Page 99 of The Final Contract

Cormac hasn’t forgotten.

He’s not after Caleb. Not even after Seraphina.

He’s after me. After Lucian.

But he’ll use her blood to gut me. And he’ll use the Ledger to burn Lucian’s empire to the ground.

The knife in Caleb’s chest isn’t a victory.

It’s a message.

And if he knows I’m coming here, that means I’m already too late.

The penthouse feels too big without Killian.

I keep trying to distract myself, folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, rinsing lettuce leaves that taste like ash when I chew them. My stomach’s a knot, and every tick of the clock just makes it tighter.

Lucian hasn’t stopped. He’s been on the phone for hours, pacing the living room like a storm in a suit, his voice all steel and clipped orders. I’ve told him twenty times it’s fine for him to leave, that I’m safe here with Finn and the others, but he won’t hear it. Not after what happened at the Ledger.

The break-in cracked something in all of us. The impenetrable fortress wasn’t so impenetrable after all.

Another call comes through. This time, he doesn’t put it on speaker. He just lifts the phone to his ear, his posture shifting subtly as he listens.

I only catch pieces—Damien Wolfe’s name, Manhattan tycoon, Lucian’s old friend. My mind scrambles to keep up.Damien developed the Ledger skyscraper. Lucian had pulled him in, along with the two architects who designed the building—Dante and Grant. He didn’t just want blueprints. He wanted everything. The wiring. The ventilation. Every hidden artery that kept the tower breathing.

And right now, they’re at the Ledger, leading the search, directing teams, making sure not a single corner is left unchecked. Jaxon is there too, buried in tech, digging into what caused the blackout—what gave Caleb Ward his opening to slip inside and vandalize the atrium.

Then Lucian’s voice changes.

Lower. Darker.

My head snaps up. His eyes cut to me, sharp and steady, and in that moment I feel it in my bones: something is very wrong.

He lifts one finger to his mouth.Don’t talk.

My throat tightens.

“Understood,” he says into the phone, his tone so even it feels rehearsed. Then his gaze flicks to Finn, lounging in an armchair with a newspaper. Lucian snaps his fingers twice.

Finn is on his feet instantly, the paper sliding to the floor, his expression stone.

Lucian checks his watch. “Fifteen,” he says, like it’s code.

The call ends.

He motions with his hand—pen. Paper.

I scramble to the kitchen, pulling open drawers with shaking fingers until I find both and thrust them at him.

His hand moves fast, writing with a force that nearly tears the page:

– Penthouse is bugged

– Don’t say anything

– Going to Ledger

He lays the pen down. That’s all we get.