Page 24 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

The bistro Eva chooses for lunch is perfect—a tiny place with outdoor seating under a canopy of green leaves.

Sunlight filters through the branches, dappling our table in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.

Eva orders wine. I order coffee and a crepe that comes drizzled with chocolate and dusted with powdered sugar.

I’m relaxed enough now to forget about Leon and the other bodyguards who have filled out the surrounding tables. They’re trying to look casual, but they have some telltale signs—the way they sit facing outward, the slight bulges under their jackets, the way their eyes constantly scan the crowd.

“Do you ever get tired of having all these shadows guarding you?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at our not-so-subtle protection detail.

Eva shrugs, stabbing a fork into her salad. “I don’t think about it at all. They’re part of the scenery.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“Lonely?” She looks genuinely puzzled. “I’m never alone.”

“Being surrounded by people isn’t the same as not being lonely,” I say gently.

I put my fork down for the first time and look at her, wondering if I really dare ask the question I’m thinking.

Yeah. I dare. “Your cousin, Dimi—you said he’s not really into…

” I wave my hand around, vaguely, until she nods.

“The business,” she supplies.

“Yeah. So…don’t you ever think about leaving it behind?”

Eva’s fork pauses halfway to her mouth. For a moment, she looks almost worried, like she’s considering whether to answer honestly or deflect. “Sometimes,” she admits finally. “But I’ve always known that a normal life is not for me.”

“A normal life?” I lean forward, ignoring the way Leon’s attention sharpens at my movement. “Eva, I’m just talking about happiness. About love . You deserve them as much as anyone.”

Eva’s eyes drop to her salad and she doesn’t reply. And that alone makes me ache with pity for her. She might be a beautiful, powerful, hedonistic billionaire…but she clearly has a huge hole inside her that can’t be filled up, no matter how much she owns.

I might be poor, and I might have to work shitty jobs and choose between having electricity or food some months, but with my siblings, there’s always happiness. There’s always love.

Eva doesn’t seem to have that. And even those she loves the most, like Stefan and Dimi, and even Leon—she still doesn’t trust them enough to really let them in and see the real her.

The thought just about breaks my heart.

When we return to the hotel to rest before dinner—we have exclusive reservations at yet another Michelin-starred restaurant—I gasp at the sight waiting for me.

A row of stunning gowns hangs in the suite like a rainbow of silk and velvet and lace.

Deep emerald green, midnight blue, champagne gold, ruby red—colors that would make a sunset jealous.

“Eva,” I breathe, running my fingers over the fabrics. “These are gorgeous. But when would I ever wear them?”

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever you want.” She settles into an armchair, watching me with obvious satisfaction. “I thought you might enjoy having choices.”

I pull out a midnight blue number that feels like liquid silk between my fingers. “I’ve never worn anything like this in my life.”

“Try it on.”

I disappear into the bathroom, struggling with the tiny buttons and hidden zippers. When I emerge, Eva’s expression shifts into something hungry and appreciative. The dress fits perfectly, in turns hugging me and flattering me where it should, and flowing like water when I move.

I twirl in front of the mirror, laughing at my own reflection. “I look like someone else entirely.”

“You look like yourself,” Eva says, rising from her chair. “Just… more .” She steps behind me, her hands settling on my waist as she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Your joy is infectious.”

I lean back against her, feeling the solid warmth of her body. “You’re smiling,” I tease, watching her reflection. “Actually smiling.”

“Sometimes I do. Don’t tell anyone.”

Before I can respond, she turns me in her arms and kisses me deeply, her mouth warm and demanding against mine. I melt into her, my hands fisting in her blouse as she pulls me closer.

We fall back onto the bed together, kissing lazily, giving up halfway so that our clothes are still half-on. When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I trace my fingers along her cheekbone. “Eva?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you. For today. For...this.” I gesture at the gowns, the luxury, the impossible beauty of it all. “I know this isn’t real—I know I’m just here for thirty days. But this still means everything to me.”

Something flickers across her face—too quick for me to read.

“I know,” I say quickly, before she can remind me of the terms of our arrangement. “I know what this is.”

But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it anymore. The way she looked at me on the Eiffel Tower, the way she chose me over her empire today, the way she’s holding me now like she never wants to let me go—none of it feels temporary.

I was supposed to be hers for thirty days. But I’m starting to wish it could be forever. I have no idea how it would work. But if there’s one thing I definitely know about Eva Novak, she can make anything happen.

She could remake the whole world with the flick of a finger.

And as those fingers of hers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder and the Paris skyline glitters beyond our window, I’m filled with a hope so fierce it takes my breath away.