I scan the document.
Standard acquisition terms.
One year minimum.
Financial penalties for early termination—two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from either party.
As if I'd ever terminate early.
I sign and press my thumb to the biometric scanner.
"She's inside," Callum says. "Handlers said she was cooperative. No issues during transport."
Cooperative. That word again.
"Leave us," I say.
"Sir, protocol suggests?—"
"Leave us."
He hesitates. Then nods. "I'll be in the car when you're ready to depart."
He disappears down the hallway.
I'm alone outside the door that separates me from the woman I just purchased for two million dollars.
The woman I saw for exactly three minutes and decided I couldn't live without.
I don't do things like this.
I'm methodical.
Careful.
Every decision backed by data and analysis and cold calculation.
This isn't calculated.
This is something else entirely.
I open the door.
She's at the window, her forehead pressed against the glass.
Hands flat against the pane like she's trying to push through it.
Looking at the boats.
Planning her escape already.
Of course she is.
"Eden."
Her name tastes like something forbidden on my tongue.
She doesn't turn around.
