It was 2:00 AM. The house was silent, but Eve was wide awake.

She sat on the edge of her bed, a first-aid kit open beside her. The cut on her leg from the champagne bottle was throbbing. She cleaned it with alcohol, biting her lip to keep from making a sound.

The door handle turned.

Eve yanked her pajama pant leg down just as Julian walked in. He was holding an ice pack.

"Get out," Eve said.

"Just bringing ice for the bruise," Julian said, smirking. "Or the bite mark. Whatever it is."

"I don't need your help."

"You need something," Julian said, leaning against the doorframe. "You're playing a dangerous game, Eve. Throwing Serena to the wolves."

"If the company goes under, your trust fund dries up, Julian. You'll be poor. Do you know how to be poor?"

Julian's smirk vanished. "Watch your mouth."

"Get out."

He left, but the threat lingered.

The next morning, the conference room at Harmon Holdings was a glass cage.

Eve sat at the far end of the table. She was dressed in a shapeless grey suit, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was invisible. Just the way she needed to be.

Richard and Julian were arguing over the numbers.

"We need to bribe the board," Julian suggested.

"No time," Richard snapped. "We'll use the models. Send the girls to the gala. Distract him."

Eve typed furiously on her laptop. Idiots. Delos French wasn't a man who could be distracted by models. He was a machine. She had felt the cold, hard calculation in him, even when he was drugged.

She stopped typing. Her hand throbbed. The bandage on her palm, where she had cut herself on the glass in her room, was tight.

"Type faster," Julian snapped. He was standing over her with a cup of coffee.

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Not fast enough."

Julian tipped the cup.

Brown, scalding liquid splashed over Eve's hand. It soaked into the bandage instantly.

The pain was blinding. It seared her skin, mixing with the fresh cut.

Eve didn't scream. She didn't pull away. She went perfectly still, a cold fury rising in her chest. Her eyes lifted to meet Julian's, and for a second, he saw the Fixer, not his sister. He saw the woman who dismantled careers with a single press release. He flinched.

"Oops," Julian said flatly, but his bravado was gone.

Richard looked over. "Clean it up. Don't get it on the documents."

That was it. No concern. No apology. Just the documents.

Eve stood up. She walked to the side table, grabbed a napkin, and wiped the coffee from the table. Then she wiped her hand. The white gauze was turning pink as the blood seeped through again.

"I'm changing the entire bid," Eve announced. Her voice was calm, terrifyingly so.

"What?" Richard asked.

"French isn't after our assets, he's in the middle of a proxy war for his own company. I've been tracking the chatter. He needs to consolidate his power before the next shareholder meeting," Eve said. She remembered the way he had pinned her. The absolute need for dominance. "We aren't offering him a partnership. We're offering him a solution to his real problem. It's a PR move, a strategic alliance that shores up his flank."

Richard stared at her. "You want to offer him... what? A merger?"

"Worse," Eve said. "An alliance so public, so iron-clad, that his board can't challenge him without looking like fools. Do you want to be the chairman of a bankrupt company, or the strategic partner of the most powerful man in the city?"

Richard hesitated. Greed warred with ego. Greed won.

"Do it," he grunted.

Eve sat back down. Her hand was burning, but her mind was clear. She worked through the night. She poured every ounce of her legal and strategic knowledge into the document. She wrote it for him. For the monster in the dark.

At 3:00 AM, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Wear the red dress tomorrow. I want to show you off. - Carter.

Eve deleted the text. Carter Sterling. Another pawn her father was trying to sell her to.

She looked out the window at the skyline. Somewhere out there, Delos French was waiting. She was going to walk into the lion's den. And she was going to make sure he looked at the papers, not at her.

The dressing room was a chaotic explosion of fabric and hairspray.

Eve stood in her underwear, her arms crossed over her chest. The stylist was trying to force her into a black gown she had chosen-modest, elegant, invisible.

"No," Richard's voice boomed from the doorway.

He walked in, holding a hanger. On it hung a scrap of gold sequins. It was backless, with a plunging neckline that ended dangerously low.

"Wear this," Richard ordered.

"Father, no," Eve said, stepping back. "I'm going as a legal consultant. That dress is... it's for a showgirl."

"Exactly," Richard sneered. "Nobody cares about your brain, Eve. They care about this." He gestured vaguely at her body. "Sell the package."

"I won't."

"Then get out of my house," Richard said calmly. "And I'll stop paying for your mother's care facility by morning."

The threat hit its mark. Eve closed her eyes. She let her arms drop.

"Fine."

The stylist helped her into the dress. It was tight, restricting her breathing. The sequins scratched her skin. When she looked in the mirror, she didn't see a businesswoman. She saw a high-priced commodity.

She reached for a velvet box on the vanity. Inside was a diamond choker, a piece she had bought with her own money. It was modern, architectural, and sharp. She fastened it around her neck. It wasn't just jewelry; it was armor. It sat high and tight, perfectly covering the bruise Delos had left.

She sat down to put on the shoes. Four-inch stilettos.

Her injured foot throbbed in protest. She had put a heavy bandage on the heel, but the pressure was agonizing. Every step was going to be torture.

She stood up, wincing.

Julian was leaning against the doorframe again. He whistled.

"Nice," he said. "Dad knows how to pick them. But the necklace? A little much, don't you think?"

He reached out to touch the diamonds.

Eve slapped his hand away. Hard.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

"What are you hiding?" Julian's eyes narrowed. "A hickey?"

"It's covering a scar from a childhood accident," Eve lied smoothly. "One you caused, if you recall. Unless you want me to tell that story to the investors, leave it alone."

Julian stared at her for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "Whatever. Just make sure you talk to Carter Sterling. He's our Plan B."

Eve grabbed her clutch. Inside, folded neatly, was the bid. Her weapon.

She walked past Julian, careful not to let her limp show.

At the bottom of the stairs, the front door was open. The night air rushed in.

Eve paused. She looked back at the dark hallway leading to the guest wing. The memory of the heat, the cedar smell, the fear... it washed over her.

She squared her shoulders. She wasn't that scared girl in the dark anymore. Tonight, she was a player.

She walked out to the waiting limousine.

The ballroom at the Pierre Hotel was a sea of tuxedos and jewels. The air smelled of expensive perfume and ambition.

Eve walked in on Richard's arm. She felt the eyes on her immediately. The gold dress was doing its job. It caught the light, making her look like a walking trophy.

She kept her head high, but her eyes were scanning the room.

Up on the mezzanine level, behind a pane of tinted glass, Delos French sat in a leather chair.

He was watching the monitors.

"The earring is a custom piece from the 'Monarch' collection," Marcus said, standing beside him. "Only three pairs were sold in New York."

"Find them," Delos said. His voice was flat. He twirled the single diamond butterfly in his fingers. The sharp point pricked his skin.

He looked down at the crowd. He saw Richard Harmon enter. He saw the woman in gold.

He frowned. She was flashy. Ostentatious. Everything he hated. But there was something about the way she walked. A slight hesitation in her left step.

Pain? Or just bad shoes?

He dismissed her. She was just another Harmon decoration.

Down on the floor, Eve extricated herself from Richard.

"Work the room," Richard hissed before disappearing toward the bar.

Eve exhaled. She found a pillar and stood behind it, trying to disappear.

"There you are."

Carter Sterling appeared, holding two flutes of champagne. He was handsome in a plastic, Ken-doll sort of way.

"You look edible, Eve," Carter said, looking at her chest.

"I'm working, Carter," Eve said, refusing the drink.

"Come on. One drink." He stepped closer, invading her space.

Before Eve could answer, an arm wrapped around her waist. A heavy, possessive arm.

"She's busy, Carter," Julian said, appearing out of nowhere. He pulled Eve against his side.

Eve felt bile rise in her throat. She was trapped between two predators.

"Excuse me," she muttered. "Ladies' room."

She broke free and walked fast. Her heel dug into her cut with every step, sending spikes of pain up her leg.

She turned the corner into the quiet hallway leading to the restrooms.

A man was walking toward her. Broad shoulders. Earpiece.

Eve stopped. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

It was the bodyguard. The one who had stood in the doorway of the suite. Marcus.

He looked at her. His gaze lingered for a second too long. He seemed to be analyzing her face, searching his memory.

Eve forced herself to keep walking. Don't run. Don't look guilty.

She nodded politely as they passed.

Marcus nodded back. "Ma'am."

As soon as he was behind her, Eve practically fell into the restroom. She locked the stall door and leaned against it, gasping for air.

He hadn't recognized her. Not yet.

Outside the stall, two women were fixing their makeup.

"Did you hear?" one said. "Delos French is actually here. Upstairs."

"He's terrifying," the other giggled. "They say he fired his own mother from the board."

"I heard he's a sociopath. No emotions. Just numbers."

Eve closed her eyes. A sociopath. And she was about to go try to outsmart him.

The PA system chimed. "All bid representatives, please proceed to the Emerald Conference Room."

Eve opened her eyes. She checked the choker. It was tight.

She unlocked the door.