Page 24 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

“What does that mean?” I press, frustration mounting.

“It means we’re running out of time,” he says tightly. “Whoever’s behind this—they’re not just coming for me. They’re coming for you too.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and for a moment, I can’t respond. He’s right. The break-in, the photos, the threats—they’re all connected to whatever storm is brewing around Kane Enterprises. And I’m caught in the middle of it.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

“To stop making this harder than it needs to be,” he says, stepping closer. “If you want the truth, you’re going to need my help.”

I blink, startled. “You want to work together?”

“I don’t want to,” he corrects sharply. “But it’s the only way to get ahead of this. You’re chasing a story. I’m chasing answers. Maybe if we pool our resources, we’ll actually get somewhere.”

The idea feels absurd, like mixing oil and water. But as much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. Whoever’s behind this is playing a dangerous game, and if Dominic Kane is willing to help, I’d be stupid to refuse.

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “But if we’re doing this, it’s on my terms.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Your terms?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “No secrets. No games. If we’re working together, I need full transparency.”

“From you too,” he counters, his tone equally sharp. “If I’m putting my neck on the line, I need to know I can trust you.”

The irony of his demand isn’t lost on me, but I nod. “Agreed.”

The hallway falls silent as the weight of our agreement settles between us. It feels precarious, like a house of cards waiting to collapse, but it’s the best chance we have.

My phone buzzes, breaking the tension. I glance down, my stomach twisting as I see the sender: another anonymous text.

Dominic notices my hesitation. “What is it?”

I swipe the screen, opening the message. My breath catches as I see the photo—a grainy image of Dominic and me standing in the hallway, locked in conversation. The timestamp is less than a minute ago.

Below the photo is a single line of text:

“Trust him, and you’ll both fall.”

My chest tightens, and I turn the screen toward Dominic. His jaw clenches as he reads the message, his expression darkening.

“They’re watching us,” I whisper, the words barely audible.

He looks up, his blue eyes sharper than ever. “Then it’s already started.”

Dominic doesn’t wait for me to process the message. “We’re going inside,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitate, my instincts screaming to assert control, to not let him bulldoze his way into my space. But the image on my phone erases any argument I might have had. Someone is watching us. Right now.

I push the door open, stepping inside with Dominic close behind. His movements are calculated, his eyes sweeping the apartment like a hawk searching for prey. The space feels smaller with him in it, his presence commanding and intense.

“Lock the door,” he says without looking at me. I do as he asks, the sound of the bolt sliding into place strangely reassuring.

He moves to the window, tugging the curtains shut before pulling his phone from his pocket. He types a quick message, his jaw clenched tightly. The silence stretches, the weight of his focus amplifying the tension in the room.

“Who are you texting?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Adrian,” he replies, his tone clipped. “I’m having my team trace the message and check the surrounding area for surveillance.”

“You think they’re nearby?” I step closer to the window, my pulse quickening.

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