Page 100 of The Contract

Except she isn’t mine.

Not really.

And each moment I remind myself of that truth, it sours more and more in my mind.

The screen goes dark, the room sinking into silence.

This is it. The victory I wanted. The one I’ve worked for nearly a year to finally hear.

And yet, as I sit there, staring at my own reflection in the now-black television screen, it feels... empty.

The triumph I should be reveling in is missing something. Someone.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, Marcus’s name flashing across the screen.

MARCUS: “You finally put that little shit in his place. About damn time. Congrats, buddy.”

I let out a slow exhale, half-grinning as I type out a simple “Well fought. Congratulations to you too.”

The words feel hollow.

I should be celebrating. Should be pouring myself a drink, savoring the win, but instead, I find myself thinking of Elena.

Because she’s as much a part of this as I am.

Every dinner, every event, every carefully placed interaction—she was there. She played the role flawlessly, not just standing beside me but elevating me in ways I never anticipated.

And all I can think about is how I want to tell her.

I want to swoop her into my arms, feel the warmth of her body against mine as I tell her, We did it.

I want to hear her laugh when I spin her around.

I want to feel her lips on mine as she kisses me in celebration, like this is our victory, not just mine.

My grip tightens around my phone, Marcus’s message still glowing on the screen.

Margo’s words come back to me.

Legacy.

And I don’t know exactly how, but I can’t stop thinking Elena had something to do with affirming that legacy to Margo.

I run a hand through my hair, pushing up from the couch with sudden resolve.

She deserves to hear this news.

Not in the morning when we’re packed into the helicopter, heading back to New York, the real world creeping back in, but now.

I cross the bungalow, my steps quiet against the wooden floor. When I reach her door, I hesitate just a second, listening.

The rain batters down hard outside, making it difficult to tell if she’s still awake.

Then, I knock—gently.

And wait.

The knock goes unanswered, and as I raise my knuckles to try again, I hear a faint, broken sound inside her room.

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