Page 21 of The CEO

“Foster, do I have your loyalty on this?” The line goes silent for just a second, his response coming without question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s keep it between us.”

I don’t need to elaborate further for him to understand what that means. We both know that just because I haven’t told The Shadows about Eve doesn’t mean they won’t find out. Little if anything is done within our organization that doesn’t find its way back to the others. But the problem will be if they don’t trust my judgment on this. If under any circumstances, other members of The Shadows find out who Eve really is or what she knows, Foster will be the one I’m sending home to his mother in a hundred boxes.

My thoughts refocus back to Eve—her directness and that unflinching gaze when she confronted me. She impressed me, actually, testing my limits of self-control. The urge to reach out and wrap my hand around her delicate throat was almost too much to handle. Even now, my hand itches, my fingers curling tightly against my palm as I imagine what it will feel like to see her submit to me.

Eve Thorne isn’t just another faceless pawn in my game. She’s the queen I’ve been patiently waiting for. And once she enters Eden, I don’t plan on ever letting her leave.

* * *

Iexamine this shifting perception as Foster drives in silence. For eight years, I’ve kept Eve Thorne at a distance precisely because of how she affected me—the unfamiliar emotions, the distraction from purpose, the potential vulnerability. I monitored her life through reports and surveillance, maintaining clinical detachment through procedural distance.

Yet the moment I saw her in the forest preserve, that carefully maintained boundary collapsed.

Seeing her in person—not through a camera lens or in surveillance images, but alive and real and mere feet away—triggered something I’ve spent years suppressing. Something I haven’t felt since I was nine years old, watching my mother’s blood pool on our kitchen floor at the hands of her boyfriend.

“Sir,” Foster interrupts my thoughts as we approach Eden’s gates. “The council members have arrived for the meeting.”

I nod acknowledgment, forcing my focus back to immediate obligations. The Shadows’ leadership awaits my direction on operational matters that won’t wait for personal distractions. Yet even as I mentally review the agenda, Eve remains present in my thoughts—a persistent undercurrent beneath strategic considerations.

Inside Eden, I move through familiar corridors toward the underground chamber where the council gathers. My expression reveals nothing of my internal conflict—years of discipline ensuring my exterior remains perfectly controlled regardless of mental state.

“Damien.” The Heiress greets me as I enter, her aristocratic posture immaculate as always. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d join us.”

“Traffic,” I offer simply, taking my seat at the head of the ancient table.

The council meeting proceeds as usual—operational reports, strategic planning, resource allocation decisions. I participate with appropriate attention, yet part of my mind remains fixed on Eve. On the photograph I’ve carried for eight years. On the surveillance reports cataloging her movements, her habits, her evolving investigative skills.

On the memory of her face when she confronted me in my office today.

The meeting concludes after two hours of focused discussion. As the council members depart, The Vigilante lingers, her perceptive gaze studying me with unusual intensity.

“Something’s different,” she observes when we’re alone. “You’re distracted.”

I consider deflection, then decide against it. The Vigilante has been with The Shadows almost as long as I have—her insight is valuable, her loyalty proven repeatedly.

“A situation has developed that requires personal attention,” I acknowledge.

“The woman from the forest preserve,” she states rather than asks. At my raised eyebrow, she continues: “Foster mentioned you had him arrange surveillance on someone named Eve Thorne.”

Of course he did. Foster’s efficiency includes ensuring key personnel have necessary information—and The Vigilante qualifies as essential to security operations.

“She’s connected to a past operation,” I explain, revealing only what’s strategically necessary. “Her recent activities have brought her into proximity with sensitive matters.”

The Vigilante’s expression remains neutral, professional. “Is she a threat requiring elimination?”

The question is logical—our standard approach to potential exposure. Yet hearing it applied to Eve triggers an unexpected resistance in me.

“No,” I reply with more force than intended. Moderating my tone, I continue: “She’s potentially an asset. Her investigative skills and position at theTribunecould prove valuable with proper cultivation.”

The Vigilante studies me for a long moment, her trained eye likely detecting more than I wish to reveal.

“Professional interest, then,” she finally says.

I meet her gaze steadily. “Precisely.”

---