Page 31 of The Final Contract (The Black Ledger Billionaires #5)

Y esterday was perfect.

At Aurora’s birthday party, I hardly thought of my stalker at all. And the few times I did, Killian seemed to know before the thought even finished forming. He was always right there, his heavy presence chasing it away. One look. One touch. Enough to make me forget the shadows.

We showered together when we got home, steam curling around us, hands roaming like we couldn’t get enough. It feels reckless, teenage almost—like falling in love for the first time. Except this time, it’s real. It’s him.

We can’t stop kissing, can’t stop touching, and it feels so fucking good.

I’ve been rehearsing what I want to say. That I don’t want suitors anymore. That I don’t want to pretend this is temporary. I want him. Officially. Permanently. And I’m almost certain he wants it too.

He keeps giving me that look, like he’s about to say something heavy and then pulls it back, like he thinks I’m not ready to hear it.

He dresses first, tugging his shirt down over the lines of his stomach, and offers, “I’ll call down. Get us breakfast from the restaurant in the building.”

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. One of the guards wheels the cart inside, nodding at me before stepping back into the hall.

I’m starving, and curiosity has me eager to see what Killian ordered. My hands make quick work of the first silver dome.

At first, I can’t tell what I’m looking at.

The mound beneath the cloche doesn’t make sense—pale, stringy, soft-looking. But it only takes a second for my brain to catch up. For my stomach to drop.

It’s hair. Blonde hair. And a lot of it.

My scream rips free, high and raw, as I jerk my hands back. The dome clatters from my fingers, crashing to the floor. Tufts of cut hair spill out, sliding across the white tiles like dead things.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, backing away.

Killian’s faster. He yanks me behind him, shoving me against the counter with his body as a shield. His hand fists at his side, the other already reaching for his phone.

The plate underneath comes into view as the hair shifts. The word carved in red, smeared thick across the porcelain.

LIAR.

My stomach heaves. My knees go weak.

Killian’s already moving, voice sharp as steel. “Inside. Now!” he barks, and the guard at the door rushes in, scanning the room for threats.

Killian’s dialing even as he pushes me farther back, putting the guard between us and the cart. His voice is clipped, lethal. “Get someone to sweep the kitchen and service corridors. Find out who intercepted the order.”

I press a trembling hand to my mouth, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I think it might burst. Hair. It’s her hair. Sylvia’s. Oh my God?—

Killian curses viciously and stabs at his phone again, barking into the line. “Lucian—do you have eyes on Sylvia?”

I hold my breath, every nerve stretched to breaking, until I hear the faint rumble of Lucian’s voice bleeding through. Killian’s shoulders loosen a fraction, though his eyes stay hard. Relief ripples through me, but it’s thin, fragile—a thread ready to snap.

“She’s safe?” Killian demands. His chest heaves. “Good. Keep her that way. I’m sending over a picture.” He flips the call to speaker, his thumb already moving fast on the screen.

The silence in the room hums with tension, broken only by my uneven breathing.

Killian’s jaw clenches, muscles tight. “Keep someone glued to her until I say otherwise. He spotted the decoy yesterday.” His gaze flicks down to the floor, to the hair that still curls like straw around the plate. “And this is his message.”

The plate’s red scrawl burns into my vision—LIAR.

It sears through me, the word twisting in my head until it feels branded there. My throat closes, bile threatening. My hands shake so badly I have to press them against the counter to stay upright.

I can’t stop staring at it. Can’t stop imagining scissors, a knife, someone’s hands in Sylvia’s hair while she sat helpless.

And the thought that it could’ve been me—should’ve been me—makes the room tilt sideways.

Killian’s hand finds mine, strong and unyielding. “Angel. Look at me. Not at that.” His voice is a command, rough and low.

I tear my eyes from the plate, dragging them up to him. His steel-gray stare pins me, steadies me.

But nothing will erase the word from my mind. Nothing will stop the echo of it, painted in red.

Liar.

Killian’s hand tightens on mine, voice steady even though I can hear the fury vibrating under it. “It’s not real, angel. Sylvia’s fine. This is just meant to scare you.”

Tears spill hot down my cheeks, but they’re not born of fear. Anger sears through me, raw and sharp. My stomach clenches, my fists shake.

It pisses me off.

I swipe at my face hard, glaring at the mess on the floor. “This needs to end. I’m done.” My voice cracks but doesn’t waver. “I’m quitting the Ledger.”

I turn, heading back to my room, ignoring the guard who hovers near the door. Behind me, Killian snaps, “Clean this up,” the words a barked order that makes even me flinch.

I toss my robe aside, tugging on jeans and a top with quick, jerky motions. Killian’s in the doorway, watching every move like I’m a frightened animal.

“And where are we going?” His tone is clipped, steel.

“To the Ledger,” I say, zipping my jeans with a hard yank. “I want my things, so I don’t have to go back there again.”

He steps in, towering, hands on his hips. “This won’t end if you quit your job.”

“I know,” I bite out, meeting his eyes. “But I won’t drag this into the Ledger. I won’t compromise the other Companions. Whatever ploys you all want to try to lure him out—I’ll be the one to do it. Me.”

For a beat, silence hangs, heavy as stone, and I think he’s going to fight me on it. His jaw ticks, his eyes hard, but then he nods once, sharp and firm.

“All right.” He pulls his phone out, dialing. “Get the car ready.”

The Ledger feels different tonight. Quieter. The halls aren’t buzzing the way they usually are, because most of the Companions are out on weekend contracts. The weekends are always busiest—dinners, galas, getaways. Everyone but me.

After Lucian reassures me Sylvia’s fine, I split off from Killian, heading for my private dressing room.

Senior Companions like me and Eve get our own spaces—our wardrobes, our things, a room where we can shut the door and breathe before a contract.

We all use the Ledger’s salon and services, sure, but these rooms are… ours.

I feel like I haven’t been here in forever.

The door hisses open, the automatic lights flicker on, and my breath lodges in my throat.

“Oh my God.”

I slap a hand over my mouth as the door clicks shut behind me.

My room is destroyed.

Red paint screams across the walls: LEDGER BITCH. WHORE.

My gowns—Ledger red—are shredded, hanging off splintered hangers like bodies in a gallows. Drawers overturned, contents scattered, my shoes upended, the air sharp with chemical paint and the metallic tang of something that feels like blood but isn’t.

And then I see pictures. Everywhere.

Me. Pinned to every wall. My eyes crossed out in thick black X’s.

A tremor runs through me, my hands curling into fists. My pulse slams so hard I can hear it in my ears.

“No,” I choke out. “No.”

I whirl, my arm sweeping across the wall, sending the pictures raining down like dead leaves. I claw some off with both hands, ripping them, tearing them until shreds litter the already-trashed floor. My breaths come harsh, ragged, fury blistering through my veins hotter than fear.

“This ends. Do you hear me?” I scream at the empty room, at whoever’s listening, at whoever’s lurking. “This fucking ends!”

I stomp toward the door, chest heaving, when something catches my eye.

A picture.

It’s taped dead center on the inside of the door.

My knees nearly buckle.

It’s me and Killian. In the car, after last night’s party.

“How the fuck?—”

It’s taken when we pulled off onto the shoulder. When I was fucking him. My head thrown back, his mouth on my breast. Someone was right fucking there.

How the fuck could someone have been there?

“Killian!” My voice cracks like glass.