Page 130 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing gentle circles against my collarbone.

I lean back into his touch, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m not alone.”

“No, you’re not,” he replies, his lips quirking in a faint, reassuring smile.

I take a deep breath, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is it—the moment everything changes. My pulse pounds in my ears as I press“Publish.”

The confirmation pops up on the screen: stark, final, inescapable.

It’s live.

Hours Later

The fallout is immediate.

The article spreads like wildfire, dominating headlines and sparking chaos. My phone buzzes incessantly—a relentless flood of calls, messages, and emails. Praise, condemnation, threats—they pour in, each one louder than the last.

Across the room, Dominic stands by his desk, phone pressed to his ear. His voice is calm but commanding as he reassures board members and investors. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie discarded, and though the chaos swirls around him, his resolve is unwavering.

Adrian strides into the penthouse, laptop in hand and a grim expression etched into his face. He places the device on the desk and looks at Dominic.

“It’s escalating,” he says. “The board’s on edge, and Reyes’s camp is already spinning their narrative. They’re painting Eva as a rogue journalist with an agenda.”

Dominic’s jaw tightens. “Let them try. The evidence speaks for itself.”

Adrian nods. “The investors are nervous, but they’re not jumping ship. Yet.”

“Good,” Dominic replies firmly. “Keep it that way.”

Adrian turns to me, his expression softening. “You did the right thing, Eva.”

I nod, but my stomach churns. “I hope so.”

Later That Night

Dominic and I stand on the balcony, the city stretched out before us like a living, breathing entity. The air is crisp, the hum of traffic a constant reminder that life moves on—even in the wake of upheaval.

“You’re quiet,” Dominic says, breaking the silence.

I shrug, wrapping my arms around myself. “It’s a lot to process.”

He turns to me, his blue eyes soft yet intent. “Do you regret it?”

I meet his gaze, the weight of the question settling over me. “No. But I’m scared.”

He steps closer, his hands framing my face. “You don’t have to be. We’ll get through this.”

I close my eyes and lean into his touch. “How do you always sound so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen what we can do together,” he replies simply.

The next morning, a chill runs through me as my phone buzzes. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and a sense of foreboding grips me.

“Hello?” I answer hesitantly.

There’s silence before a familiar voice cuts through—smooth, menacing, and all too familiar.

“Did you think this was over, Eva?”

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