to see how we play this.

I feel Elena’s inhale, feel the way she shifts slightly beside me before stepping forward—not waiting to be introduced.

She turns to James first, offering a warm smile.

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