Page 60 of Falling for the Grump Billionaire

For a moment, satisfaction flickers through me, but it’s quickly overshadowed by dread. The more I uncover, the more dangerous this feels.

When Dominic strides into the room later, his expression is grim.

“Anything?” he asks, nodding toward the papers scattered across the table.

I hold up my laptop, pointing to the data. “Conrad’s sabotage wasn’t just about Mercer. He had a personal vendetta against you. The payments started around the same time you rejected his projects.”

Dominic takes the laptop, his eyes narrowing as he scans the screen. “That son of a bitch,” he mutters.

“You couldn’t have known,” I say, though bitterness edges my tone.

His jaw tightens, and his gaze remains fixed on the data. “Conrad always had a chip on his shoulder, but this…” He shakes his head.

“It’s not just him,” I remind him. “This is bigger than Conrad or Mercer. They’re just pawns.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting moment, I see something vulnerable—regret, anger at himself, or both.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “Adrian’s tracking Conrad now. If we find him, he might lead us to whoever’s pulling the strings.”

That Evening

The setting sun casts long shadows across the penthouse, filling the space with uneasy quiet. I sit by the window, replaying the events of last night in my head. The man on the balcony, his cold, calculated movements—they haunt me.

My phone buzzes on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen, expecting another update from Adrian. Instead, a chilling message stares back at me:

Unknown Number:“Mercer wasn’t your first mistake—Eva will be your last.”

My fingers go numb, and the phone slips from my grasp.

“Eva?” Dominic’s voice cuts through my panic. He’s by my side in seconds, his piercing gaze scanning my face. “What happened?”

I hand him the phone wordlessly. His eyes darken as he reads the message, his body stiffening with tension.

“Adrian,” he barks into his own phone. “We have a problem. Track this number. Now.”

The room feels suffocating as Dominic paces, his clipped words sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“They’re watching us,” he mutters. “Every move we make.”

I force myself to speak. “It’s a warning. But what if it’s a distraction? To keep us from focusing on Mercer and the files?”

He stops pacing, his gaze sharp. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t ignore it.”

An hour later, Adrian’s voice crackles through Dominic’s phone.

“The number was a burner. No tied accounts, no digital footprint. It pinged off a Midtown tower, but it’s already offline.”

“Anything else?” Dominic demands.

“There’s one lead. The same tower flagged another burner earlier today. It sent an encrypted message to Graham Clive.”

Dominic’s expression hardens. “Clive.”

“He’s in Brooklyn. A warehouse near the docks. It’s heavily secured, but we can get in.”

“Send me the location,” Dominic orders.

As Dominic prepares to leave, I scour the files for anything new. And then I see it—a name buried deep in the financial transactions.

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