Page 153 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

Eva meets my gaze, her eyes flashing with determination. “Dominic, don’t—”

Before she can finish, a shot rings out, splitting the night wide open.

Time seems to freeze as Gideon stumbles, clutching his shoulder. Eva moves instinctively, diving for cover as Adrian pulls her out of harm’s way.

I stride forward, my gun trained on Gideon as he collapses to the ground. “You were saying?” I ask coldly.

But even as I speak, the sound of reinforcements approaching fills the air. The fight isn’t over—not yet.

“Move!” I shout, grabbing Eva’s hand as we bolt toward the exit.

The weight of the evidence we’ve gathered fuels my steps. Reyes’s operation may still be standing, but tonight, we’ve struck a blow he won’t soon forget.

EPILOGUE

________

Lena

The ocean breeze brushes against my face as I step out of the car onto the cracked pavement outside my grandmother’s clinic. The air smells of saltwater and pine, a crisp blend carried from the ocean and the woods that surround the town. A bittersweet pang tugs at my chest as I take in the sight of the building—faded but still standing, just like me.

The shingled roof sags at the corners, and the hand-painted sign above the door readsTorres Holistic Wellness Clinic. I reach out, tracing the peeling paint with my fingertips. Memories flood back—countless afternoons spent here as a child, watching my grandmother work her quiet magic. Her hands moved with calm assurance, blending herbs, tending patients, and offering words that somehow healed more than the body.

The memory warms me, but it leaves a weight too—a question I can’t ignore.Can I live up to this?The thought lingers, heavy and unspoken, as I step inside.

The familiar creak of the door echoes in the silence. Dust motes float in beams of sunlight from the tall windows, catching on the worn wooden floors. It feels comforting and daunting all at once. This place is my legacy now—a gift and a responsibility. I want to savor the nostalgia, but I can’t ignore the weight of what lies ahead.

That evening, I find myself at the town’s annual charity gala. The invitation, still folded neatly in my purse, was Eva’s insistence. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come—small-town galas aren’t my thing—but she was right. It’s an opportunity to reconnect with the community and maybe even drum up support for the clinic.

The hall is draped in fairy lights and garlands, and the air buzzes with chatter and laughter. The faint scent of lavender and fresh-cut roses tries to soften the usual undercurrent of tension that always seems to hang in rooms like this. I smooth the fabric of my dress, trying to focus.

“Lena, over here!” Eva’s voice cuts through the hum, and I spot her waving near the bar. She’s glowing in a sleek navy gown that makes her look like she belongs on a magazine cover.

As I weave through the crowd, I catch the curious glances thrown my way. It’s not every day someone returns to this town after years away, let alone to take over a clinic most people had already written off.

“Thanks for dragging me here,” I say, accepting the glass of champagne Eva hands me.

“You needed this,” she says with a grin. “Besides, you never know who you might meet.”

Her words barely settle before a low, smooth voice cuts through the hum around us.

“Holistic healing? A charming euphemism for pseudoscience.”

I turn sharply, my gaze locking onto a tall, broad-shouldered man a few feet away. His sharp jawline and piercing gray eyes would be captivating if not for the condescending smirk curling his lips. He’s dressed in a tailored black suit, his posture exuding confidence and precision.

“Excuse me?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I can’t let the insult slide.

“You heard me,” he says smoothly, tilting his glass in my direction. “Herbal remedies and energy alignments aren’t exactly what I’d call medicine.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I hold my ground. “And what would you call medicine? Pills that mask symptoms instead of addressing the root cause?”

The smirk deepens, and he takes a slow sip of his drink before replying. “Medicine is evidence-based. Tested. Proven. Not fairy tales passed down through generations.”

“Fairy tales?” I repeat, disbelief lacing my tone. “Do you even know what holistic healing is, or are you just reciting something you read in a textbook?”

His gaze narrows slightly. For a moment, the crowd fades, leaving only the two of us locked in a battle of wills.

“I know enough to recognize wishful thinking when I see it,” he says.

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