Page 6 of The Final Contract (The Black Ledger Billionaires #5)

“ I ’ll admit it,” I murmur, sliding another glossy profile across the table. “I didn’t think there would be this many.”

Eve smirks, her red lips curling around the rim of her teacup before she sets it down.

“You’re surprised? Please. You’re the Black Ledger’s crown jewel.

Half these men would sell their souls for a night with you.

A marriage contract?” She lifts a brow, sifting through another folder. “That’s a feeding frenzy.”

I roll my eyes, though she’s not wrong. The stack in front of us is a mountain—files, photos, summaries of backgrounds, wealth, influence. Every one of them a man with too much power and not enough warmth in his life. Every one of them looking for a bride.

We wade through them together, Eve flicking her fingers like she’s shuffling a deck of cards. “Too old. Too boring. Definitely a serial killer.”

I snort, pushing a candidate into the discard pile. “What about this one?”

“Prospective,” she decides, tapping the page with a scarlet nail. “He’s handsome enough to keep you entertained at galas, and his net worth makes my eyes water. That’s a maybe.”

Eve has been at this game a long time. Loves what she does, just like me. But I think she’ll probably be a lifer. Even if she stops taking contracts one day, she’ll do something else for the Ledger.

Lucian would hand over pretty much anything to her to run if she asked for it.

We poke fun at some, laugh at others, and slowly build a small pile of men who might actually fit. It feels strange, staring at my potential future on paper, clinical as a shopping list.

But it feels strangely freeing too.

Across the room, Killian looks like he’s trying to bore a hole through the wall with nothing but the daggers in his gaze. He hasn’t said a word since we started this, hasn’t protested the process. Not a whisper of the too risky argument he threw at me in the conference room.

But I can feel his storm brewing.

It doesn’t matter. It can’t.

Because I know it’s time. I can’t let a phantom dictate the rest of my life. Can’t let fear keep me pacing the same cage while the world moves on without me. If anything, maybe this will draw him out. Maybe this is what finally forces him into the open where Killian can do his job.

A shiver snakes down my spine as I think about the opera gala—the most direct interaction I’ve ever had with him.

Why now? Why make himself known in such a public way?

Is it an anniversary to him? Some twisted moment in his mind that tied me to him forever? Or is it a warning—that he’s coming to claim me at last?

I don’t know. And maybe I never will.

But I know this: I’m done waiting.

I won’t sit still in the dark, wondering when the knife will fall.

It’s time to live.

Eve flips to the next file, her eyes lighting up as she scans the page.

“Ohhh. Now here’s a contender. Six foot five, former football star.

Apparently, he’s working sponsorships like a stripper pole and investing every dime.

Net worth’s climbing so fast it might break orbit.

” She fans herself with the folder, grinning.

“And look at those shoulders. You could build a house on them.”

I lean over to glance at the photo. Handsome, big, polished smile. A little too polished, maybe, but he checks enough boxes. “Okay,” I say, sliding him into the pile.

Across the room, Killian exhales. No—sighs. Like his entire life depends on it.

Eve cuts him an amused look, lips twitching. “How tall are you, Irish? Six three?”

His glare flicks her way. “Six six.”

“Mhm.” She smirks, clearly getting to him. “That with or without your platform boots there?”

He pushes off the wall, arms folding across his chest. “How much longer is this going to take? I’ve got new security coming to her penthouse for a walkthrough and instructions.”

“It’ll be hours yet,” I answer, deliberately breezy.

Eve waves a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t have to be. I can draft a profile based on the ones we’ve flagged already and filter the rest out from there. Save you both some time. I’ll send the final list to your cell.”

“Perfect,” I say, turning to her. “Go ahead and get started scheduling dates with the ones that make it through.”

There’s a beat of silence.

From Killian’s corner, I catch the low rumble of his voice—so soft it almost blends into the hum of the air system. But I swear I catch the words.

So eager.

Heat flares under my skin, and I pretend I didn’t hear it.

T he lights flick on as soon as we step inside my penthouse, the glow spreading across sleek marble floors and glass walls. Killian’s voice is steady, all business. “The new guards will be up in a few minutes to?—”

I stop dead.

He notices immediately, his head snapping toward me, then following my gaze to the counter.

A white rose with blood-red tips lies there. Perfect. Waiting.

Killian’s gun is in his hand before I even breathe. He moves in front of me, solid, unyielding, his other hand clamping around my arm to pull me behind his body. My fingers instinctively curl into the thick muscle of his bicep, holding on as he backs us both up.

He maneuvers me into the corner of the entryway, then releases me, already tapping the comm in his ear.

“Finn—get up here now. Urgent. Bring the sweep kit. Everyone else stays in the lobby, lock the exits. Nobody in or out.” His voice is sharp, practiced, the tone of a man who’s done this before. Too many times.

“I’m sure this is not necessary,” I whisper, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.

He cuts me a look, cold steel. “Stay here. Don’t open the door—I don’t give a fuck who it is. You do nothing. You say nothing.”

I bristle. “I’m not some?—”

“Try me,” he growls, low and lethal. “I’ll lock you in a closet if I have to.”

My mouth opens, shuts. He’s not bluffing.

Then he’s moving, gun raised, steps precise, body coiled like a predator. He sweeps the space in slow arcs, eyes never still, muscles taut beneath his dark shirt.

And God help me, I can’t stop watching.

The way he moves—controlled, lethal, like the entire room bends to him. He disappears around a corner, and suddenly I feel exposed without him in sight.

I wait. Listen.

The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. My pulse thuds against my ribs.

I wait some more.

Then—restless—I edge a foot forward, careful to make no sound. Then another. Like sneaking in the house after curfew, praying the floorboards won’t give me away.

Three hard bangs rattle the door behind me.

I yelp, jumping nearly out of my skin—just as Killian rounds the corner, gun going back into his holster, eyes blazing, and sees me exactly where I swore I wouldn’t be.

“Christ, woman,” he snaps, fury crackling off him. “Do you ever listen?”

Three bangs again, controlled this time, and he steps past me to unlock the door. “That’ll be Finn.” The Irish coming out a touch in his words.

He swings it open to reveal his second-in-command. Broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, slight gray at the temples of his near-black hair and already carrying gear.

Killian jerks his chin. “Inside.”

Finn nods once, calm but quick, moving past him into the penthouse while Killian’s attention cuts back to me, hard enough to pin me against the wall.

Killian shuts the door behind Finn and turns on me, voice low and clipped. “Who has access to your penthouse?”

I blink at him. “You know this already.”

His jaw tightens. “Humor me.”

I exhale. “Only you, the building attendants, and my cleaning lady.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, sharp as broken glass. “Fucking dozens of people.”

I step closer to the counter, eyes narrowing on the rose. Up close, I see the red tips are dry now, curled slightly at the corners from the paint. It’s resting on top of a small stack of envelopes.

“One of the stewards must’ve brought it up with my mail,” I say. “It had to have been in my box.”

Killian doesn’t waste a second. His hand taps his earpiece. “I want the name of whoever delivered the mail to the penthouse today. Now. And get me the security footage of the mailroom—every angle. We’re looking for someone delivering a white flower to her mailbox.”

While he barks orders, I’m already moving, thumbing open the app for my own cameras stationed around the penthouse interior.

I scroll back through the notifications until I find the right timestamp.

“Here.” I tilt the screen toward him. The feed shows the steward walking in with the mail, setting it on the counter, and leaving again through the service elevator.

Nothing unusual.

“It’s just the steward,” I say, giving him the name.

He takes the phone from me without asking, flicking through, sending the clip to himself. Before I can protest, a sharp ping breaks the silence. A new text.

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.”