Page 1 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

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Eva

The dress is a mistake.

Clingy, sequined, and a touch too bold for someone trying to blend in with a room full of tech elites. But it’s the only thing I own that whispersconfident professionalinstead ofdivorced journalist barely holding it together.I smooth the hem nervously, glaring at the cracked mirror in my tiny apartment like it’s the dress’s fault.

“You’ve got this, Eva,” I mutter, testing a smile that doesn’t quite land. Confidence is half the battle, right?

My clutch sits on the counter, essentials meticulously packed: phone, press badge, recorder, and my well-worn notebook. Tonight’s gala is my shot to prove I’m still the journalist who breaks stories—not just the one defined by a failed marriage and career slump. Exposing the cracks in Dominic Kane’s tech empire could be my comeback.

If I can get close enough to him.

I glance once more at the mirror, brushing an errant curl from my face. The dingy reflection feels like a taunt, reminding me how far I’ve fallen. But tonight isn’t about the past—it’s about clawing my way back. One story. One chance.

The ballroom at The Meridian is dazzling. Crystal chandeliers bathe the room in a warm glow, their light refracting off polished floors and glittering gowns. The hum of laughter, the clink of glasses—it all blends into an elegant symphony of exclusivity. Every detail whispers power, money, and untouchable influence—the perfect backdrop for a man like Dominic Kane.

I pause just inside the entrance, scanning the crowd. Designer suits, diamonds that catch the light like tiny stars—this is a world I barely scrape the edges of, but tonight, I belong. Or at least, I’ll fake it.

Dominic Kane is a legend. A self-made billionaire who turned Kane Enterprises into a tech powerhouse. But behind the accolades lies a man who’s notoriously private. Shielded by layers of PR perfection, he’s impossible to pin down.

My pulse quickens as I weave through the room. Tonight, everything depends on getting close enough to him.

A waiter glides by with a tray of champagne flutes, and I grab one, the cool glass steadying my hand. The bubbly liquid tickles my throat, but it does little to calm the flutter in my chest.

“Eva Stone!” A voice slices through my thoughts, and I turn to see Darren, a former colleague. His tuxedo looks slightly too loose, like he borrowed it last-minute, but his grin is genuine.

“Darren,” I say, forcing a smile. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Freelancing these days. Thought I’d try my luck covering this circus. What about you? Chasing a scoop?”

“Something like that.” I keep it vague. Darren’s a nice guy, but trust in this business is a luxury I can’t afford. Leads shared are leads stolen.

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Any leads worth sharing?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Darren chuckles, but his attention shifts past me, and his expression changes. “There he is. Dominic Kane.”

I turn, and it feels like the air changes.

Dominic Kane commands the room without trying. Tall, striking, his tailored suit sharp enough to cut glass. He moves like someone who’s already decided who belongs in his orbit—and who doesn’t. His piercing blue eyes scan the crowd, assessing, dismissing. People part instinctively as he strides through, like water before a ship’s bow.

My grip tightens on the stem of my glass. This is the man I need to confront. The man whose empire might be crumbling undersabotage. If I can get him to talk, this could be the story that changes everything.

He takes the podium, and the emcee introduces him as the evening’s keynote speaker. Polished applause ripples through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his deep voice cutting effortlessly through the noise. “Tonight, we celebrate innovation, progress, and the partnerships that make it possible.”

His words are practiced, impersonal. A crafted narrative designed to reveal nothing. I study him, searching for any crack in his armor, but he’s impenetrable. Control radiates off him like a shield.

When he finishes, the applause is thunderous. He steps off the stage, and a knot of reporters closes in. His sharp “No comment” cuts through them like a blade, his tone icy and final.

This is my moment.

I weave through the crowd, clutch in hand, but Darren grabs my arm as I pass. “Eva, don’t. He’ll crush you.”

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