Page 32 of The CEO

I nod, only partially listening as I assess the space, imagining Eve occupying every inch of it.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Have security alert me the moment she arrives. That’ll be all for now.”

I head to my private quarters to dress for the evening, grabbing a custom black-on-black Tom Ford tuxedo from my closet. I adjust my cufflinks in the mirror, seeing the polished CEO that everyone else sees . . . but behind it, I can still see that scared nine-year-old boy with a bloody knife still in his hands, standing over his mother’s killer. That was the first time I understood the cold clarity that comes with delivering justice. I straighten my bowtie just as my phone vibrates with the alert I’ve been waiting for: Eve has entered the property.

By the time I make it downstairs, the man who smiles and shakes everyone’s hands bears little resemblance to the one who has prowled Chicago the last twelve years. I keep conversations short and engaging as I make my way through the crowd. All the while, my awareness remains fixed on the entrance, waiting for her to make it inside.

The moment I see her, my conversation with the mayor fades into the background. She’s the only person I’ve had a physical reaction to—one that continues to push my limits of self-control. I watch as her eyes flit across the room, dancing rapidly from person to person until, finally, they land on me.

I see the instant she registers that I’m watching her. Her neck stiffens, her lips parting slightly as the breath is stolen from her lungs when her eyes meet mine. Gone is that scared little deer in the headlights, replaced by wide, curious doe eyes that pull me in as I excuse myself, moving through the crowd right toward her.

Chapter7

Eve

Eden looms before me, its Gothic silhouette illuminated against the twilight sky. The wrought-iron gates twist into intricate patterns, including serpents winding through vines, their emerald eyes catching the moonlight as if watching my approach. The nameEdensuddenly feels less like a rich man’s conceit and more like a warning. I’m about to enter the garden, and something tells me the serpent is already waiting inside.

The estate is massive—more castle than mansion, with stone towers and sprawling wings that stretch over manicured grounds. I had no idea such a beautiful monstrosity existed in Chicago.

The grand entrance hall sweeps upward in soaring arches, with crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across marble floors. I’m not sure what I expected—maybe a damp, cobweb-filled space like Dracula would occupy? Something far colder than this Disney-looking fairytale that seems to sprawl on endlessly.

I feel eyes tracking my movement—watching me, assessing, hunting . . . and then, like the parting of the sea, Damien Knox is before me. And once again, the air is pulled from my lungs.

Every time I see him, he feels more imposing than before. The sharp lines of his all-black tuxedo accentuate his height, the subtle power in his shoulders, and the controlled grace of his movements. I force myself to meet his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

But never has a man looked at me like he is right now, with eyes that leave no question as to what’s brewing behind them. They’re dark and heavy, casually roaming over my body like he’s looking for the best place to take the first bite.

And what’s even more screwed up is that you like it.

“Eve,” his voice is richer, lower than I’ve heard it before. He reaches for my hand, gently pulling it toward his lips before leaning in to plant the softest kiss against the back of my palm. “I’m pleased you came.”

“Did I have a choice?”

His gaze doesn’t flinch, and the question sounds a little insane now that I say it out loud.

“Kidding, of course,” I say, flashing a nervous smile. “I was intrigued by your invitation.” I manage the reply even though my jaw feels like it’s on the floor. He holds on to my hand a few seconds longer than necessary, his long fingers gliding a few inches up my arm before he finally releases it. “I feel out of place.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” I glance around, feeling like the eyes of the rich are on me, wondering who I am. “Like I don’t belong.”

Before I can register it, his fingers are against my jaw, pulling my gaze back to his. “You belong anywhere I want you to be.” His smile doesn’t soften the possessive edge in his voice. His eyes drop briefly to my neckline, his approval evident. “This color suits you perfectly.”

I don’t have time to ask him if he was following me yesterday before he gently presses his hand against my lower back, guiding me across the floor. I don’t think my brain could register a coherent thought right now anyway.

“Allow me to introduce you to some people who might interest a journalist of your . . . investigative nature.”

His comment brings me back to reality—a much-needed reminder that this is just an act from him, a way to lure me into trusting him and revealing what I know. I adjust my focus, and the next hour passes in a blur of introductions to more politicians, business leaders, and aristocrats than I ever care to meet again. But these are the people who pull the strings of this city—the puppeteers who control Chicago behind the scenes. Damien navigates these waters with practiced ease, his hand rarely leaving my back as he presents me as a talented writer working on a special project.

I try to observe it all: the subtle power dynamics that play out, the deference shown to Damien, the curious glances directed my way. Through it all, I’m acutely aware of his presence beside me, the heat of his hand against my back, the way he subtly positions himself between me and anyone else.

“You play this role well,” I murmur during a brief moment alone with him. I take a sip from my champagne flute. “The philanthropic businessman surrounded by adoring socialites and eager minions ready to serve.”

His eyes sharpen with interest, a smirk hovering at the corner of his lips. “And what makes you think I’m playing a role?”

“The same thing that makes me think there’s more to The Shadows than just a secretive little name that nobody seems to have ever heard.” I hold his gaze, noting a flash of surprise as he registers the information I just shared. “People reveal themselves in unguarded moments, Mr. Knox, just like you did in the forest preserve. I didn’t just take photos. I listened.”

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