Page 75 of The CEO

“Then I’ll handle it.” The words come out harsher than intended, an edge of warning in my tone.

“As you did with Kurt Ivy?” His question skirts the edge of insubordination.

I move toward him slowly, deliberately. “Be very careful, Foster.”

He doesn’t back down, which is why I’ve kept him by my side all these years. “I’m concerned about your judgment where she’s concerned. We all are.”

“My judgment is not up for debate or scrutiny,” I snap, my control slipping further. “The organization functions at my discretion, not the other way around.”

“Of course, sir.” He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of deference that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll inform the council.”

After he leaves, I sink back into my chair. The throne that has defined my power for so long now feels like a prison. I close my eyes, remembering Eve’s command.

“Kneel.”

And I had—without hesitation, without resistance. In that moment, she held more power over me than anyone has in decades. And instead of feeling diminished by it, I felt . . . released.

The realization disturbs me. I’ve built my life around control—maintaining it, wielding it, never relinquishing it. Yet with Eve, something in me craves the surrender. Craves the absolution only she can provide.

I may have lost her forever.

The thought cuts deeper than any blade, more painful than any wound I’ve sustained over the years. Her forgiveness was never part of my calculation, never factored into my plans for bringing her into The Shadows. Now it’s the only variable that matters.

The organization, the power, the empire—all of it pales in comparison to the simple truth that I couldn’t bear to see her walk away. Not when I’ve only just found her again.

I trudge back upstairs to the greenhouse. The air hangs heavy with humidity, clinging to my skin. My focus should be on the ghost orchid from Bolivia, the crown jewel of my collection, requiring precise care at this crucial stage in its blooming cycle. The plant has consumed three years of my attention, its value beyond monetary measure. It’s one of only five known specimens in existence.

And yet, I can’t concentrate.

My hands hover over its delicate roots as my eyes register the first signs of distress in the yellowing edges of its leaves. The orchid is dying and needs immediate intervention. But my mind keeps drifting to Eve, wondering where she’s gone, if she’s safe, if she’ll ever return after learning the truth about her parents.

“Focus,” I mutter to myself, reaching for the specialized nutrition solution I’ve had imported from South America. My fingers tremble slightly as I attempt to measure the precise amount, but my hand slips and I knock over the container, watching as the precious liquid seeps into the soil of the wrong plant.

“Fuck.”

My frustration builds as I realize I’ve just poisoned a different rare specimen with a solution that will slowly kill it.

I step back, running a hand through my hair, aware that something fundamental has shifted inside me. My carefully constructed control, the discipline I’ve maintained for decades, is fracturing over a woman. Over her absence.

The sound of the greenhouse door opening barely registers until Foster’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

“Sir.” His tone is careful until he sees what I’ve done. “Shit?—”

“I know,” I reply without looking up, staring instead at the slight wilt already visible in its otherworldly petals.

“You’ve spent three years cultivating it.”

I finally meet Foster’s gaze, seeing the confusion in his eyes at my uncharacteristic negligence. “And yet, all I can think about is whether she’s safe. Whether she’s coming back.” I run a hand through my hair again—a gesture of agitation I never allow myself in front of others. “What is happening to me, Foster?”

My most trusted operative studies me for a long moment, his expression shifting from concern to the smallest smile. “I believe, sir, it’s called being human.”

The observation hits me with physical force, a pain lancing through my chest as if I’ve been stabbed. Human. Vulnerable. Weak. Everything I’ve spent decades eliminating from my existence.

“I don’t have room to be human.” I turn away, straightening my shoulders, fighting to reclaim the cool detachment that has defined me since I was nine years old.

“With respect, sir, I don’t think this is something you can control.” Foster steps closer to the dying orchid, examining it with the expertise he’s gained from years at my side. “Some forces are beyond even your manipulation.”

I watch him prepare the correct solution, his hands steady where mine were not. The irony isn’t lost on me—that my fixation with keeping Eve alive has led me to neglect the rarest living thing in my possession.

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