Page 68 of Her Cruel Empire
I’ve toppled kingdoms, held the world in my hands. I’ve made grown men weep and powerful women kneel. But none of it feels as terrifying—or as precious—as holding Robin in my arms.
And for the first time in years, I let myself hope. Not desire. Not need. Not want.
Simplyhope.
Chapter 24
Eva
Iwake with the Paris dawn to the sound of Robin’s soft breathing, her body warm and pliant against mine. Once again, she sleeps like a child—completely trusting, completely unguarded. In the dim light, she looks impossibly young, impossibly innocent.
Too innocent for this world.
And definitely too good for someone like me.
I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake her. As I dress for the day’s meetings—I can’t blow them off again, unfortunately; even I can see that would be unreasonable—I feel a simmering warmth in my chest whenever I look at her.
It’s dangerous to want her like this. Dangerous to keep her so close, to let her sleep in my bed, to pretend could be anything more than a temporary arrangement.
But when Robin appears in the doorway, tousled and smiling, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and those white cotton panties that drive me crazy, I wonder what it would be like to see thiseverymorning.
“No more playing hooky?” she asks, her voice husky with sleep.
“Just a quick meeting,” I say, adjusting my cufflinks. “Nothing exciting.”
She pouts theatrically. “All work and no play makes Eva a very boring billionaire.”
I smirk, moving toward her. “We’ve been playing for two days straight. You’re spoilt, little bird.”
“Maybe. But you’re the one who’s spoiling me.” She reaches up to straighten my collar, her fingers gentle against my throat. “Can I come with you? I promise I’ll be good.”
The word ‘good’ on her lips does things to me that I’m not ready to examine. “I suppose you can wait in the car,” I concede. “But you’re not coming into the meeting. We could have coffee and pastries somewhere afterwards.”
Her face lights up like I’ve just given her the world. And my heart lights up along with it.
In the car, Robin chatters lightly—the pastries she still has to try, the museums she’d like to visit, the way the light hits the Seine in the morning. I listen, half-amused by her enthusiasm, half-distracted by a growing sense of unease.
Because something feels off today. The streets seem quieter than usual, the shadows deeper. And in the front seat, Leon keeps checking his phone, his jaw tight with tension.
“This afternoon,” I tell Robin, trying to push away the anxiety, “we’ll do something fun. Anything you want.”
Robin grins. “You in a theme park? That I’d pay to see.”
The image is so absurd—me, Eva Novak, standing in line for a roller coaster—that I actually laugh. The sound surprises even me.
“I don’t do theme parks,” I say. “But I’m sure we can find something more civilized.”
“We’ll see about that.” Robin’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “I’m very persuasive.”
Yes, she is. That’s the problem.
The car pulls up outside a nondescript office building in the 8th arrondissement. The meeting should be straightforward. A quick discussion to confirm last year’s rates plus inflation, a handshake, and we’ll be done.
Leon steps out first and comes around to open my door, looking up and down the street. He gives me a nod and I step out of the car, lift my face to take in the sunshine.
The crack of gunfire splits the morning air.
“Down!” Leon roars, suddenly filling the doorway as he shoves me back inside. A bullet grazes the doorframe where my head was a split second ago, leaving a smoking gouge in the metal.
