Page 3 of The Final Contract (The Black Ledger Billionaires #5)

I ’ve always loved it here.

Anastasia’s house has a way of wrapping around me like a memory I never earned—warm, sunlit, permanent.

Even the air feels softer, salted with the Atlantic breeze, carrying the distant call of gulls and the lull of waves crashing against the shore.

We’re only a short drive from Manhattan, but it feels like another world. Her world.

My twin’s life looks nothing like mine.

Stasia is a wife, a mother. She’s built this picture-perfect home with the white shutters, the trimmed hedges, the kind of laughter that sticks to the walls.

She stuck with being a nurse while I quit the hospital to play house in penthouses that don’t belong to me.

I dine in the finest restaurants wearing dresses someone else paid for and sail across the world on the yachts of men who want nothing more than a beautiful distraction on their arm. My life is polished, glittering, enviable—yet none of it feels like it belongs to me.

But this? Sitting here in my sister’s backyard, fading golden sunlight filtering through the branches while the sea hums in the background—this feels like peace. Like breathing for the first time in weeks.

Stasia sets down a tray between us, the delicate clink of porcelain teacups breaking the quiet. “Tea with lemon,” she says, sliding one toward me. “And lemon cookies. Still your favorite?”

“Always,” I murmur, grateful for the sweetness of something that’s real.

Across the yard, Aurora runs barefoot through the grass, her sundress billowing behind her like a banner. Oliver crouches low, mud smeared on his hands, too proud of whatever creature he’s just dug up.

“Ollie, don’t you dare tease your sister with that worm!” Stasia calls, her voice carrying the edge of practiced authority.

Too late. Aurora shrieks, darting toward the porch with wild blond curls streaming behind her. She darts behind a post, clutching it like a lifeline, cheeks flushed pink.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Killian—lounging on the back steps with his phone. He hasn’t moved in half an hour, eyes flicking over the screen like he’s actually reading the news. But I know better. He’s scanning. Hunting. Waiting for my phantom to appear in the shadows.

For half a second, his lips twitch into the faintest smirk as Aurora dives for cover. Almost human. Almost soft. But then he looks up at me, and just like that, the smile is gone. As if I’d only imagined it. His eyes harden, his attention sinking back to his phone.

Stasia leans back in her chair, lifting her teacup with a pointed look. “So,” she says, far too casual. “Care to explain why my darling sister was splashed across the Friday papers?”

My stomach dips.

She pulls her phone from her pocket, scrolling until she finds the headline. She turns it toward me, and there it is, bold across the screen: The Jewel of the Phantom Is Carried Off After Fainting at Gala.

Stasia arches a brow. “Did you really faint?”

I hesitate, toying with the edge of my nail polish like the answer might be written there. “No.”

Her eyes narrow. “Then what really happened?”

I look away, pretending to sip my tea, but she’s not buying it.

“My twintuition is screaming at me,” she says flatly. “So I’ll just go ahead and guess. The stalker?”

The word hits harder than I want to admit. I’ve never hidden anything from my twin. It would be impossible to try. She’s always known everything going on in my life, always supported me—even when she wants to scream at me and shake me by my shoulders.

I don’t answer right away. I can’t. But after a moment, I nod. Just once.

Stasia exhales slowly, her gaze shifting toward her children, her expression softening as Aurora edges back out from behind the porch post, still wary of her brother.

“I hate that this is your life,” she says, her voice low but fierce, like it’s meant for me alone.

My throat tightens. Because she doesn’t mean the job—never has.

Stasia was the one who held my hand when I finally told our parents what I really did for a living, the one who patched the fallout as best she could.

Needless to say, Mom and Dad weren’t exactly thrilled to learn their darling daughter was a professional escort.

But over time, they learned to pretend—to smile like they believe I’m still a nurse working alongside my sister.

Ignorance is bliss.

But not for Stasia. She’s never wanted the facade.

She’s always been my partner in crime, the one who asks about my clients, the yachts, the cities I pass through like postcards.

She doesn’t hate what I do—she hates the shadow that follows me, the stalker who turned the fantasy into something sharp and ugly.

And maybe, deep down, she hates that I didn’t stay in the life we started together—two sisters in scrubs, fresh out of nursing school, pulling shifts at the same hospital. She chose a steady future with Daniel. I chose freedom and the Ledger.

“I thought he was gone,” she murmurs.

I toy with the rim of my teacup. “He just … backed off. A little.”

Her breath hitches, a long drag through her nose as she watches Aurora giggle again, safe in the sunlight. Oliver crouches low, plotting his next ambush, as if worms could solve everything.

Then her gaze slides past me. To him.

“Does this have anything to do with the giant iron mountain currently sitting under my porch?” she asks.

I can’t help it. A laugh slips out, soft and unsteady. “Stas?—”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is pure triumph, her mouth twitching into a knowing grin. “That’s about what I thought.”

I wave her off quickly, heat crawling up my neck. “He’s just my bodyguard. From the … other incident.”

Her brow arches. “Sera, you’ve had so many life-threatening events lately I’m losing track. Which one was this again?”

I groan, sinking deeper into my chair, but she doesn’t let me off the hook.

Her eyes sharpen, voice dropping into that tone she only uses when she’s about to give me the truth I don’t want to hear.

“So, tell me,” she says, leaning closer, “when are you going to think about moving on? About getting out of the Ledger? Maybe going back to nursing? Or something else?”

The words hang there, heavier than the tea between us.

And I wish I had an answer.

I’ve thought about it. More than once.

Never nursing. I could never put on a pair of scrubs again, no matter how badly Stasia wants me to. And she knows exactly why.

Every time I think about life after the Ledger, this is what I see—this backyard. Lightning bugs flickering like fairy lights, the sound of children’s laughter trailing across the lawn. My children. A slice of peace that belongs to someone else but always feels close enough to touch.

The only part that’s always missing is the husband. My mind never conjures him. Maybe it’s the wall I’ve built around relationships; maybe it’s the truth I don’t want to admit—that I don’t know what it looks like to belong to someone without it costing something.

But Stasia and Daniel … they’re different. Fifteen years married, and they’re still disgustingly in love. The kind of love that hasn’t faded or fractured.

I hear the slam of a car door and glance up just as my sister does.

Her face lights. She’s already heading for the gate before he even rounds the corner.

And when he does, she’s the first thing he sees.

His arms lock around her waist, pulling her in, her arms twining around his neck as she rises onto tiptoe for a kiss that still makes her blush.

Every time I watch it, I feel that pull. That rope tightening around me, tugging me farther from the Ledger. Slowly. Steadily.

But I still don’t know what waits on the other end.

That thought gnaws at me as my eyes flick toward the porch.

Killian is watching me watch them.

He’s leaning forward now, forearms braced on his knees, his phone forgotten. Even from here, I can feel the storm building behind his gray eyes, the tension carved into every line of his body. He lifts his scarred brow, just slightly, as if asking a question only I can hear. Ready?

And I think I am.

I rise slowly, brushing crumbs from my dress, and drift toward him. Behind me, my sister’s laughter twines with Daniel’s, the sound a warm counterpoint to the restless energy tightening in my chest.

“You about ready?” I ask as he pushes to his feet.

But before he can answer, Stasia’s voice cuts across the yard. “Killian, if you two don’t stay for dinner, I’ll take it personally.”

I whip my head toward him. No, I mouth, sharp enough to cut.

“We’ve got to get going,” I say firmly—at the same time Killian says, “I’d love to.”

My sister smirks, already triumphant. I glare at him, trying to burn the warning into his thick skull, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. If anything, his mouth twitches.

“We really can’t. I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” I press, trying to salvage it.

“No, you don’t.” His tone is flat, but there’s a thread of humor beneath it.

My eyes narrow. I lean closer, my words a low growl. “I will end your bloodline.”

He chuckles, maddeningly unbothered. “Easy, little killer. It’s just dinner.”

“Exactly why I like him.” My sister betrays me as she heads inside.

“Kill!” Daniel grins as he steps under the porch, Aurora perched easily on his hip. He reaches out a hand to Killian. “Always good to see you, man.”

Aurora’s wide eyes blink up at the giant beside her father. “Are you a real killer?” Ollie asks in fascination.

“Oh, Daddy! Can the killer come to my birthday party?” Ro nearly screams in excitement.

Killian’s scarred brow arches as Daniel inhales a deep breath and holds it. I leave the two men to field those questions and follow my sister inside.

A nd that was the beginning of several hours of interrogation.

Exactly the reason I didn’t want to stay.

The kids never stopped—question after question, relentless as only children can be. How many people had Killian killed? Did he think unicorns were real? Had he ever been to prison?

For some reason, they weren’t buying it when he claimed to be an accountant.

That excuse made me roll my eyes so hard I nearly saw my own brain.

The man was about as much an accountant as I was a nun.

With those calloused hands, that scar running through his brow, and shoulders broad enough to block out the sun? Please. I know he has killed people—with nothing more than his bare hands. The image of him hunched behind a desk filing someone’s taxes was so absurd it was comical.

But then Oliver tilted his head and asked, “Are you and Killian boyfriend and girlfriend?”

I nearly choked on my iced tea. My cheeks burned hot as I stumbled over myself, blurting some incoherent denial.

Meanwhile, Killian leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm across the back like he owned the space, casually wiping his trimmed dark beard with a napkin—probably to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

He was enjoying every second of my humiliation.

Thankfully, Stasia swooped in with a cheerful, “They’re just friends, honey.”

And with the way Killian cleared his throat, I wasn’t sure which one of us that answer burned more.

A fter dinner, Daniel took over the dishes and, to my surprise, Killian rolled up his sleeves and joined him at the sink. The sight of the Irish mountain washing plates beside my brother-in-law was enough to make me blink twice. Meanwhile, Stasia and I wrangled the kids into their playroom.

Which mostly meant Oliver painstakingly organized his army of figurines while Aurora presented me with every single toy she owned, demanding my opinion on which she should keep out for her birthday party.

Killian appeared in the doorway, knuckles rapping against the frame twice. “You ready?”

“Oh, now you’re ready?” I shoot back, standing with Aurora still clinging to my neck.

“Mm,” he hums, unbothered, as I carry her over. Her tiny frame looks even smaller when I shift her close to him. He’s not just tall—he’s solid. Every inch of him built from muscle and quiet menace. And there is not a single part of him that strikes me as small.

I shove the thought down before it can detonate.

Killian lifts a hand to my niece. “High five.”

Aurora grins and slaps his palm. “Next time you go kill someone, can I come?”

“Aurora Williams!” Stasia’s voice cuts sharp from down the hall.

Daniel, Killian, and I all burst out laughing.

“No, you may not join a murder,” Stasia calls, sweeping her daughter away toward the bath. Oliver trails after, calling over his shoulder, “So he is a killer, then?”

Their voices fade down the hall, leaving me and Killian to see ourselves out.

“Let’s go, big man.”

T he drive home is silent but not empty. His sleek car hums beneath us, the leather cool against my skin. One of his hands rests steady on the wheel, the other shifting gears with effortless precision. And, for reasons I cannot explain, the movement looks sinfully sexy.

My mind drifts the entire way back—sliding into dangerous places I don’t let it linger often.

The first thought came to me when Killian tried and failed to discreetly adjust his jeans.

I wondered if there would be enough room in the driver’s seat for me, if Killian were to pull this car over and pull his cock out for me to ride.

Because with the hard-on he was trying to ignore, my earlier thoughts of nothing being small were absolutely correct.

I lean my head against the rest, closing my eyes as the dark road hums beneath the tires.

I push away that naughty image and instead picture that family. The backyard. The children’s laughter that cuts the night. And for the first time, I don’t see myself alone.

I see someone standing beside me. A particular Irish mountain, cut from iron and storm clouds, who smells of rugged sandalwood and pure stubbornness.

A dangerous image.

One I can’t quite make myself banish.