Page 18 of The Final Contract

Killian’s expression hardens as he glances down at the preview. His stare darkens, like storm clouds rolling in over a harbor. His lips press into a thin, furious line.

“Seems Eve has already lined up a date for you.” His voice is flat, dangerous.

He hands the phone back, brushing past me with a controlled stride. “…For tonight.”

The penthouse is quiet now.

Hours ago, I had the team up here, running them through the space—cameras, hallways, staff routines, security choke points. They’ve all got the files, but paper doesn’t tell you everything. You’ve got to stand in the space, breathe it in, feel the angles pressing against your back before you really know it.

Now it’s just me, waiting on Seraphina.

Usually, my job ends once she’s on Ledger grounds or within the walls of her penthouse. I guard, I escort, I walk away. But this stalker changes everything. If he can get a rose onto her kitchen counter, he can get closer. And I’ll be damned if he gets close enough to leave something worse.

Which means someone has to be with her every minute. No gaps. No mistakes.

I keep my own place, and I’ll need some things over here if we’re doubling down on security. And tonight was supposed to be someone else’s shift.

Yeah, not happening.

No way in hell am I letting another man shadow her while she steps out with her first suitor.

The thought turns sour in my gut: a stranger sitting across from her, smiling at her like he knows her. Touching her hand. Whispering something in her ear.

For all we know, the bastard we’re hunting could slip into the mix—pretend to be a contender, get her alone, do whatever sick thing he’s been planning since he started this.

That image alone makes my trigger finger itch.

I open the Ledger app, scan the name of tonight’s date at the top of the profile, and it hits me like a wave of annoyance.

Elijah Fucking Carter.

Of course.

Ledger auction regular. He shows up every year, loud with money, louder with ego. Always buys a Companion for the prestige, like he’s purchasing a piece of art he’ll never bother to hang. It’s never about the woman—it’s about the brag. The clout.

And now he thinks he wants Seraphina.

The Ledger’s crown jewel.

My jaw grinds as I picture him walking her into a room with his hand on her back, introducing her like she’s nothing but a trophy he finally snagged. The thought makes my vision blur red.

Of course Elijah threw his name in. Because marrying Seraphina Wilde wouldn’t just be a contract. It would be a fucking coronation.

Not if I can help it.

I’m still looking over the app when her door opens.

The vision of her nearly takes me out.

Seraphina steps into the hall in a Ledger-red dress that clings in all the ways that make my pulse kick. The color turns her eyes sharp and bright, like polished sapphires. Her blonde hair falls in long curls, bouncing against her shoulders, and her perfume hits me in a slow wave, wrapping around my ribs like a chokehold.

For half a second, I forget to breathe.

I force myself to clear my throat, to grip the counter tighter, to remind myself she’s not mine to look at like this. She’s my assignment. Nothing more.

Still, something shifts under my skin, restless and dangerous, as I drag my gaze back to the phone in my hand.

Professional. Focused. Untouchable.