(**The Blackwood Enterprises tower loomed over the city, its glass façade reflecting a restless dawn, a mirror to the chaos engulfing Eva Carter's world. In her apartment, Eva stood before her vanity, her black satin robe slipping to reveal the curve of her hip, the silver bracelet Victor Blackwood gave her glinting like a vow etched in starlight. Her skin bore the faint marks of Sophia's nails from their rooftop clash, a raw encounter charged with twisted desire and violence that left Eva's body humming with adrenaline and unease. As Victor's personal assistant, a role secured through forged credentials, Eva wielded her position to destroy Liam Blackwood and Sophia for their betrayal, but the cost was a noose tightening around her heart. The leaked Blackwood scandal had fractured Victor's family, Sophia's knife-wielding obsession had turned lethal, and Isabelle Voss's relentless pursuit of Eva's secrets, coupled with Marcus Kane's slippery alliance, threatened to unravel everything. Tonight, Eva would navigate Victor's doubts in a deeply intimate encounter, face Sophia's unhinged wrath in a confrontation dripping with provocative tension, and brace for Isabelle's next move, her ambition a blade honed by her past.**)
The Blackwood tower's executive floor was a crucible of ambition, the scandal's fallout igniting whispered plots and sidelong glances. Eva sat at her desk, her tailored sapphire dress clinging to her curves, the plunging neckline a deliberate provocation, her makeup sharp to mask the fear coiling in her chest. The bracelet gleamed, a tether to Victor's love, but Damian Holt's warning—*"Sophia's unhinged. She's planning worse. Stay armed"*—and the memory of Sophia's lips brushing her neck in their rooftop clash haunted her. Eva's fingers flew over her laptop, drafting a press rebuttal, but her thoughts were on Victor, whose trust was fracturing under Sophia's footage of Eva accessing his files and the lingering echo of her own secrets.
Isabelle Voss moved through the floor like a panther, her black silk suit accentuating her icy blonde hair and emerald eyes, her every step a calculated strike. At 35, she was a titan—ruthless, brilliant, forged in a crucible of betrayal. Raised by a single mother in a crumbling rust-belt town, Isabelle had clawed through elite schools on scholarships, her beauty a lure, her intellect a guillotine. A fiancé's betrayal at 24—he'd chosen a heiress over her—had taught her that power was the only shield against pain. As senior VP, she'd earned Victor's respect, but Eva's hold over him sparked a jealousy laced with a buried craving for his gaze. Her audits had failed, Marcus's interference shielding Eva's forged credentials, and her attempts to charm him had yielded nothing but frustration. Today, she'd press him again, her ambition a fire stoked by her past, her desire to unmask Eva a personal vendetta.
Eva caught Isabelle's gaze, a silent gauntlet thrown, and braced herself. Isabelle approached, her heels clicking, her smile a venomous curve. "Ms. Carter," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "the scandal's strangling Victor. You're his… confidante. Any secrets slipping through those pretty fingers?"
The jab was a blade, probing Eva's loyalty. Eva leaned back, her smile sultry, her fingers brushing the bracelet, her eyes locked on Isabelle's. "Victor's my world," she purred, her tone low, provocative. "I keep him fulfilled, Isabelle. Focus on your own desires, not mine."
Isabelle's eyes flashed, her frustration simmering beneath her icy façade. "Desires can be dangerous," she said, stepping closer, her perfume—jasmine and amber—sharp. "Yours might burn you, Eva. I'll be watching when they do."
The threat landed, but Eva held her ground, her voice a husky challenge. "Watch all you want," she said, standing, her dress hugging her curves, her posture defiant. "I don't break under scrutiny."
Isabelle turned away, her mind a storm. Marcus's refusal to betray Eva was a wound, his cunning a match for her own, and she'd need a new strategy to break him, her ambition unrelenting.
Victor summoned Eva to his office, the glass walls framing a city now buzzing with his family's shame. He stood by a leather sofa, his charcoal suit jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing sliver of tanned chest, his dark eyes smoldering with strain and raw desire. "Lock the door," he growled, his voice a command laced with hunger, his presence a magnet pulling her in.
Eva complied, her heart pounding, the footage's shadow looming, her body already tingling with anticipation. She crossed to him, her heels silent on the plush carpet, her sapphire dress catching the light, her curves a silent invitation. "You're a fortress," she said, her voice husky, stopping inches from him, her scent—rose and musk—enveloping him. "Holding it all together. It's fucking intoxicating."
He turned, his eyes raking over her, desire flaring, but doubt lingered like a shadow. "I'm barely holding on," he said, his tone rough, stepping closer, his chest brushing hers, his breath hot against her cheek. "That footage—you, sneaking through my files, Eva. It's killing me. What were you after?"
Her stomach twisted, guilt and love colliding, her skin burning under his gaze. She couldn't confess—not about the leak, the forged resume, or Sophia's knife—but she needed his trust, his body, his soul. She reached for him, her fingers trailing down his chest, slipping beneath his shirt, grazing his warm skin, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "I was guarding you," she purred, her voice a sultry whisper, her lips hovering over his, her eyes blazing with need. "Chasing leads to shield your empire. Let me prove my devotion, Victor. Right now."
His groan was primal, his hands gripping her hips, yanking her against him, her curves molding to his frame, his arousal pressing against her thigh through his trousers. "You're a fucking siren," he growled, his lips crashing into hers, a kiss that was raw, desperate, his tongue plunging deep, tasting her, his beard scraping her skin, igniting shivers. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard, her body arching into his, her breasts pressing against his chest, her nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her dress.
The office was a crucible, the city's pulse a distant hum as their bodies ignited. Eva's fingers ripped his shirt open, buttons scattering, exposing his chest—broad, dusted with dark hair, muscles taut with tension, a faint scar above his pec a map she wanted to trace with her tongue. "God, you're perfect," she moaned, her lips trailing to his jaw, kissing, sucking, her teeth grazing his skin, marking him with a bruise that would linger. Victor's hands slid to her thighs, hiking her dress, revealing black lace panties, his fingers teasing the edge, feeling her wetness, his touch bold and deliberate.
"Fuck, you're drenched for me," he growled, his voice raw, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged, his fingers slipping beneath the lace, stroking her, finding her slick and ready. "Want me to fuck you on this sofa, Eva? Pound you till you're screaming my name?"
Her moan was sharp, her body trembling, her hands working his belt, freeing him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking, feeling him throb, thick and hard. "Yes," she gasped, her voice sultry, her lips brushing his, her hand moving with slow, torturous precision. "I want your cock, Victor. Fuck me till I forget everything but you."
He lifted her, carrying her to the sofa, laying her down, her dress bunched at her waist, her panties ripped away, exposing her glistening core. He knelt between her thighs, his lips trailing down her stomach, kissing the soft skin above her hip, his tongue flicking, teasing, her hands tangling in his hair, urging him lower. "Taste me," she purred, her voice a command, her hips rocking, her thighs trembling. "Make me come with that mouth."
Victor's growl was feral, his lips closing around her clit, sucking gently, his tongue swirling, teasing, his fingers sliding inside her, curling, hitting her spot, moving in rhythm with his mouth. Eva's cries were unrestrained, her hips bucking, her nails raking his scalp, her body trembling as pleasure coiled tight, her voice a litany of gasps and pleas. "Fuck, Victor," she moaned, her thighs clamping around his head, her body arching. "Don't stop. Make me come."