Page 100 of Bound

Something passes between them.

Something old enough to have built legends and recent enough to still make her cheeks warm.

Every Bachman story begins there, whether the men admit it or not.

Not with the money. Not with the gates. Not with the violence.

With a woman walking where she should not. A man who thinks he owns the room.

And the moment both of them discover they were wrong.

I close the red leather box.

For the first time since Carlos died here, the office doesn’t feel dark.

It feels like a beginning.

“I want to buy it,” I say.

Paige blinks. “Lucian, it’s already yours.”

“Erin should have something purchased cleanly,” I say. “Chosen. Paid for. Recorded. Hers.”

Paige smiles.

Not brightly this time.

Proudly.

“Then I’ll write the receipt myself.”

Bronson looks vaguely pained. “I married a woman who at one time insisted on buying things on her own.”

“You married a woman who enjoys ownership,” Paige says sweetly.

His eyes darken.

I pretend not to see.

Paige walks to the front counter with the red box, and I follow her out of the back office.

The store is open but empty. We closed it for this. No customers. No staff. Just family, glass, gold, and a morning quiet enough to hold what this means.

Paige steps behind the counter.

The same counter, family stories claim, where she once looked at a diamond as if it had called her by name.

Now she opens a sales ledger.

Paper.

Not digital.

A very new Bachman choice.

“What name?” she asks.

I stare at her.