Page 6 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“Not yet,” Adrian says. “The message was routed through multiple proxy servers, each one more secure than the last. Tracing it will take time.”

“Time isn’t a luxury we have,” I snap.

Adrian doesn’t flinch. “We’re doing everything we can, sir. But there’s something else. It’s about the journalist you encountered tonight.”

“Eva Stone,” I say, leaning back.

“She’s been investigating the sabotage rumors for at least a week. She’s contacted several of your former employees, including Martin Caldwell.”

“Caldwell.” The name is familiar, though not fondly. “The engineer we fired six months ago?”

Adrian nods. “For breaching confidentiality agreements. Stone interviewed him yesterday, and according to our surveillance, he’s been flagged in connection to the Dallas breach.”

The pieces click into place, though the picture they form remains incomplete. Eva Stone. Caldwell. The escalating attacks. This isn’t just coincidence.

Adrian leaves, and the silence of my office feels heavier than usual. I stare at the encrypted message on the tablet, its taunting words practically daring me to act. Whoever orchestrated this isn’t hiding in the shadows—they’re making their move in plain sight. It’s personal. And I intend to make it personal for them, too.

For a moment, my thoughts drift back to Eva. Her determination was evident tonight, but there was something else beneath her confidence—something raw and vulnerable. She’s not like the vultures who circle my company, hungry for scraps of scandal. She’s hunting for something bigger.

But if she keeps digging, she’ll find herself in over her head. And I’m not sure if I can—or should—protect her from what’s coming.

The laptop screen flashes as a new email arrives. My breath stills as I open it, the words leaping off the screen:

“Your empire is crumbling, Kane. Time to watch it burn.”

The same message, but this time there’s an attachment. My stomach tightens as I open it, a series of stolen documentsspilling onto the screen—blueprints, financial records, internal emails. The final file stops me cold: a photograph of me speaking to Eva at the gala.

The angle suggests it was taken from across the room, but the timing is precise.

My jaw tightens, anger simmering beneath the surface. Whoever this is, they’ve crossed a line. I save the image to a secure drive and forward it to Adrian with a simple note:“Find out who took this.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of investigations and unanswered questions. By the time dawn breaks, one thing is clear: this isn’t just about my company anymore. Someone is targeting me, and they’ve marked Eva Stone as a part of their game.

She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s in danger. And whether I like it or not, her survival might now depend on me.

The message and the attached photograph replay in my mind like a relentless drumbeat. Whoever orchestrated this has made one thing clear—they’re watching. Not just me, but Eva too.

I close the email and turn to the window. The city stretches endlessly before me, alive with lights and motion, but it feels smaller tonight, boxed in by the walls of this conflict. I’m not used to being on the defensive. It doesn’t sit well.

The thought of Eva lingers. Her confidence at the gala was undeniable, but her vulnerability was equally apparent. She hasno idea what she’s stepped into. If Caldwell spoke to her, even hinted at what he knows, she’s in more danger than she realizes.

I pace the length of the office, the familiar rhythm grounding me as my mind churns. Caldwell is a weak link, a loose end I should’ve cut months ago. But Eva? She’s an anomaly, unpredictable and stubborn. Her determination might drive her deeper into the storm—into territory where even I can’t protect her.

Adrian’s tablet buzzes on my desk, breaking the silence. I stride over and glance at the update he’s sent. A detailed file on Matthew Lang, the so-called photographer from the gala.

The background check is thin. Too thin.

“Freelance photographer.” That’s the label he used to blend into the crowd, but Adrian’s report confirms what I suspected—his identity is fabricated. The name is linked to a series of one-off contracts, none of which stand up to scrutiny. Lang is a ghost, and ghosts don’t show up uninvited unless they have a reason.

The report also lists surveillance footage from the hotel. I open it and scrub through the timestamps, my eyes narrowing as I spot Lang weaving through the crowd. He moves with precision, never lingering too long in one place.

But it’s not me he’s watching.

It’s Eva.

The footage shows him positioning himself near her at several points during the evening. When she spoke to me, he stood at a distance, his attention unwavering. A chill spreads through meas I pause the video on a frame of Lang holding his phone up, likely taking the photograph that ended up in my inbox.

The email wasn’t just a taunt. It was a statement. Lang—or whoever he’s working for—wants me to know that Eva is a pawn in their game.

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