That evening, Eva met Victor in a quiet park, its paths lined with autumn leaves, the air cool against her skin. She wore a simple black coat, the bracelet gleaming, her heart pounding as Victor approached, his overcoat open, his expression strained but warm.
"You came," he said, his voice low, taking her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "I wasn't sure."
"Always," she said, her smile genuine, her heart racing. They walked, their shoulders brushing, the park a sanctuary from the chaos. Victor's silence was heavy, the anonymous email's shadow lingering.
"I saw the footage," he said finally, his voice rough, stopping by a bench. "You, accessing my files. Tell me why, Eva."
Her heart sank, fear and guilt crashing together. She faced him, her eyes glistening. "I was looking for answers," she said, her voice trembling, a half-truth. "About Liam, about the past. I didn't mean to hurt you."
He studied her, doubt and love warring in his gaze. "I want to trust you," he said, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing her jaw. "But I need the truth. All of it."
The words broke her, her secrets a wall between them. She leaned into his touch, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm trying," she said, her eyes meeting his. "I love you, Victor. That's real."
He sighed, pulling her Into a gentle embrace, his arms a sanctuary. "I love you too," he said, his voice low, his lips brushing her hair. "But no more secrets, Eva. Promise me."
She nodded, her heart aching, knowing she couldn't keep that promise. They sat on the bench, her head on his shoulder, his heartbeat a steady anchor, the intimacy quiet but profound. But the moment was shattered when her phone buzzed—a text from Damian: *"Sophia hired a thug. Watch your back."*
Eva's blood ran cold, Sophia's obsession now a physical threat. She slipped her phone away, forcing a smile as Victor looked at her, concern in his eyes. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Just work," she lied, her voice steady. "Nothing I can't handle."
He nodded, but his gaze lingered, doubt lingering. As they left the park, his hand on her back, Eva knew time was running out. Sophia's thug, Isabelle's frustration, and Marcus's games were closing in, and Victor's trust was a lifeline she couldn't lose.
###
Back at her apartment, Eva locked the door, her bracelet glinting in the dim light. She checked every corner, finding no cameras, but fear lingered. Damian's warning was a lifeline, but Sophia's obsession was a noose, tightening with every move. Isabelle's failed seduction of Marcus was a setback, but her ambition would drive her to strike again. Eva sank to the floor, the Blackwood file in her hands, Victor's love a weight she wasn't sure she could carry. The game was escalating, and she was no longer sure who would break first.
###
The Blackwood tower's executive floor was a cauldron of tension, the scandal's fallout fueling whispered conspiracies and power plays. Eva sat at her desk, her tailored crimson dress clinging to her curves, the deep neckline a bold statement, her makeup sharp to mask the fear gnawing at her core. The bracelet gleamed, a reminder of Victor's love, but Damian Holt's warning—*"Sophia's planning something worse. Stay sharp"*—and the sting of Sophia's scratches haunted her. Eva's fingers danced over her laptop, drafting a damage-control memo, but her thoughts were on Victor, whose trust was crumbling under Sophia's footage of Eva accessing his files.
Isabelle Voss glided through the floor, her silver suit a sleek contrast to her icy blonde hair, her green eyes predatory. At 35, she was a force—ruthless, brilliant, forged in hardship. Raised by a single mother in a decaying town, Isabelle had fought through elite schools on scholarships, her beauty a weapon, her intellect a blade. A fiancé's betrayal at 24—he'd chosen wealth over her—had hardened her, teaching her that power was the only truth. As senior VP, she'd earned Victor's respect, but Eva's influence threatened her dominion, sparking a jealousy laced with a buried desire for his attention. Her audits had failed, Marcus's interference shielding Eva's forged credentials, and now she'd turn to him again, her frustration a smoldering fire.
Eva caught Isabelle's gaze, a silent challenge, and braced herself. Isabelle approached, her heels clicking, her smile a venomous curve. "Ms. Carter," she said, her voice smooth, "the scandal's bleeding Victor dry. You're his… shadow. Any cracks in that loyalty I should know about?"
The jab was sharp, probing Eva's devotion. Eva met her gaze, her smile sultry, defiant. "Victor's my priority," she said, her tone low, her fingers brushing the bracelet. "I keep him satisfied, Isabelle. Worry about your own game."
Isabelle's eyes narrowed, her frustration flaring. "Games have winners," she said, leaning closer, her perfume sharp. "And I never lose. Watch your step, Eva."
The threat landed, but Eva held her ground, her voice a purr. "I tread lightly," she said, standing, her dress accentuating her curves. "But I don't fall."
Isabelle turned away, her mind racing. Marcus's silence had been a blow, his refusal to spill Eva's secrets a challenge she'd meet with charm and pressure, her ambition unyielding.
Victor summoned Eva to his office, the glass walls framing a city now whispering his family's disgrace. He stood by his desk, his navy suit jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned chest, his dark eyes smoldering with strain and desire. "Close the door," he said, his voice a low growl, a command laced with intimacy.
Eva complied, her heart racing, the footage's shadow looming. She crossed to him, her heels silent on the carpet, her crimson dress catching the light, her presence a magnet. "You're holding the world together," she said, her voice soft, husky, stopping inches from him, her scent—vanilla and spice—wrapping around him. "It's sexy as hell."
He turned, his eyes raking over her, desire flaring, but doubt lingered. "I'm trying," he said, his tone rough, stepping closer, his chest brushing hers, his breath warm. "But that footage—you, in my files, Eva. It's tearing me apart. What were you chasing?"
Her stomach twisted, guilt and love colliding. She couldn't confess—about the leak, the forged resume, or Sophia's thug—but she needed his trust, his touch. She reached for him, her fingers trailing down his chest, slipping beneath his shirt, grazing his skin, feeling his heartbeat. "I was protecting you," she said, her voice a sultry whisper, her lips hovering over his, her eyes locked on his. "Digging into the scandal to keep you safe. Let me make it right, Victor."
His groan was low, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him, her curves molding to his frame, his arousal evident through his trousers. "You're dangerous," he growled, his lips brushing her jaw, kissing, nipping, his beard grazing her skin, sending shivers through her. "I want to trust you, Eva, but fuck, you make me crazy."
She moaned, her hands sliding to his shoulders, nails digging in, her body arching into his, her breasts pressing against his chest. "Then let me show you," she purred, her lips capturing his in a kiss that was all fire and hunger, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting coffee and him, a dance of dominance. His hands roamed her back, slipping under her dress, finding bare skin, his fingers tracing her spine, dipping lower, squeezing her ass, eliciting a sharp gasp.
The office was a furnace, the city's hum a distant echo as their bodies collided. Eva's fingers worked his shirt buttons, ripping it open, exposing his chest—broad, dusted with dark hair, muscles taut with tension. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," she whispered, her lips trailing to his collarbone, her tongue flicking against his skin, tasting salt and heat, her teeth grazing, marking him. Victor's hands slid to her thighs, hiking her dress, revealing black lace panties, his fingers teasing the edge, feeling her wetness through the fabric.
"You're soaked for me," he growled, his voice raw, his lips at her ear, his breath hot. "Want me to fuck you right here, Eva? Bend you over this desk and make you scream?"
Her moan was primal, her body trembling, her hands working his belt, freeing him, her fingers wrapping around him, stroking, feeling him harden. "Yes," she gasped, her voice sultry, her lips brushing his, her hand moving with deliberate slowness. "I want you inside me, Victor. Make me yours."
He lifted her onto the desk, papers scattering, her legs spreading, her dress bunched at her waist, her panties ripped away, exposing her. His fingers teased her, sliding inside, curling, hitting her spot, making her cry out, her hips rocking, her nails raking his arms. "Fuck, you're tight," he said, his voice rough, his lips trailing to her neck, sucking, marking her. "Gonna make you come so hard you forget the world."
Her cries grew frantic, her body trembling, pleasure coiling tight, but she pulled back, her eyes blazing. "Not yet," she said, her voice a command, sliding off the desk, pushing him into his chair, straddling him, her hands guiding him to her entrance. "I want to ride you," she purred, sinking onto him, taking him deep, her moan echoing, her body shuddering at the fullness.
Victor's groan was raw, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her, her rhythm slow, deliberate, each movement a tease, her breasts bouncing, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, Eva," he growled, his lips capturing her nipple, sucking, biting, making her cry out. "You're so fucking perfect. Ride me harder."
She obeyed, her pace quickening, her hips slamming down, the chair creaking, their sounds filling the office—her moans, his groans, the slap of skin. His fingers found her clit, circling, driving her higher, her climax building, her voice a litany of gasps and curses. "Victor," she gasped, her body trembling, her walls tightening. "I'm gonna come."
"Do it," he growled, his thrusts meeting hers, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."
Her climax hit like a storm, her scream echoing, her body shaking, her nails drawing blood, her walls clenching around him. Victor followed, his groan raw, spilling inside her, his body shuddering, their breaths mingling, their bodies collapsing against the chair, slick with sweat, marked by nails and teeth.
They stayed there, the office silent, their bodies tangled, Eva's dress bunched, Victor's shirt ripped. Her hand trailed to his chest, her fingers tracing his heartbeat, her voice low. "I'm yours," she whispered, her eyes glistening, her love a truth she couldn't deny.
He kissed her forehead, his voice rough. "Prove it," he said, his hand brushing her hair, his eyes searching. "No more secrets, Eva."
She nodded, guilt gnawing, knowing Sophia's threat loomed. The moment was broken by a buzz—her phone, a text from Damian: *"Sophia's coming for you. Knife. Get out."* Her heart sank, the confrontation inevitable.