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.

Eve pulled her hand back as if she had been burned.

"No," she said quickly. "No, sir."

Delos didn't break eye contact. He opened the folder, but he wasn't reading. He was breathing.

He took a subtle breath in.

Under the heavy scent of the room, there it was. A faint trace of vanilla and jasmine.

He looked at the diamond choker around her neck. It was tight. Aggressive.

"That's a bold piece of jewelry, Miss...?"

"Harmon," Eve supplied, her hand instinctively flying to her neck. "Eve Harmon."

"Eve," Delos repeated. He didn't believe her.

He snapped the folder shut. He turned to Marcus.

"This proposal," Delos said, tapping the blue file. "It's the only intelligent thing I've seen today. Vet it."

Richard let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. "Thank you! Thank you, Delos!"

Delos ignored him. He looked at Eve one last time.

"You have a very... distinct perfume," he said.

Eve felt the floor sway beneath her. "It's common. Drugstore brand."

"I don't think so."

Delos turned and walked out.

Eve grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. She felt like she had just run a marathon.

"You did it!" Julian grabbed her shoulder, shaking her. "He took it! What did you say to him?"

"Let go of me," Eve whispered.

"He liked you," Julian said, his eyes gleaming with a new, gross idea. "He couldn't take his eyes off you."

"I need air."

Eve pushed past him. She limped out of the conference room and headed for the terrace. She needed cold air. She needed to escape.

She stood on the balcony, gripping the railing. The New York wind whipped her hair.

She had survived. He hadn't recognized her. Not fully.

The glass door behind her slid open.

Eve turned, expecting Julian.

It was Marcus.

He blocked the exit. He wasn't smiling.

"Miss Harmon," Marcus said. "Mr. French would like a word."

Eve's heart stopped. "I... I have to go. My father is waiting."

"Mr. Harmon has already been informed," Marcus said. "He was very eager for you to accept the invitation."

Of course he was. Richard would sell her to the devil for a stock option.

"Where?" Eve asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"His private lounge. This way."

Marcus held the door open. It wasn't a request. It was a summons.

Eve walked past him. She felt like a prisoner walking to the gallows.

They walked down a private corridor, away from the noise of the party. The carpet was thick, muffling her footsteps.

Marcus stopped in front of a heavy mahogany door. He knocked once, then opened it.

"After you."

Eve stepped inside.