Page 62 of The Contract

I ignore the feeling and open the message.

ELENA: Back at the penthouse. Tennis went great. On a first-name basis with Mrs. Calloway. Margo, as I call her. My new bestie.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, I hesitate for a second before finally typing out a response.

DAMIEN: Aw. Did you two make friendship bracelets on the tennis courts?

It’s dry, neutral—at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s not flirtation, just conversation.

Her reply comes back almost instantly.

ELENA: She said that’s next time. We’re up for a mani-pedi on Sunday.

I huff out a quiet breath, shaking my head, a smirk creeping in despite my best efforts.

My thumb taps idly against the edge of the phone—one tap, then two—like I can’t quite let go of the moment.

Across from me, Marcus shifts, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with an arched brow, phone in hand.

“Please tell me you’re not smiling at the email we just got from Calloway.”

“What?” My brows furrow as I click into my inbox.

Marcus lifts his phone, shaking it once as he exhales. “Check your damn email, Wolfe.”

My fingers move, quick and efficient, navigating to my inbox. The moment I see the subject line, my focus sharpens, all thoughts of Elena momentarily shoved aside.

From:Richard Calloway

Subject:Weekend Itinerary – Hamptons Retreat

I scan the contents, reading once, then again.

A slow, creeping realization settles in.

My jaw tightens.

“What the fuck?”

Marcus lets out a low whistle, still staring at his screen in disbelief. “Tell me I’m seeing things.”

I don’t answer right away. I read the email again, slower this time, hoping I’ve misread something—that some detail will shift into place and make this all make sense.

It doesn’t.

It’s the usual bullshit—finalizing details, wrapping up negotiations in a relaxed setting—except for one line that sticks out like a fucking landmine.

Bringing in his nephew to consult on a few things.

My grip tightens on my phone as I lean back in my chair, exhaling sharply through my nose. My jaw ticks once, then again.

“What the fuck do we know about his nephew?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet hum of the office.

Marcus shakes his head, already typing something on his phone. “Not a damn thing. I ran checks on the immediate family, but the nephew never came up in anything relevant.”

I mutter a curse, scanning the email again, irritation bleeding into something darker.

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