Page 35 of The Contract

Outside, the city is already alive, the distant hum of traffic bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but in here, it’s quiet. Controlled.

I shrug on a black compression shirt, rolling my shoulders as I make my way toward the gym. It’s not part of my usual morning routine to check who’s using it. No one else lives here. No one else has ever used it.

But now, I have a guest.

Not just any guest.

Elena.

A steady, rhythmic sound filters into the hallway as I get closer. The low whir of a treadmill. The soft exhale of measured breaths.

I step into the doorway and spot her instantly.

She’s running—focused, precise, entirely in control. There’s nothing casual about the way she moves. Every shift of her body, every stride, every roll of her shoulders is deliberate. Purposeful.

She’s not just working out.

She’s training.

A faint sheen of sweat clings to her skin, making the smooth plane of her stomach glisten under the recessed lighting. Her fitted leggings move with her, emphasizing the strength in her legs, the flex of toned muscle. The thin straps of her sports bra leave her back bare, her shoulder blades tensing subtly with every controlled movement.

She’s strong. Disciplined. Built for endurance.

Just like me.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossing over my chest as I watch her.

Her brow is slightly furrowed, her lips parted as she keeps her pace, oblivious to my presence. For someone trained in performance, she’s not putting on a show right now. There’s no pretense. No carefully crafted persona.

Just her.

And fuck if I don’t find that interesting.

The treadmill slows, winding down from a run to a steady walk before stopping completely. Elena steps off smoothly, grabbing a towel as she dabs the sweat from her brow.

She still hasn’t noticed me.

That small detail twists something deep in my gut.

Not many people overlook me.

I wait another second, my gaze tracking the curve of her waist, the effortless way she moves.

And then, finally, I step forward.

The moment my foot hits the mat, she turns.

Her hazel eyes land on mine, and for just a breath, something shifts into something I can’t pinpoint.

She smooths it over, her expression turning neutral.

If she’s surprised to see me, she doesn’t show it.

Instead, she tosses a towel toward me, her voice even. “I hope I didn’t take your gym time.” She wipes the back of her neck before continuing. “It wasn’t on the schedule, so I figured it was open.”

Ah, The Ledger schedule I had to fill out. I should be at the office by now.

I catch the towel easily, my grip tightening around the fabric for a beat longer than necessary. “It’s fine.”

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