Page 17 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“I warned you.”

I scan the room again, half-expecting someone to step out of the shadows. The silence presses against me, heavier now. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I don’t touch it. Whoever did this—they’ve been here. In my space. In my life.

I click around, searching for my files, but they’re gone. Every note, every draft, every scrap of research I’ve collected over the past two weeks. The folders are still there, but they’re empty—wiped clean.

This isn’t just a warning. It’s a declaration of war.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I grab it, my hands trembling. It’s a text—anonymous, like the warnings before—but this one has no words. Just an attachment.

I open it, and my stomach twists.

The first photo is of me, sitting in the coffee shop earlier tonight. The angle is high, like it was taken from a camera across the room.

The second photo is of me at the subway station, leaning against the pillar.

The third is of me standing outside my apartment building, staring at my door.

My breath catches.

They’ve been following me. Watching me. Every step, every move.

My earlier paranoia wasn’t paranoia at all—it was real.

For a moment, panic threatens to take over. My chest tightens, and my vision blurs as I grip the edge of the table, forcing myself to breathe. Whoever this is, they want me to feel vulnerable. Helpless.

But I’m not helpless.

I grab my bag and keys, locking the door behind me with shaking hands. There’s only one person who might have the answers I need.

Dominic Kane.

It’s reckless. Stupid. But as I step into the cool night air and hail a cab, one thing is certain.

Whoever sent the message thinks they can scare me.

They’re wrong.

The cab glides through the streets of Manhattan, the city alive with its usual nighttime energy. Neon signs blur past, their harsh glow flickering against the window. I barely notice. My focus is on the phone in my lap, my thumb hovering over the contact I’d saved for Dominic Kane’s assistant.

What am I even going to say when I get there? “Hi, your enemies are stalking me, and I think I might have pissed off someone who wants to destroy you. Help?”

A sharp laugh escapes me, humorless and bitter. The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror but doesn’t comment. Smart.

The cityscape changes as we approach the gleaming monolith of Kane Enterprises. The building stands tall and imposing, a beacon of power and precision against the night sky. Even now, long past regular business hours, its windows glitter with light. There’s no question that Dominic Kane is still here.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, I pay the driver and step out, the weight of my decision settling fully onto my shoulders. The air is colder than I expected, the kind of sharp chill that sneaks under your jacket. I pull mine tighter around me as I approach the entrance.

The revolving glass doors slide open smoothly, and I step inside the polished lobby. It’s everything you’d expect from a billionaire’s corporate headquarters—sleek marble floors, high ceilings, and the faint hum of efficiency in the air. Security guards flank the reception desk, their eyes sharp as they track my movements.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before heading toward the receptionist. Confidence, Eva. Confidence or nothing.

“Hi,” I say, forcing a smile that feels brittle at the edges. “I need to see Dominic Kane. It’s urgent.”

The receptionist, a young man with perfect posture and a tie that screams ‘too expensive,’ raises an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I admit, leaning forward slightly, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial tone. “But he’ll want to see me. Tell him it’s about the leaks. Tell him Eva Stone is here.”

His expression flickers, the surprise quickly smoothed over. For a moment, I think I’ve overplayed my hand. Then he nods, reaching for the phone.

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