Across the city, Sophia's apartment was a shrine to her madness, photos of Eva shredded, her laptop open to hacked footage of Eva's movements. Her failed flirtation with Victor and Damian's defection had shattered her, her obsession a wildfire of hatred and twisted desire. She'd hired a thug to scare Eva, but the dive bar failure—Eva's defiance, Damian's intervention—had driven her to act herself. Sophia stood before a mirror, her black leather dress clinging to her frame, her blonde hair wild, her eyes manic, a knife glinting in her hand, her plan to confront Eva at a secluded rooftop bar, a stage for their final reckoning.
Damian, now estranged, sent Eva a final warning: *"Sophia's at the Skyline Rooftop. Knife. Be ready."* Eva couldn't run—she needed to end this. She prepared, slipping into a black dress that hugged her curves, the bracelet gleaming, her body still humming from Victor's touch, her resolve steel.
At the tower, Eva navigated Victor's schedule, her efficiency a mask for her fear. The scandal's fallout was relentless—Liam's career in ruins, Victor's legacy under siege. Her phone buzzed with a news alert: *"Blackwood CEO Faces Board Inquiry."* The pressure on Victor was crushing, and Eva's guilt surged—she'd wanted Liam's downfall, but not this pain for the man she loved.
Marcus approached, his hazel eyes glinting, his smile smug. "Isabelle's on a warpath," he said, leaning against her desk, his voice low. "Tried to charm me into spilling your secrets. I didn't budge."
Eva's suspicion flared, sensing the tension in his words. "What did she offer?" she asked, her tone sharp, standing, her dress accentuating her curves, her eyes locked on his.
Marcus's gaze roamed her, desire flickering, but his plan—to use Eva, undermine Isabelle—held firm. "Everything," he said, his voice low, his hand brushing her arm, a fleeting tease. "But I'm your guy, Eva. For now."
The Implication was clear—his loyalty was conditional. "Keep her at bay," she said, stepping back, her voice a purr. "Or you're useless to me."
He laughed, stepping away. "You're ice," he said, his eyes glinting. "I like it."
Isabelle, across the floor, watched the exchange, her frustration mounting. Her background—rising from poverty, betrayed by love—made her relentless, and Marcus's refusal was a challenge. She cornered him in a quiet hallway, her silver suit unbuttoned, revealing a hint of lace, her voice sultry. "You're protecting Eva," she said, her hand grazing his chest, her lips inches from his. "Tell me why, Marcus, and I'll make it worth your while."
Marcus's smile was sharp, his hand catching hers, stopping her. "You're tempting," he said, his voice low, stepping closer, his breath warm. "But I'm not that easy, Isabelle. Eva's my play. Find your own."
Her eyes flashed, frustration surging, but she stepped back, her smile venomous. "You'll regret that," she said, turning away, her heels clicking, her mind already plotting her next move.
That evening, Eva met Victor at a secluded botanical garden, its paths lined with blooming jasmine, the air heavy with scent, a refuge from the storm. She wore her black dress, the bracelet gleaming, her body still tingling from their office encounter, her heart pounding as Victor approached, his overcoat open, his shirt unbuttoned, his expression a mix of warmth and strain.
"You're a vision," he said, his voice low, taking her hand, his fingers trailing up her wrist, igniting her skin. "I needed you tonight."
"I'm here," she said, her voice husky, her body leaning into his, her curves brushing his frame. They wandered the paths, the moonlight casting shadows, their talk a dance—resilience, passion, the weight of their worlds. Victor's hand slid to her waist, pulling her close, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot.
"You're my fire," he said, his voice rough, his fingers tracing her hip, dipping lower, teasing the edge of her dress. "But I need truth, Eva. No shadows."
Her throat tightened, guilt and desire colliding. She turned, her hands sliding to his chest, slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warmth, her nails grazing his skin. "I'm your truth," she purred, her lips hovering over his, her eyes blazing. "Feel me, Victor. I'm real."
He groaned, his hands gripping her ass, lifting her against a stone wall, hidden by vines, her legs wrapping around him, her dress riding up, revealing lace panties. "Fuck, you're killing me," he growled, his lips capturing hers, a kiss that was raw, hungry, his tongue plunging deep, tasting her, his beard grazing her skin. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling, her hips grinding against him, feeling his arousal through his trousers.
"Want you," she gasped, her voice raw, her lips trailing to his neck, sucking, marking him, her teeth grazing. "Right here, Victor. Fuck me under the stars."
His laugh was dark, his hands ripping her panties, his fingers teasing her, finding her wet, sliding inside, curling, making her moan. "You're dripping," he said, his voice low, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged. "Gonna make you come, Eva. Then I'll fuck you till you scream."
Her cries were soft, desperate, her body trembling, pleasure coiling, but she needed more. "Now," she purred, her hands freeing him, stroking him, guiding him to her entrance. "Inside me, Victor. Make me yours."
He thrust Into her, filling her, her moan echoing through the garden, her legs tightening around him, the wall rough against her back. His rhythm was slow, deep, each thrust a claim, her nails raking his shoulders, her lips finding his, a kiss that was all fire. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, his pace quickening, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wider. "Come for me, baby."
Her climax hit, her scream muffled against his shoulder, her body shaking, her walls clenching, milking him. Victor groaned, spilling inside her, his body shuddering, their breaths mingling, their bodies tangled against the wall, slick with sweat.
They slid to the ground, Eva's dress bunched, Victor's shirt open, their hands still roaming, their connection a lifeline. "I love you," she whispered, her voice raw, her eyes glistening.
"I love you," he said, his voice rough, his hand brushing her cheek. "But I need all of you, Eva."
Her phone buzzed, Damian's warning: *"Sophia's at Skyline Rooftop. Knife. Be ready."* Her heart sank, the confrontation imminent. "I have to go," she said, her voice steady, pulling back.
Victor's eyes darkened, concern flaring. "Be careful," he said, his hand lingering. "I need you safe."
She nodded, her heart aching, and left, the garden's warmth fading into the city's chill.
The Skyline Rooftop was a sleek bar, its open-air deck glittering with city lights, the air sharp with tension. Eva entered, her black dress a weapon, her senses razor-sharp, spotting Sophia at a secluded table, her leather dress clinging to her frame, her blonde hair wild, her eyes manic, a knife hidden in her hand. The bar was sparsely populated, the hum of conversation a backdrop to their showdown, the city's pulse a heartbeat below.
Eva approached, her posture confident, her voice a sultry growl. "You called, Sophia," she said, sliding into the seat opposite, her eyes locked on her rival's, her bracelet catching the light. "Let's finish this."
Sophia's smile was unhinged, her hands trembling, her voice raw, laced with a twisted desire. "You think you own it all," she hissed, leaning forward, her dress gaping, revealing cleavage, her eyes raking Eva's form. "Victor's cock, Liam's life, my fucking soul. But I'll take it back, Eva. I'll make you beg."
Eva's pulse raced, the erotic charge in Sophia's words unsettling, her body responding despite her rage. She leaned closer, her lips inches from Sophia's, her voice a purr. "You're obsessed," she said, her hand brushing Sophia's wrist, feeling her pulse, a dangerous tease. "You want me, don't you? That's why you're here, knife and all, dripping for me."
Sophia's moan was sharp, her eyes widening, desire and hatred warring. "Fuck you," she gasped, her knife flashing, slashing the air, but Eva caught her arm, twisting it, pinning her to the table, her body pressing against Sophia's, their breasts brushing, the tension electric.
"You're pathetic," Eva growled, her lips at Sophia's ear, her breath hot, her nails digging into Sophia's wrist, drawing a whimper. "You want to fuck me or kill me? Pick one, Sophia, because you're losing either way."
Sophia's cry was raw, her body trembling, her free hand clawing at Eva's dress, ripping the strap, exposing her shoulder. "I'll break you," she hissed, her voice a sultry threat, her lips brushing Eva's neck, a fleeting, provocative touch. "You're mine, Eva, and I'll have you screaming."
The bar's hum faded, eyes turning to them. Eva tightened her grip, her voice a command. "You're done," she said, her body pinning Sophia's, her eyes blazing. "Try me again, and I'll fuck you up so bad you'll wish you stayed down."
Sophia lunged, her nails raking Eva's arm, but Damian appeared, his lean frame pushing through, pulling Sophia back. "Enough," he said, his voice sharp, holding her as she thrashed, her screams echoing. "It's over, Sophia."
Eva stepped back, her dress torn, her arm bleeding, her body humming with adrenaline and forbidden heat. "Keep her leashed," she said to Damian, her voice cold, her eyes locked on Sophia's. "Or I'll end her myself."Damian nodded, his eyes conflicted, dragging Sophia away, her sobs fading. Eva sank into a chair, her hands trembling, the confrontation a release but a warning—Sophia's obsession was a wildfire, and this wasn't over.