Page 38 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

EVA

I pulled the hood of my jacket tighter around my face, more wary now after Raffaele’s warning.

Jareth strode along beside, his face obscure beneath sunglasses and a baseball cap.

The streets buzzed with life, but I couldn’t focus on any of it.

It all blurred together—the people, the sounds, the city itself.

My life felt like it was spiraling out of control, and I had no idea how to fix it.

The thing with Genevieve loomed over me like a storm cloud.

I didn’t know what was going on with her, and I hated feeling so helpless.

My career, my carefully curated reputation, was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

And then there was Jareth. Jareth, who had drawn a big, bold line in the sand after last night, making it abundantly clear he regretted every second of it.

The rejection stung more than I cared to admit, and I didn’t even know why.

It wasn’t like I wanted romance, I thought bitterly, shoving those feelings aside. It wasn’t like we were soulmates or anything ridiculous like that. It had been an impulsive, stupid decision. And he clearly thought it was a mistake.

Fuck Jareth and his perfect hair.

To make matters worse, my brother was taking complete control of my life, which I never asked for. I never fucking asked for any of this.

But even as I spat venom at Raffaele in my mind, I couldn’t shake the nagging guilt.

He had always worked so hard to keep me safe, to keep me out of The Below and away from its dangers.

This wasn’t what he wanted for me, and I knew it.

But it still fucking sucked. My life wasn’t my own anymore, and I hated every second of it.

Jareth cleared his throat as we approached the wig shop.

He held the door open, stepping aside to let me enter first. I walked in, my heels clicking against the polished floor, and froze.

The store was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Wigs lined the walls, displayed on mannequin heads of every shape and size.

They came in every color, length, and style imaginable.

I couldn’t believe I’d sent clients here without ever stepping foot inside.

“Well,” Jareth said, glancing around, “this is… something.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He gestured toward the women’s section. “Ladies first. Let’s pick yours out.”

I followed him reluctantly, scanning the options in front of me. Jareth plucked a long, curly red wig off the wall and held it up to my face, smirking. “This would look good on you.”

I snatched it out of his hands and walked to a mirror as I put it on. One look at my reflection had me scowling. “I look like a clown who just survived an unfortunate electrocution accident.”

Jareth laughed, full and loud. “Yeah, maybe that’s not the best choice.”

His laughter was contagious, and I couldn’t stop my lips from twitching into a reluctant smile. I tried on a few more wigs—some too big, others too bright—and we both agreed that none of them suited me. Finally, Jareth held up a sleek blonde bob that hit just below my chin.

“Here,” he said. He stepped up behind me as I put it on. “This one could work.”

I looked at my reflection and paused. It wasn’t half bad. The short, bright hair made me look like a completely different person.

“If you’re going to wear a disguise, it makes sense to go from having long black hair to short blonde hair. I think it’s a smart choice.”

“It’s not horrible,” I admitted. “All right. This will do.”

Jareth grinned. “Great. Now, let’s have some fun in the men’s section.”

I followed him to the other side of the store, where he immediately grabbed a black afro wig and plopped it onto his head. He struck a dramatic pose in front of the mirror. “Perfect. I’ll be your pimp daddy as we walk the streets of New York.”

I burst out laughing. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously amazing,” he corrected.

I rolled my eyes and tossed a long, shaggy brown wig at him. “Try this one.”

He slipped it on and turned to the mirror, his expression thoughtful. “Not bad,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I look like an aging rock star.”

“You’re ready for your comeback tour.”

Jareth laughed, pulling off the wig and scanning the shelves for something else. Finally, he grabbed a blond wig with a man bun and held it up triumphantly. “This is the one.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. This one really transforms me. Plus,” he added as he put it on his head, “we’ll have matching hair colors. Maybe people will think we’re siblings.”

I shook my head. “You’re out of fucking control.”

“What’s new, Delgado?”

After trying a few more wigs, we finally settled on our disguises.

I grabbed a red wig for Genevieve and paid for them at the register, my mind already spinning with how I was going to explain this to my staff.

As the clerk bagged our purchases, Jareth leaned over and told her we’d be wearing them out of the store.

I glared at him. “We don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, we do. Your brother’s orders, remember?”

Reluctantly, I put my wig on while Jareth adjusted his with an exaggerated flourish. When he turned to me, he struck another dramatic pose with his hands on his hips. “What do you think?”

I chuckled. “I think you should wear it all the time.”

“That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

I sighed, adjusting the blonde bob one last time. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jareth held the door open for me as we stepped back onto the bustling streets of New York.

The walk to the public parking garage felt longer than it should have.

My feet moved, but my mind spiraled. I needed answers, and Genevieve was the only person who could give them to me.

But every word out of her mouth lately contradicted what I was seeing with my own two eyes.

My instincts told me she was in trouble, but logic disagreed.

Jareth walked silently beside me, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His wig was slightly askew, but I didn’t point it out. When we reached the car, he clicked the fob, unlocking it with a chirp, and we slid inside.

“She better have something solid to say this time,” Jareth muttered as he started the car.

I shot him a look. “She’s not on trial here, Jareth. She’s my client.”

He arched an eyebrow, glancing at me as we pulled out of the garage. “Your client’s been avoiding you for weeks while she made your job a hell of a lot harder.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Jareth let out a low grunt, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully dropped the subject.

The drive to Genevieve’s hotel was uneventful, with only the radio breaking the silence.

My phone vibrated in my lap, and I glanced down to see a text from the security team I’d hired.

One of the guards confirmed that he was stationed outside her room.

At least something was going according to plan.

When we reached the hotel, I strode to the front desk, giving the clerk the same fake name we’d used before. To my relief, it worked. The clerk smiled politely and told us to take the elevator to the tenth floor, room ten-oh-one.

“Fancy,” Jareth muttered as we stepped into the elevator. “Your clients don’t settle for anything less than luxury, do they?”

“Genevieve deserves a safe place,” I replied curtly, my eyes fixed on the numbers climbing on the screen above the doors.

When we stepped out onto the tenth floor, the security guard I’d hired was standing tall and alert outside the door. He nodded as we approached, his stance professional and reassuring. It was a small relief in the chaos that had become my life.

Genevieve was slumped on the couch, surrounded by a sea of used tissues. Her hair was greasy and matted, and the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. She barely registered our arrival until Jareth muttered, “She’s seen better days.”

I elbowed him sharply in the ribs, shooting him a glare before hurrying over to Genevieve. Her eyes flickered toward me, and she pushed herself upright, her movements slow and lethargic.

“Eva,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Then, to my shock, she practically collapsed into my arms. Her entire body shook against me, and I froze, unsure what to do.

I glanced over my shoulder at Jareth. He shrugged helplessly and looked uncomfortable. I gave him a pointed look as I awkwardly patted Genevieve’s back and let her cry it out. When her sobs subsided, I gently guided her back to the couch and took a seat across from her on the loveseat.

“Genevieve,” I began carefully, “I need you to listen carefully to me.”

She nodded and wiped her nose with a tissue.

“This morning, one of my men found security footage of you at the same club that’s been all over social media.

The footage showed you taking your shirt off, grinding on strangers.

..” I paused, waiting to see if she understood what I was saying.

“This means that the social media videos that have been going around weren’t doctored. ”

Genevieve’s eyes widened in horror, her hands trembling as she clutched the tissue. “Eva, I swear,” she croaked. “I couldn’t have been there.”

I stared at her, searching her face for any hint of deception, but there was none. It made no sense, but I believed her. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew she was telling the truth. I knew it on a deep, visceral level I couldn’t ignore.

“Okay,” I said slowly, crossing one leg over the other. “If you don’t remember being there, we need to figure out why. Something isn’t adding up.”

Genevieve’s voice broke. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’ve seen the videos of myself doing all the shit you mentioned earlier, but I have no recollection of any of it. It’s like it wasn’t me at all. That can’t be normal, right? Something terrible must be wrong with me.”