contract Bonds

chapter 3

JADEN DAVENPORT

The office smelled like espresso and steel. That familiar cocktail of ambition and tension that usually centered me the second I stepped into the building.

But not today.

Today, the numbers on my screen blur.

Today, the polished skyline beyond my glass office feels more like a prison than a throne.

It’s been a week since that night.

One week, and I still can’t get her out of my head.

The woman with fire in her eyes and sadness in her smile. The one who walked into a bar like she didn’t care if she shattered—and took me down with her.

She never told me her name.

She left a hundred-dollar bill and vanished like a ghost, except I feel her like a brand under my skin.

Claire’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Your ten o’clock is ready, Mr. Davenport. Conference Room Two.”

“Push it fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

I run a hand down my face and stand, adjusting my cuffs like it matters. Like the world hasn’t tilted under me ever since a stranger pressed her lips to mine and made me forget who I was for a goddamn second.

My phone buzzes just as I open the door.

NOAH:

You alive or just buried under spreadsheets again? Ethan’s already five minutes into his speech about your “increasingly worrying hermit habits.”

I sigh.

The downside of being friends with the same people since college? They notice everything. Especially when you’re not functioning at your usual god-tier level.

I text back.

ME:

I’m working. Some of us run empires, not wellness retreats.

Noah responds instantly.

NOAH:

Some of us also need lunch. You’re coming. Ethan already ordered your usual. Don’t make him threaten HR again.

I almost smile.

Almost.

—----

The lounge at the top floor of the Wilder Hotel is technically exclusive, but that rule doesn’t apply when your best friend owns the damn building.

Ethan Blackwood is already seated, sipping sparkling water like it’s scotch. Immaculate suit, polished watch, and that smug CEO posture that screams "I have five exit strategies and a backup private jet."

Noah Wilder—owner of the hotel chain and chronic chaos generator—leans against the bar, tapping on his phone.

“J,” Ethan says, nodding as I slide into the seat across from him. “Nice of you to join us in the land of the living.”

“You called me out of a billion-dollar acquisition meeting for a Caesar salad?”

Noah raises a brow. “Bro, you haven’t blinked properly in a week. This is an intervention, not lunch.”

“I’m fine.”

Ethan eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been off. You don’t miss numbers. You missed a decimal on the Brunswick file.”

I stiffen.

He noticed that?

Noah drops into the seat next to me. “So what happened?”

I look between them.

They won’t let it go.

“A woman,” I say finally.

Their eyebrows shoot up.

“Holy s**t,” Noah says. “You? Mr. Clean Slate had a one-nighter and actually remembers her?”

“She wasn’t a one-nighter,” I say quietly.

Ethan studies me. “You don’t even know her name, do you?”

I look away.

That’s the part that gets me. I know what her skin felt like. I know the way she gasped when I whispered into her ear. I know she cried in my arms after s*x and tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

But I don’t know her name.

“She left without a word,” I say. “Just a hundred-dollar bill and… herself.”

Noah whistles low. “Damn. Sounds like she rocked your entire ecosystem.”

“She did,” I admit. “And now I can’t stop thinking about her. But I can’t exactly plaster her face on a milk carton.”

Ethan leans back, fingers steepled. “You’re not the type to obsess.”

“Tell that to my brain.”

A beat of silence passes.

Then Noah claps his hands. “Alright. Operation Mystery Girl is a go.”

“I’m not—”

“Too late,” Ethan says. “We’ll find her.”

“I don’t need you to find her.”

“You do,” Noah says. “Because if you keep bottling this, you’re going to crash. And watching Jaden Davenport implode in Armani is not how I want to spend next quarter.”

I glare at both of them.

But they’re right.

And I hate that they’re right.

Later that night, I’m back at my penthouse, staring out the massive windows, city lights blinking like temptation.

And I let myself remember her.

The way she trembled against me. The curve of her lips. The faint scar near her collarbone.

There was pain in her.

Real pain.

The kind that doesn’t just happen overnight.

And she needed someone to burn with her.

So I did.

I wanted her name that night.

Now, I need it.

Because this doesn’t feel over.

This feels like the beginning of something I can’t control.

And I’ve never hated not being in control more than I do now.