Page 27 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

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Dominic

The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, bathing the room in soft gold. Normally, this view reminds me of everything I’ve built—the empire I created from nothing. But today, it feels like a taunt, a sharp contrast to the chaos churning beneath the surface.

Working with Eva Stone is a gamble I’m not entirely comfortable with. She’s a wildcard: relentless, unpredictable, and dangerously close to secrets that could topple everything I’ve spent years protecting. Letting her in, even temporarily, risks unraveling more than just my company—it could unravel me. Yet, for reasons I can’t fully explain, I’ve agreed to keep her in the game. Maybe it’s because she’s already too far in to back out. Or maybe it’s because her determination mirrors something I see in myself.

I lean back in my chair, staring at the skyline. Trust has never come easily to me. Years of betrayals and power plays have taught me that vulnerability is a liability I can’t afford. Eva is noexception. She’s clever, resourceful, and deeply frustrating. But beneath that grit is someone I can’t seem to ignore. And I hate that part of me—the part that wants to trust her, even when I know better.

A sharp knock pulls me from my thoughts. Adrian steps in, his expression unreadable as he hands me a tablet.

“What is it?” I ask, straightening in my chair.

“A lead,” he replies. “The tech team traced the most recent breach to one of our Tier-One data centers. This wasn’t remote. Someone physically accessed the servers.”

That gets my full attention. Physical access means someone on the inside. Someone with clearance. My jaw tightens as I scan the report.

“Which center?”

“Westfield,” Adrian says, his tone clipped. “I’ve already pulled the logs and requested surveillance footage. But it’s… unusual.”

I glance up, my brow furrowing. “Unusual how?”

Adrian hesitates, discomfort flickering across his face. Whatever it is, it’s bad. “You should see it for yourself.”

The drive to the Westfield data center is tense, the hum of the car engine the only sound. Adrian sits in the passenger seat, focused on the tablet in his hands. His unusual silence sharpens my unease. He knows something, and the weight of it sits like a stone between us.

The center itself is unremarkable—a nondescript building surrounded by chain-link fencing and security cameras. It’s designed to blend in, like any other warehouse or office park. But inside, it houses some of the most sensitive data Kane Enterprises manages. The thought of someone breaching it—physically—sends my blood boiling.

Inside, the sterile hum of servers fills the air, the faint scent of industrial cleaner adding to the mechanical coldness of the space. The facility manager, Harris, meets us near the entrance. His thinning hair and nervous energy set my teeth on edge.

“Mr. Kane,” he stammers, his voice wavering. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“That makes two of us,” I reply curtly. “Show me the logs.”

Harris leads us to a small control room, where a bank of monitors displays endless rows of server racks. He pulls up the logs on a central screen, scrolling with practiced efficiency.

“This is the breach,” he says, pointing to a timestamp. “3:17 a.m. last Tuesday. Someone bypassed the biometric scanner and accessed the server room. They were in and out in less than ten minutes.”

I study the logs, my mind racing. The access ID belongs to a junior technician—someone who shouldn’t even have clearance for this level of the facility. Credential theft, or worse, collaboration.

“Pull up the footage,” I say, my voice sharp.

Harris hesitates, glancing at Adrian before complying. A few keystrokes later, the surveillance footage fills the screen. The grainy black-and-white video shows the server room, its blinking lights casting faint shadows. A figure moves through the space, deliberate and methodical.

They’re wearing a hooded jacket, the fabric pulled low to obscure their face. As they turn slightly toward the camera, something familiar catches my eye—a set of shoulders, the angle of a jawline. My stomach sinks.

“Pause it,” I order.

Harris freezes the footage. The profile is partially visible, but it’s enough. I step closer, my eyes narrowing.

“It’s him,” I mutter, my voice barely audible.

Adrian looks at me sharply. “You recognize them?”

I nod, my chest tightening. “It’s Conrad.”

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