Page 59 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

17

_____

Eva

Morning light streams through the towering glass windows of Dominic’s penthouse, illuminating the remnants of last night’s chaos with a harsh, sterile glow. It feels unreal, like a nightmare I haven’t shaken off, but the ache in my shoulders and the faint bruises on my arms tell a different story. This was no dream.

I glance at Dominic. He stands near the security panel, phone pressed to his ear, every inch of him tense. His voice is clipped, each word delivered with the precision of a scalpel. He’s immaculate in his tailored suit, the picture of control, but the disheveled mess of his hair betrays the sleepless night he’s endured.

“Double the security detail,” he snaps into the phone. “Every access point monitored, every visitor logged. No one gets through without my approval.”

The call ends with a decisive click, the finality echoing through the quiet room. He turns to me, and his piercing blue gaze is sharper than I’ve ever seen it.

“This ends now,” he says, his voice cold and resolute, the promise of retribution embedded in every syllable.

I cross my arms, refusing to back down under the weight of his intensity. “Do you think locking me in here like a prisoner is going to solve anything?”

He strides toward me, each step deliberate, his presence an immovable wall of authority. “It’s not about solving it, Eva. It’s about keeping you alive.”

“And you think a few more guards will do that?” I challenge, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. “Last night, someone waltzed through your security like it was nothing.”

His jaw flexes, the tension radiating from him like a storm ready to break. For a moment, I think he’ll snap, but then he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair.

“You’re not leaving,” he says, his tone final. “Not until I know it’s safe.”

I want to argue, to demand he stop treating me like something fragile he can tuck away, but the truth catches in my throat. I am scared—of the person who almost killed me, of what they’ll try next, of how close they came to succeeding.

“I’m not saying I want to walk into the line of fire,” I say, forcing my voice to hold steady. “But we can’t hide forever. We need answers.”

His gaze narrows, and his voice hardens. “We’ll get them. But we’ll do it my way. I’m going to confront Mercer.”

A knot tightens in my stomach. “And what?” I ask, incredulous. “Demand he hand over his secrets? You think he’ll just confess and hand you everything you need to take him down?”

“He won’t have a choice,” Dominic says, his voice low and menacing.

I study him carefully, noting the dangerous edge in his tone, the way his eyes darken. He’s walking a razor-thin line, and I’m not sure which side he’ll land on.

“And if you’re wrong?” I ask softly.

His gaze flickers—just for a moment—and I know the thought has already crossed his mind.

“Then I’ll be ready,” he says, each word steely with conviction.

Later That Day

While Dominic buries himself in meetings and calls with Adrian, I pour myself into the whistleblower’s files. It’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling. I need to feel useful, to prove I’m more than a liability waiting to be taken out.

The financial records are a tangled mess of seemingly insignificant transactions. But as I delve deeper, a pattern emerges—tiny payments coinciding with the timeline of Conrad’s rejected projects.

I sit back, my pulse quickening. This isn’t just professional jealousy. It’s calculated revenge.

I snap pictures of my findings and send them to Adrian with a short note:

“Conrad’s motive—resentment over Dominic’s rejections? The timeline matches. Check it out.”

His reply comes almost instantly:

“Good catch. I’m digging deeper now.”

---