Page 11 of The Final Contract

One I can’t quite make myself banish.

The walls of The Black Ledger are made to impress. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, marble floors polished to a sheen, and furniture so sleek it feels like no one actually uses it. But underneath all that gloss and control, there’s an edge to this place—like you can hear secrets breathing in the walls if you’re quiet long enough.

Today it feels sharper than ever.

Killian strides in beside me, every step radiating iron-willed determination. I’ve argued, cajoled, even threatened, but nothing would dissuade him from this. He demanded we tell Lucian about the stalker. Demanded, as if I’m on his payroll.

Lucian Vale sits at the head of the long obsidian table, immaculate as always—dark suit, steel-gray eyes, the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

He owns The Black Ledger and every Companion in its employ. I’ve seen firsthand exactly what these two men arecapable of, and somehow the button-down dress shirts suddenly add to the menace they exude rather than mask it.

Sienna is already perched in one of the side chairs, legs crossed, sipping her espresso like this is brunch and not a potential inquisition. Her eyes flick from me to Killian, one brow arching. “This should be entertaining.”

Lucian rolls his eyes at his girlfriend’s intuition. His steely look shifts to Killian, sharp and unyielding. “What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until the morning briefing?”

Killian leans forward, elbows braced on the table, the knife he carries everywhere twirling between his thick fingers. “It’s about?—”

“It’s nothing,” I cut in quickly, waving a hand before he can build momentum. “Really, Lucian, he’s being dramatic. The stalker hasn’t been a problem for weeks.”

Sienna chokes mid-sip. “Seraphina.” My name cracks across the room like a whip. “You’re telling me you’ve got a stalker and said nothing?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Not a new one,” I mutter, wincing. “The same one.”

Killian grumbles under his breath, low but audible. “At least she’s kept it from everyone and not just me.”

My glare snaps to him, but Lucian’s voice cuts the air clean. “Details.” His tone is final, heavy. “Now—and leave nothing out.”

The room stills. Even Sienna goes quiet, watching me from the corner of her eye.

So I tell them. About the flowers, the notes. The feeling of being watched. How it all quieted—until the opera gala. How I’d brushed it off before, called him harmless, just a fanatic who liked the fantasy too much. But when I saw him in that crowd—the smile, the way his gaze pinned me like a specimen, the way my body knew before my mind did…

Lucian leans forward, his jaw taut. “You felt like he wanted to hurt you.”

The words scrape across my skin. I swallow hard, then nod.

Killian’s knuckles crack, the sound sharp and violent in the silence. Fury coils in him like a storm barely chained.

He doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t soften his voice. “Who do you have who can help me hunt this bastard down?”

Sienna sets her cup aside, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, you know exactly who would love to get his nosy little hands on this.”

Lucian’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Do me a favor. Next time you see Jaxon, tell him you called him ‘little.’ Please make sure I’m there to watch the meltdown.”

Sienna snorts. “Noted.”

“Jaxon Kane,” Lucian says, turning back to Killian. “He’ll have eyes where we don’t. Get anything and everything you can to him. I’ll let him know what’s happening.”

Killian nods once, sharp and decisive. “Good.”

Lucian holds his gaze a moment longer, the air between them a heavy agreement. Then, quietly, “And when we find him—he’s all yours.”

Killian doesn’t blink. He just slides his blade back into the holder strapped around his thigh. “Wasn’t even going to ask.”

The dangerous promise lingers in the room long after the conversation moves on.

Killian leans back, satisfied; Sienna swishes her espresso like she’s watching a thriller; and for a moment I think that’s it. That we’re done.

But we’re not.