Page 22 of The CEO

She nods, accepting the explanation without further question—though whether she believes it remains unclear. “I’ll have a full background assessment on your desk by morning. Standard protocol for potential recruitment.”

After she departs, I remain seated at the council table, examining the intensity of my reaction to her suggestion of eliminating Eve. My resistance to the idea wasn’t just tactical—it exposed a personal investment I’ve been reluctant to acknowledge.

I rise, making my way to the private elevator that connects directly to my personal quarters. Once inside the secure space of my study, I retrieve the file that contains eight years of observation—Eve’s life documented in photographs, reports, and analyses.

The earliest images show her at nineteen, grieving her parents at their funeral. I study the progression through the years—college graduation, first apartment, entry-level position at theTribune. The transition from photography student to English major after their deaths. The slow withdrawal from social connections, with an increasing focus on work.

The pattern reveals trauma’s impact—her retreat from risk, from exposure, from the investigative tradition her parents embodied. Until recently, when something reawakened in her. When she began looking into deaths the police dismissed, asking questions others avoided, seeking justice outside conventional channels.

Becoming, unknowingly, more like me.

I close the file, moving to the window that overlooks Eden’s expansive grounds. Rain has started falling again, drops tracing patterns down the glass like tears I haven’t shed since childhood.

This obsession with Eve Thorne began as strategic monitoring of a potential witness, evolved into fascination with her resilience, then transformed into something I still struggle to name precisely. Not merely desire, though that element exists. Not simply strategic interest, though her skills would indeed benefit The Shadows.

Something more fundamental. Recognition, perhaps. The sense of seeing myself reflected in another, despite our different paths.

I’ve maintained absolute control over every aspect of my existence since that night at nine years old—emotions regulated, responses calculated, relationships managed with precision. Even The Shadows operates according to my exact specifications, my vision of justice executed with mechanical perfection.

Eve represents the first genuine disruption to that control in decades. She’s the first person who has made me feel something beyond strategic assessment. The first potential vulnerability I haven’t immediately eliminated.

Instead of eliminating the vulnerability, I’ve invited it closer. Arranged for her to photograph me in the forest preserve. Created circumstances that would inevitably lead her to my office, to Eden, to The Shadows.

To me.

Is this calculation or compulsion? Strategic recruitment or something more primitive? The logical part of my mind insists it’s the former—Eve Thorne’s investigative skills, journalistic position, and moral flexibility make her an ideal asset for The Shadows’ operations.

But the truth I’ve avoided for eight years whispers otherwise. The tattoo bearing her name over my heart doesn’t speak to strategic value but to obsession. To fixation. To something dangerously close to need.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message.

Foster

“Eve Thorne has returned to her apartment. Security protocols in place as instructed. Surveillance confirms she’s researching Knox Industries extensively.”

I feel satisfaction curl through me at this confirmation. She’s following the path I’ve laid for her, moving inexorably toward the revelation I’ve orchestrated. Toward the choice I’ll soon present to her.

Yet beneath that satisfaction lies an uncertainty I rarely experience. What if she rejects what I offer? What if, faced with the truth of The Shadows, she chooses the light her parents championed rather than the darkness I command?

The possibility shouldn’t concern me. Contingencies exist for every outcome, including her potential rejection. The Shadows has eliminated threats far more significant than one journalist with uncomfortable knowledge.

But the thought of applying those protocols to Eve Thorne is . . . unacceptable. For reasons I’m not yet prepared to examine fully.

My thoughts are consumed by her throughout the night. Her image haunts me in the darkness: the slight parting of her lips when she’s caught off guard, the way her eyes narrow with suspicion even as they dilate with forbidden curiosity. I envision drawing her closer, step by calculated step, until she stands willingly at the precipice between worlds. Only then will I unveil the justice she’s always sought but never dared embrace—the shadows where true consequence dwells.

What once felt like a dangerous fracture in my armor—this fixation that threatened to unravel decades of perfect control—now pulses with dark certainty. This obsession has transformed, crystallized into something essential rather than destructive. It no longer undermines my power; it hones it to a lethal point, giving purpose to the empire I’ve built in darkness.

As the car glides through rain-slicked streets, I allow my mind to wander into dangerous territory. I imagine Eve in my private chambers beneath Eden—not as a visitor or guest, but as a willing participant in the darkness I inhabit.

* * *

The underground chamber at Eden reverberates with tension as I conclude my briefings. Six pairs of eyes regard me with varying degrees of concern and skepticism. The Shadows’ leadership council only convenes in full on limited occasions, but tonight’s emergency meeting warranted the assembly.

“You invited a journalist to Eden?” The Vigilante leans forward, her sleek form belying the lethal skills that make her our most effective enforcer.

“I invited a potential asset,” I correct, remaining seated in the throne-like chair that marks my position as leader of this organization—a position I don’t take lightly or intend to ever abdicate.

“Or a potential liability.” The Heiress’ voice is low and throaty, her expression neutral.

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