Page 19 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“Yes,” Dominic says. His voice is colder now, sharper. “And if they’ve dragged you into this, it means they’re desperate. Desperate enough to use you as leverage.”

Leverage. The word sends a jolt of fear through me, but it’s quickly replaced by determination. I won’t let myself be a pawn in someone else’s game.

“So, what do we do?” I ask, folding my arms to steady myself.

“We don’t do anything,” Dominic replies, his gaze hardening. “I’ll handle this. You stay out of it.”

I laugh, the sound brittle. “Stay out of it? Are you serious? They broke into my apartment. They’ve been following me. I don’t get to stay out of it anymore.”

Dominic’s eyes narrow, his frustration evident. “You’re in over your head, Ms. Stone. These people aren’t playing games. They will hurt you.”

“Let them try,” I shoot back, taking another step forward. “I’m not afraid of them. And if you think I’m just going to sit back while they destroy my life, then you don’t know me at all.”

For a moment, we’re locked in a silent standoff, the tension between us palpable. Then, slowly, Dominic exhales, the fight draining from his shoulders.

“You’re reckless,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But I’m not wrong.”

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nods.

“Fine,” he says quietly. “But if you’re going to be involved, you do it my way. No more solo investigations, no more risks. Understood?”

I hesitate, the weight of his words settling heavily over me. But I nod. “Understood.”

Dominic turns back toward the window, his silhouette sharp against the glow of the city. “Then let’s get to work.”

6

_________

Dominic

The first rays of dawn creep over the skyline, but I haven’t slept.Not for a second. Instead, I’ve spent the last several hours combing through every scrap of information I can find on Eva Stone. If she wants to dig into my life, it’s only fair I do the same.

Her file lies open on my laptop, the cold glow of the screen illuminating the polished surface of my desk. Divorcee. Freelance journalist. A reputation for taking on the kinds of stories that make people in power uncomfortable. She’s clever, resourceful, and undeniably persistent—the kind who doesn’t stop digging until every ugly truth has been unearthed.

It should irritate me. Hell, it does. But there’s a part of me that can’t help but admire her. She’s relentless. Fearless, even. Traits that have undoubtedly gotten her into trouble before. Traits that could get her killed if she’s not careful now.

Her recent history paints a clearer picture. Two years ago, she was at the top of her game—a respected name in investigativejournalism. Then came the divorce: a messy, public fallout that left her career in tatters. Since then, she’s been clawing her way back, freelancing for smaller outlets, chasing stories no one else will touch. She’s hungry, determined to rebuild her reputation.

And now, she’s turned her sights on me.

I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly. What’s her angle? Is she looking for a career-defining story, or is there something more personal driving her? She had to know the risks when she started digging into Kane Enterprises, yet she kept pushing—even after the threats.

My thoughts drift to the photos she showed me—the ones her stalker sent.Calculated. Precise. Intimidating.Whoever sent them knew exactly what they were doing, and that worries me more than I care to admit. This isn’t just about protecting my company anymore. It’s about protecting her, whether she likes it or not.

The thought is reckless. Dangerous. I barely know this woman, and yet her image lingers in my mind, sharp and clear like a splinter under my skin. I should walk away—let her fend for herself. But I know I won’t. There’s something about her fire, her refusal to back down, that makes walking away impossible.

A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I bark, sharper than I intended.

Adrian steps inside, his expression grim. He’s holding a tablet, and I already know the news isn’t good. It never is.

“We’ve got a lead on the hacker,” he says, setting the tablet on my desk. “Or at least, part of one.”

I glance at the screen, scanning the details. The IP address leads back to a private server routed through multiple proxies, but one familiar name stands out:James Heller.

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