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.

The Emerald Conference Room was silent as a tomb.

A long mahogany table dominated the space. Representatives from five major firms sat along the sides. Richard and Julian were sweating.

Eve sat in a chair behind Richard, clutching her folder.

The double doors opened.

Delos French walked in.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He moved with a predatory grace, flanked by a team of lawyers who looked like sharks.

Eve kept her head down. She stared at his shoes. Hand-stitched Italian leather.

"Sit," Delos said.

The voice.

It went straight through Eve's spine. It was the voice from the dark. The voice that had told her to get out or die.

She gripped the fabric of her dress so hard her nails tore through the sequins.

"I have twenty minutes," Delos said, taking the seat at the head of the table. "Impress me."

The first two firms presented. Delos tore them apart. He didn't raise his voice. He just asked three questions that exposed their insolvency, then dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

"Next. Harmon Holdings."

Richard stood up. He was shaking. He started reading from the prepared speech. It was full of buzzwords-synergy, paradigm shift, growth potential.

Delos listened for forty-five seconds.

"Stop," Delos said. He didn't even look up from his tablet. "This is garbage, Richard. You're offering me debt disguised as assets. Get out."

Richard froze. "Mr. French, please, if you just look at the-"

"I said get out." Delos stood up. "Meeting adjourned."

Richard slumped. It was over.

Eve looked at her father's defeated back. She looked at Julian's panic.

If they failed, she lost everything. Her mother's care. Her home.

She stood up.

"Mr. French," she called out. Her voice trembled, but it was loud enough.

The room went dead silent. Nobody interrupted Delos French.

Delos stopped at the door. He turned slowly.

His eyes landed on her.

For the first time, Eve saw him clearly. He was devastatingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of cold steel. But there was a darkness in him, a void that terrified her.

He looked her up and down. The gold dress. The choker.

"And who are you?" he asked. "The entertainment?"

Eve flushed, but she stepped forward. She ignored the pain in her foot.

"I'm the one who actually did the work," she said. She held out the blue folder. "This is a restructured proposal. It has nothing to do with buying our company. It's a solution to your problem with the activist investors on your board."

Delos paused. His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "My problem?"

"A strategic marriage alliance," Eve said, her voice gaining strength. "It creates a narrative of stability, of old money merging with new power. It's a public relations shield that makes any move against you look like an attack on a legacy. It's what you want. Control."

Delos stared at her. He took a step back toward the table.

"Bring it here."

Eve walked the length of the room. Every eye was on her. She stopped in front of him.

She held out the file.

Delos reached for it. As he took the folder, his fingers brushed against hers.

Zap.

It was like touching a live wire. Static electricity snapped between them.

Delos froze. His eyes locked onto hers. His pupils dilated.

He knew that touch. His body remembered it before his brain did. The cold skin. The tremor.

He looked at her hands. Small. Delicate.

He looked at her eyes. They were wide with fear.

"Have we met?" Delos asked softly.