Page 201 of The Owner's Temptation

“So,” she muses, “how do you think Sienna’s doing on her first contract?”

The fork freezes midair. Killian glances at me from the corner of his eye but says nothing.

She took a contract.

I don’t move.

I don’t blink.

I definitely don’t let any of them see the way the words stab straight into my ribs and twist.

Eve’s pretending she’s just making conversation. But she knows exactly what the fuck she’s doing. Goading me. Teasing the Devil.

“She’s got fire, that one,” Eve continues, her tone breezy but her eyes sharp. “I admire that. I think it’ll serve her well. Especially with the contract she took.”

That gets my attention.

My gaze snaps to her, but I school my face into stone.

Jaxon snorts. “Damn, Eve. You playing chess today or just poking the bear for fun?”

Eve only smiles, licking cheesecake from her fork like the fucking cat who caught the canary. “Oh, I’m just proud of her. She didn’t waste any time. Jumped right in, head held high.”

My grip tightens around my coffee mug. I swallow hard. Force the lump in my throat down like it’s poison.

I won’t ask.

I won’t give her the satisfaction.

But the truth is—I’m already bleeding from the inside out.

Because I need to know where she is.

And who the fuck she’s with.

“Whelp.” Eve claps her hands together, rising with the grace of a queen and the mischief of a gremlin. She starts boxing up the rest of her cheesecake, tucking it carefully into a sleek black container like its treasure. “Looks like my work here is done. I’m off to The Ledger.”

Her oversized purse swings into the crook of her elbow, her coffee cup is in hand, and she turns toward the exit. “Have fun murdering people,” she calls over her shoulder, stilettos clicking across the polished gym floor like gunfire. Killian chuckles under his breath.

I don’t. Not even close.

Jaxon hasn’t looked up once. The bastard’s practically fused to his laptop now, shoulders hunched as he taps through firewalls and encrypted tunnels like he’s orchestrating a symphony of digital destruction. It’s been ten minutes, and my patience is paper-thin.

My leg bounces restlessly. My phone sits in my hand, screen black, thumb hovering over the button like it might bite me.

I don’t want to look.

Because if I do—if I open her file and see the contract she picked—I’ll see him.

I’ll see every goddamn line of service he requested. I’ll see how much he paid. What dates. What limits. What liberties. I’ll see if he’s fucking touched her.

And I’ll kill him for it.

I stare at the phone for another minute. Maybe more.

Then I open it.

My fingers aren’t steady, not even a little, and that pisses me off too. I swipe through The Ledger’s internal network, punch in my credentials, and pull up Sienna Knight’s Companion file.

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