Victor broke away from his group, crossing the room with purpose. The crowd parted for him, his presence a gravitational force. He stopped beside her, his scent—whiskey and cedar—wrapping around her like a caress. "You're stealing the show," he said, his voice low, a rumble meant only for her. "That dress should come with a warning."
Eva's lips curved, a teasing smile that masked the flutter in her chest. "Careful, Mr. Blackwood," she said, her tone light but edged. "Flattery might make me think you're distracted."
His eyes darkened, a flicker of amusement mingling with something deeper. "Distracted doesn't begin to cover it," he said, his gaze tracing the curve of her neck. He reached into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. "For you."
Eva's breath caught, her fingers hesitating as she took the box. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, its chain adorned with a single emerald pendant, glinting like a captured star. It was beautiful, understated, and far too personal. "Victor," she said, her voice softer than she intended, "this is…"
"A token," he said, his tone firm but warm. "You've been indispensable, Eva. More than you know."
The words hit her like a wave, stirring guilt and longing. She was here to use him, to wield his power against Liam, but his gesture, his steady gaze, made her question her path. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, the metal cool against her skin, and met his eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm within. "I'll wear it well."
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and offered his arm. "Dance with me."
The request was a command, but his eyes held a question, a vulnerability that disarmed her. She took his arm, her fingers brushing his sleeve, and let him lead her to the dance floor. The string quartet played a slow, haunting melody, and Victor's hand settled on her waist, firm but gentle, guiding her with effortless grace. Their bodies moved in sync, close but not touching beyond the necessities of the waltz, yet the air between them crackled with unspoken desire.
"You're different tonight," he said, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear. "Tense. Something on your mind?"
Eva's heart skipped, but she kept her expression serene, her steps fluid. "Just the pressure of keeping up with you," she said, her tone teasing. "You're a demanding boss."
He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through her. "And you're a puzzle, Eva Carter. One I'm determined to solve."
Her smile faltered, the weight of her secrets pressing against her chest. She wanted to tell him—about Liam, Sophia, the lies—but the risk was too great. Instead, she leaned closer, her cheek brushing his, a fleeting touch that felt like a confession. "Good luck," she whispered. "I'm not that easy to figure out."
His hand tightened on her waist, a silent promise, and they danced, the world fading to a blur of light and music. But Eva's senses remained sharp, catching Isabelle's stare from the sidelines, her lips pursed in calculation. Another figure caught her eye—a man, late 20s, with tousled brown hair and a disarming smile, watching her with interest. He wore a tailored suit, his posture relaxed but confident, a glass of bourbon in hand. She didn't know him, but his gaze was too deliberate to be casual.
As the song ended, Victor led her off the floor, his hand lingering on her back. "I have to make rounds," he said, his tone reluctant. "Stay close."
"Always," she said, her smile playful, but her mind was racing. She needed to identify the stranger, and she needed to keep Isabelle at bay. The gala was a chessboard, and Eva was determined to stay three moves ahead.
She drifted to a quiet corner, sipping her champagne, when the stranger approached. "You're Eva Carter," he said, his voice smooth, tinged with a faint British accent. "The woman who's got Victor Blackwood wrapped around her finger."
Eva raised an eyebrow, her guard up but her tone light. "And you are?"
"Marcus Kane," he said, offering a hand. "Junior executive, corporate strategy. I've been watching you. You're… impressive."
She shook his hand, her grip firm, assessing him. His charm was effortless, his hazel eyes warm but calculating. "Flattery's cheap, Mr. Kane," she said, her smile sharp. "What do you want?"
He laughed, a genuine sound that softened his edges. "Straight to the point. I like that. I want to help you, Eva. Isabelle Voss is gunning for you, and I know her playbook."
Eva's interest piqued, but suspicion lingered. "Why help me? What's in it for you?"
Marcus leaned closer, his voice dropping. "Let's just say I'm not a fan of Isabelle's methods. And I think you're someone worth betting on."
The offer was tempting, but Eva knew better than to trust easily. "I'll think about it," she said, stepping back. "But I don't make deals lightly."
"Fair enough," he said, raising his glass. "Find me when you're ready."
As he walked away, Eva's mind churned. Marcus could be an ally, but his motives were murky—genuine interest, a power play, or something else? She didn't have time to dwell. Isabelle approached, her silver gown shimmering, her smile a blade.
"Enjoying yourself, Ms. Carter?" Isabelle said, her tone laced with venom. "You've certainly caught Victor's attention. Quite the climb for a… what was it? Junior assistant?"
Eva met her gaze, unflinching. "I go where I'm needed," she said, her voice cool. "And Victor seems to value my contributions. Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ms. Voss."
Isabelle's eyes flashed, but her smile didn't waver. "Be careful, Eva. Secrets have a way of surfacing, and I'm very good at digging."
The threat landed, but Eva held her ground, her smile unwavering. "Dig all you want. You'll find I'm exactly who I need to be."
Isabelle walked away, her heels clicking like a countdown, and Eva's stomach twisted. She needed to tighten her grip on Victor before Isabelle or Sophia struck. She found him near the windows, his profile sharp against the city's glow, and joined him, her bracelet glinting as she touched his arm.
"Miss me?" she said, her tone playful, masking her tension.
"Always," he said, his voice low, his eyes softening. "You're holding up well in this circus."
"Barely," she admitted, a rare crack in her armor. "It's… a lot."
He studied her, his gaze searching. "Come with me," he said, leading her to a private balcony overlooking the city. The night air was cool, the skyline a tapestry of lights, and for a moment, they were alone, the gala's noise a distant hum.
"You don't have to do this alone," he said, his voice gentle. "Whatever's weighing on you, you can tell me."
Eva's throat tightened, the urge to confess battling her fear. Instead, she leaned against the railing, her shoulder brushing his. "You're too good at reading me," she said, her voice soft. "It's unnerving."
He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that warmed her. "Good. I like keeping you on your toes."
They stood in silence, the city's pulse a backdrop to their quiet connection. Victor's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers, a simple gesture that felt like a vow. Eva's heart ached, her love for him a dangerous truth she couldn't voice. She was here to destroy Liam, to outmaneuver Sophia, but Victor was becoming her anchor, and that terrified her.
"Let's get out of here," he said suddenly, his voice low. "Somewhere real."
She nodded, her resolve wavering. "Lead the way."
---
They ended up at a diner on the city's edge, a relic of neon and vinyl booths, its jukebox playing soft jazz. Victor, tie loosened, looked Chm and Eva sat in a corner booth, coffee steaming between them, the world reduced to this small, sacred space. The bracelet gleamed on her wrist, a constant reminder of his gift, his trust.
"You don't talk much about yourself," he said, his voice gentle, probing. "Why is that?"
Eva sipped her coffee, buying time. "Not much to tell," she said, her tone light but guarded. "Rough childhood, bad choices. I'm better at looking forward."
He leaned forward, his eyes searching. "I lost someone once," he said, his voice quiet. "My wife. It changed me. Made me… careful. But with you, I'm not careful, Eva. I don't know why."
Her heart clenched, guilt and longing twisting together. "Maybe you're tired of being careful," she said, her voice soft. "Maybe you want something real."
Their hands brushed on the table, a fleeting touch that lingered, electric. "Maybe," he said, his voice rough. "But I need to know you're real, too."