Page 56 of The Contract

If this deal goes through, it won’t just solidify Damien’s merger—it will be my success, too.

My payout. My future.

The ten million dollars at the end of this contract is the key to my freedom. The key to finally owning something of my own. To finally walking away from the Black Ledger with enough to never look back.

I’m so close I can feel it.

And I’ll be damned if I let anything—or anyone—get in the way.

Stepping past the entrance, I follow the concierge’s direction toward the club’s private courts. The sound of tennis balls hitting taut strings echoes through the manicured hedges, the distant chatter of the morning social crowd humming in the air.

I spot Mrs. Calloway immediately.

Dressed in a crisp white tennis dress, she’s the picture of effortless wealth, her sleek blonde ponytail pulled high, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the sunlight as she gestures animatedly to one of her friends.

She’s exactly the kind of woman who holds the power to make or break men like Damien Wolfe.

And today, I need to ensure that power works in our favor.

Straightening my posture, I push my shoulders back and stride toward her, a warm, confident smile curving my lips.

“Mrs. Calloway,” I greet smoothly as I approach. “I hope I’m not too late.”

She turns, her sharp eyes sweeping over me with appraisal before softening into a pleased smile.

“Not at all, dear. And call me Margo,” she says, reaching out to clasp my hand in a delicate but firm grip. “I was just telling Sandra about you. She’s absolutely dying to hear more about your work with St. James.”

I smile at the mention—perfectly timed, perfectly placed.

The game begins.

Sandra’s daughter arrives—another blushing bride planning a lavish spring wedding next year.

Mrs. Calloway—Margo—wants to know my plans. She hasn’t read anything about our engagement in any of the papers.

Ah, she’s been looking.

“Damien has paid a pretty penny to keep our relationship private.” I take a sip of cool water. “Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing he can’t do.”

I find myself staring off for a moment, the weight of that statement settling deep inside me.

“Young love,” Sandra teases, nudging Margo with her elbow and a smirk.

“It looks beautiful on you, Elena.” Margo’s eyes gleam with something almost maternal. “So, tell us—where do you plan to marry? Richard and I couldn’t have children, so allow me to live vicariously through you and pretend I’m the mother of the bride.”

We chuckle, but I hide the burn in my chest that comment causes.

“I bet your parents are just thrilled?—”

She’s cut off, noticing someone behind us. Margo smiles and raises her hand.

“Over here, dear.” With her hands on each side of her chair, she stands. “My nephew.”

Sandra falls into a quiet chat with her daughter, and I rise as well, turning around to make a polite greeting to the newcomer.

My breath stalls mid-inhale. A cold grip seizes my spine, locking me in place as my eyes meet his.

Familiar. Unmistakable.

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