Page 2 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

Vivian exchanged a glance with Raffaele, who sighed deeply. He always cut straight to the point. “What the hell was that phone call about?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, shrugging with deliberate nonchalance. “Just a high-profile client.”

Vivian’s curiosity sharpened instantly. She had a way of zeroing in on the truth like a hawk spotting prey. “Anyone I’d know?”

I hesitated, then I leaned in conspiratorially, lowering my voice as if I were sharing State secrets. “Genevieve Witt.”

Vivian choked on her champagne. “Are you kidding me?”

Raffaele frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

Vivian gaped at him. “Only the most famous actress in the human world!”

He raised a skeptical brow, his interest half-hearted at best, as Vivian launched into a rapid-fire gush about Genevieve’s accolades.

“She’s not just an actress,” Vivian said, her voice pitching higher with excitement.

“She’s the actress. Two-time Oscar winner, four-time Golden Globe winner, and don’t even get me started on the SAG Awards.

Her performance in Chasing Shadows practically redefined the genre.

” She pressed a hand to her chest like she was swooning, her champagne glass bobbing in the other hand.

“And the Metropolitan Journal named her the most influential woman in Hollywood three years running.”

“Riveting,” Raffaele deadpanned, his tone so dry it could’ve sparked a brushfire. He glanced at me. “This is the kind of human nonsense you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in?”

“Nonsense?” Vivian slapped his arm playfully.

“Genevieve Witt has done more for mental health advocacy than anyone else in her field. She’s practically a saint.

Not to mention the millions of dollars she’s donated to various charities.

” Vivian turned back to me, her eyes wide with delight. “Wait, you’ve met her? In person?”

“Of course I’ve met her,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“She was in my office for the good part of an hour. A whole host of people have been coming out of the woodwork to defame her and attack her character. She’s anxious to protect her reputation and stop the slander before it gets out of control.

She heard I was the ‘best’.” I mimed air quotes.

“She’s empathetic and often emotional, but she really cares about the people she helps. It’s kind of beautiful.”

“It’s so cool you’re working with her. That’s insane!” Vivian clutched my arm as if I’d just confessed to meeting a deity. “What’s she like?”

“Surprisingly down to earth.”

Vivian shook her head in rapt disbelief, but Raffaele’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening on me. “This is what you’re dealing with now? Tabloids? You’re a lawyer, Eva. Not a PR consultant.”

I shrugged. “It’s all part of the package. The legal work is solid—libel cases, contract negotiations. That’s what I signed up for. The rest is just noise.”

“It’s got to be more than noise, Eva,” Vivian said. “Genevieve Witt is huge. Like, if you’re handling her cases, you’re on everyone’s radar. You must be getting insane public attention.”

I hesitated just long enough for Raffaele to pick up on it. His expression darkened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his tailored jacket pulling taut at the seams.

“What kind of attention?” he asked, far too calmly.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “The usual. People whispering, pointing, maybe snapping a few pictures. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Raffaele’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as if he could crush the idea of prying eyes with sheer force. “That’s creepy as hell, Eva.”

“It’s fine,” I said, waving him off. “I can handle myself.”

“No,” he said, his voice sharper now. “You shouldn’t have to handle this alone. You need extra security.”

“For what? A few whispers and camera clicks?” I arched a brow, swirling the wine in my glass again. “I don’t need a personal army, Raffaele.”

The storm brewing behind his eyes turned darker. “You’re being followed. Watched. That’s not normal, Eva, even for your line of work.”

“It’s normal for her line of work,” I countered. “It’s not like anyone cares about me—they care about her. And they’ll move on as soon as the next scandal hits.”

“Eva—”

Vivian cut him off, placing a hand gently on my arm. “He’s just worried about you. We both are.”

I forced a grin, brushing her concern aside. “This is your day. Go enjoy it. I’ll be over here, making friends with the champagne.”

Vivian hesitated, her hand lingering on my arm for a moment longer than necessary. Then she nodded, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “If you say so.”

They hugged me before they left. Raffaele’s embrace was gruff and brief but affectionate. Vivian’s was warmer and longer, like she was trying to reassure me without saying a word.

I watched them weave back into the crowd, their laughter mingling with the music as they were swallowed up by the throng of glittering guests. A bittersweet pang stirred in my chest.

It wasn’t jealousy, per se. More of a cold, hard realization.

Even though I’d worked my ass off to get to where I was, I’d never had the privileged silver spoon in my mouth.

I wouldn’t have traded lives with Raffaele, necessarily—our father had abused him severely—but he had been born into riches.

He lived in a fucking castle, and he’d also inherited a position of power and influence, something which the daughter of a common street whore could never imagine.

Swallowing hard against the ache, I downed the last of my champagne and set the empty glass on a tray before grabbing a bottle of red wine from another. This was their world, not mine. And that was fine. I’d made my choice years ago, and I didn’t regret it.

The plant display was a small oasis in the chaos of the reception.

The lavish, sprawling arrangement of emerald and jade foliage spilled over the edges of a polished marble pedestal.

The leaves shimmered faintly under the golden lights—enchanted, no doubt, to be even more obnoxiously perfect than they already were.

I approved. Plants didn’t smirk at you or ask invasive questions.

They didn’t care if you drank straight from the bottle, which I was tempted to do.

Instead, I poured a generous helping into a glass, savoring the dark, velvety notes that coated my tongue. I was midway through my second sip when someone cleared their throat behind me.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and my shoulders tensed instinctively. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

It was the guy from the ceremony who had shaken his head at me with that infuriatingly smug smirk, like I was an unruly toddler.

I glanced over my shoulder. He leaned casually against the edge of the display, his grin unapologetic, his dark hair perfectly tousled as if he’d just come from a fight and somehow made it look good.

His sharp jawline and piercing golden-brown eyes should’ve belonged to someone noble, but there was nothing noble about the energy radiating off him.

He was all predator, his tailored suit a sleek cover for something raw and dangerous beneath.

“You’re a tough one to corner,” he said, his smooth voice laced with amusement.

I turned slowly, holding my wine glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. “Wasn’t aware I was being hunted.”

“Jareth,” he said, extending a hand like this was some polite dinner party and not an unwelcome ambush.

“And who are you?” I asked, pouring more wine into my glass and pointedly ignoring his hand.

“I work for The Shadow.” His grin widened, sharp as the edge of a knife, as he dropped his hand. “And you’re his little sister. The one who brought bubblegum pop to a sacred ceremony.”

Heat crawled up my neck, but I refused to rise to the bait. “How do you know he’s my brother?”

“I’m The Shadow’s right-hand man. I know everything and take care of all things for the boss.”

The revelation shook me to my core, though I masked my triggered anxiety with a slow, deliberate sip of wine. Of course, he worked for Raffaele and killed people when asked. That was exactly who I needed to meet when I was two seconds from crawling out of my skin.

Him working for my brother explained the smugness, the too-perfect suit, the air of someone who thought they could walk into any room and own it. Still, it annoyed me to my core that someone other than Raffaele and Vivian knew who I really was. I didn’t like feeling like someone had an edge on me.

“So, what kind of magical creature are you? I’m assuming you’re not human,” I said, my tone frostier now.

“You’d be correct. I’m a cougar shifter,” he replied easily, flashing a grin that was too predatory, too deliberate. It was a reminder that I should tread carefully.

The asshole was trying to intimidate me, and I couldn’t let him see me shake.

Suppressing the shudder clawing up my spine, I said flatly, “I’m not really a fan of know-it-all, supernatural hitmen. I wouldn’t be too proud of your position, if I were you. You’re just my brother’s bitch, no?”

His grin faded. “You wound me.” His voice dipped into that low, velvety register people like him used when they wanted you to know you were standing in the presence of something dangerous.

Something that enjoyed it. “Why don’t I tell you about my last assassination, and you can decide.

It wasn’t a clean job,” he said, almost conversationally.

“But I wasn’t in the mood for clean. He ran like they all do.

Made it two blocks before I brought him down in an alley behind a butcher’s shop.

You know the kind… sawdust on the floor, metal hooks still swinging from the ceiling. ”

I said nothing. My pulse pounded in my throat.

Jareth crossed his arms, clearly savoring the mental image he was feeding me. “He begged, if you were wondering. Kept talking about his kids, which was rich considering he’d sold half a dozen strays to the Crimson Dominion just to settle a gambling debt.”

My jaw ached from clenching it. Don’t react. Don’t flinch. I didn’t want to hear this.

“I gave him a chance to talk,” he went on, voice syrup-smooth. “Told him to make it interesting. He cried instead.” He flashed me a satisfied smile. “So, I slit him open from hip to shoulder. Watched him twitch a little. Messy work, but effective. The message was clear.”

The air felt thinner suddenly. My mouth was dry, but my palms were damp. It wasn’t just the violence that made me want to shudder—it was the way he told it. The detachment. The pleasure.

And all I could see, suddenly, was another powerful magical man using his abilities like a scalpel. Cutting people open to send a message. Watching them die not because they had to, but because it made him feel invincible.

I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t let it show. Not even a blink. I kept my face carefully schooled even as my stomach turned.

Jareth gave me a once-over, as if checking to see if I would squirm. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He pushed off the counter and stepped closer, invading my space just enough to make a point.

“But don’t worry,” he said, his tone light again, almost playful. “I’m not here for you.” That obnoxious grin of his returned. “Unless you suddenly start running a black market soul ring or forget to pay your hitman tax.”

“You’re hilarious.”

He winked. “I try.”

Before he could spew another quip, my gaze landed on the plant sprayer nestled among the foliage. I refused to let this smug motherfucker know he got to me, so I would let him know—in the most humiliating way I could think of—exactly what I thought of him.

Without giving it another thought, I snatched it up and aimed it at his face. Water sprayed across his smug features, and he let out a spluttering gasp.

“Bad kitty,” I deadpanned, the words as dry as the wine on my tongue.

Jareth stared at me in disbelief, then he wiped his face with the sleeve of his suit. “I’m not a cat,” he said with reluctant amusement. “You can’t train me by spraying me with?—”

I squeezed the sprayer again, misting him a second time. “No. Bad cat.”

His exasperated groan was deeply satisfying.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he straightened, muttering something under his breath about “impossible women” and “not being paid enough for this.” He stalked off into the crowd, his shoulders tense but his steps deliberately slow, like he wanted me to watch him leave.

I smirked after him, setting the sprayer back among the foliage. “Looks like you can be trained.”