Page 3 of His Ruthless Match
“Nonsense?” Vivian slapped his arm playfully. “Genevieve Witt has done more for mental health advocacy than anyone else in her field. She’s practically a saint. Not to mention the millions of dollars she’s donated to various charities.” Vivian turned backto me, her eyes wide with delight. “Wait, you’ve met her? In person?”
“Of course I’ve met her,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She was in my office for the good part of an hour. A whole host of people have been coming out of the woodwork to defame her and attack her character. She’s anxious to protect her reputation and stop the slander before it gets out of control. She heard I was the ‘best’.” I mimed air quotes. “She’s empathetic and often emotional, but she really cares about the people she helps. It’s kind of beautiful.”
“It’s so cool you’re working with her. That’s insane!” Vivian clutched my arm as if I’d just confessed to meeting a deity. “What’s she like?”
“Surprisingly down to earth.”
Vivian shook her head in rapt disbelief, but Raffaele’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening on me. “This is what you’re dealing with now? Tabloids? You’re a lawyer, Eva. Not a PR consultant.”
I shrugged. “It’s all part of the package. The legal work is solid—libel cases, contract negotiations. That’s what I signed up for. The rest is just noise.”
“It’s got to be more than noise, Eva,” Vivian said. “Genevieve Witt is huge. Like, if you’re handling her cases, you’re oneveryone’sradar. You must be getting insane public attention.”
I hesitated just long enough for Raffaele to pick up on it. His expression darkened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his tailored jacket pulling taut at the seams.
“What kind of attention?” he asked, far too calmly.
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “The usual. People whispering, pointing, maybe snapping a few pictures. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Raffaele’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as if he could crush the idea of prying eyes with sheer force. “That’s creepy as hell, Eva.”
“It’s fine,” I said, waving him off. “I can handle myself.”
“No,” he said, his voice sharper now. “You shouldn’t have to handle this alone. You need extra security.”
“For what? A few whispers and camera clicks?” I arched a brow, swirling the wine in my glass again. “I don’t need a personal army, Raffaele.”
The storm brewing behind his eyes turned darker. “You’re being followed. Watched. That’s not normal, Eva, even for your line of work.”
“It’s normal forherline of work,” I countered. “It’s not like anyone cares about me—they care about her. And they’ll move on as soon as the next scandal hits.”
“Eva—”
Vivian cut him off, placing a hand gently on my arm. “He’s just worried about you. We both are.”
I forced a grin, brushing her concern aside. “This is your day. Go enjoy it. I’ll be over here, making friends with the champagne.”
Vivian hesitated, her hand lingering on my arm for a moment longer than necessary. Then she nodded, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “If you say so.”
They hugged me before they left. Raffaele’s embrace was gruff and brief but affectionate. Vivian’s was warmer and longer, like she was trying to reassure me without saying a word.
I watched them weave back into the crowd, their laughter mingling with the music as they were swallowed up by the throng of glittering guests. A bittersweet pang stirred in my chest.
It wasn’t jealousy, per se. More of a cold, hard realization. Even though I’d worked my ass off to get to where I was, I’dnever had the privileged silver spoon in my mouth. I wouldn’t have traded lives with Raffaele, necessarily—our father had abused him severely—but he had been born into riches. He lived in a fucking castle, and he’d also inherited a position of power and influence, something which the daughter of a common street whore could never imagine.
Swallowing hard against the ache, I downed the last of my champagne and set the empty glass on a tray before grabbing a bottle of red wine from another. This was their world, not mine. And that was fine. I’d made my choice years ago, and I didn’t regret it.
The plant display was a small oasis in the chaos of the reception. The lavish, sprawling arrangement of emerald and jade foliage spilled over the edges of a polished marble pedestal. The leaves shimmered faintly under the golden lights—enchanted, no doubt, to be even more obnoxiously perfect than they already were. I approved. Plants didn’t smirk at you or ask invasive questions. They didn’t care if you drank straight from the bottle, which I was tempted to do.
Instead, I poured a generous helping into a glass, savoring the dark, velvety notes that coated my tongue. I was midway through my second sip when someone cleared their throat behind me.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and my shoulders tensed instinctively. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
It was the guy from the ceremony who had shaken his head at me with that infuriatingly smug smirk, like I was an unruly toddler.
I glanced over my shoulder. He leaned casually against the edge of the display, his grin unapologetic, his dark hair perfectly tousled as if he’d just come from a fight and somehow made it look good. His sharp jawline and piercing golden-brown eyesshould’ve belonged to someone noble, but there was nothing noble about the energy radiating off him. He was all predator, his tailored suit a sleek cover for something raw and dangerous beneath.
“You’re a tough one to corner,” he said, his smooth voice laced with amusement.
