contract Bonds

chapter 10

JADEN

The final runway walk was a blur of glimmering lights and vibrant fabrics, but I couldn't focus. Not really. Not when the only thing anchoring me to this place was standing just a few rows away. My fingers drummed against the armrest, ignoring the polite small talk from the socialites seated near me. Ava was off somewhere, mingling, doing what she did best—networking and charming the elite. But I was here, stuck in my seat, watching the models glide by with calculated grace, and feeling nothing but impatience.

Angela was here.

The face finally had a name. And not just any face, but the one that had been haunting me for weeks. Angela Parker, owner of FireStitch. A name that now felt like it was etched into my veins. The moment our eyes met across the room, it was like everything else faded into static. The crowd, the lights, the music—all of it dulled, muffled by the roaring in my ears. She had looked stunning. More than stunning. That dress clung to her curves like it was worshipping every inch of her body. Deep forest green, satin that shimmered with each step she took, a slit running up her thigh that nearly broke my restraint.

And that look. That undeniable flash of recognition, mirrored in her wide eyes. Her lips parted just a bit, enough for me to imagine the sound of her gasp if I had been close enough to hear it. She’d felt it too, that pull. It wasn’t just me.

The applause erupted around me, signaling the end of the runway. People began to rise, murmuring excitedly, but I had already stood, my eyes fixed on her. She was still in her seat, a woman I assumed was her friend whispering something in her ear, but she wasn’t listening. Her gaze kept flicking back to where I had been sitting. Waiting.

I didn’t wait any longer.

I moved through the crowd with purpose, slipping past designers and influencers with muttered apologies and nods. Someone tried to grab my arm, but I brushed them off, my eyes never leaving Angela. She was on her feet now, turning slightly as if debating whether to head backstage or linger.

Her head turned, and our eyes collided again. Her lips parted, a flush creeping up her cheeks, and I knew—I f*****g knew—she wanted this just as much as I did.

I closed the distance, stopping just a breath away. Her perfume was soft, floral, intoxicating. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the noise of the room dulling into a distant hum. Her eyes searched mine, like she was trying to make sense of how I was standing right in front of her.

“Angela.”

Her breath caught. I saw her throat work, saw the way her hands fisted slightly at her sides as if grounding herself. “Jaden.”

"Wait, How do you know my name?"

"I have my ways." I tell her smiling.

It was the first time she had said my name, and I wanted to hear it again. Louder. Rougher.

“You left that night.” My voice came out rougher than I intended, accusation and frustration slipping through the cracks of my control.

Her gaze flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, maybe? “I had to.”

My jaw tightened. “I spent weeks looking for you.”

Her eyes softened just a bit. “You found me.”

I stepped closer, barely a breath separating us now. “Did you want me to?”

Her gaze dropped to my lips before snapping back up. “I…don’t know.”

Honesty. It slipped out of her, unfiltered and raw, and I appreciated it more than I could say.

Before I could respond, Angela suddenly turned, waving her hand. "Oh! I almost forgot. Jaden, this is Zara. My best friend and partner-in-crime. Zara, this is Jaden."

Zara raised an eyebrow, clearly evaluating me with a sharp gaze that didn’t match her playful smile. "So, this is the mystery man." She smirked, extending her hand. I took it, shaking it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Zara," I replied.

"You too," she responded, her eyes flicking back to Angela with a knowing grin. "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do," she teased before excusing herself to rejoin the crowd, her laughter trailing behind.

The tension settled back in, thick and unmistakable. Angela turned back to me, eyes searching. I didn’t waste another second. "Come to dinner with me," I said, the words slipping out before I could think better of it. “Tonight. My place.”

Her eyes widened just a fraction. “Dinner?”

“Yes. Dinner. Conversation. No disappearing acts.”

She hesitated, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. I nearly groaned. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, my voice dropping an octave. “But I want you to come anyway.”

A slow breath escaped her lips. Her eyes searched mine, looking for what, I didn’t know. But I held her gaze, steady, unyielding. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”

I didn’t hide my satisfaction. “I’ll send a car.”

“Not necessary.”

“Humor me.”

Her lips curled into the faintest smile. “Alright.”

The announcer called for the closing reception, and she stepped back, eyes flickering to the stage, then back to me. “I guess I should—”

I nodded. “I’ll find you after.”

One last glance, one more lingering second of tension, and she turned, disappearing back into the crowd with Zara at her side.

But it didn’t matter.

I had her. Tonight, I would finally have her.

And nothing was going to get in my way.