Page 55 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

EVA

The caption twisted the knife deeper.

Eva Delgado, once hailed as a top legal mind, follows in her client Genevieve Witt’s erratic footsteps. How long before her career is unsalvageable?

I swiped to the next photo—a grainy shot of me on the streets of New York in a blonde wig, holding what looked like a joint but I knew was just candy.

Delgado lets loose: Top 40 Under 40 star seen slumming it in the city.

It was damning and humiliating. My carefully curated reputation, everything I’d built, had been reduced to tabloid fodder in a matter of hours.

My phone vibrated with notifications—texts, missed calls, emails—but I couldn’t bring myself to answer any of them. The world felt like it was closing in around me, the air thick and suffocating.

A sharp sob escaped before I could stop it. I slammed my phone down on the counter, and gripped the edge as I fought to keep it together. My eyes burned, and my throat was so tight I struggled to breathe. This is what it felt like to watch your life fall apart in real time.

I didn’t hear Jareth approach until his voice cut through the silence. “Eva.” He’d gone to install Vivian’s magical tech in Genevieve’s hotel room before I even woke this morning.

I startled slightly, turning to find him standing in the doorway, his eyes sharp but soft with concern. His hair was tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked as unsettled as I felt.

“You saw it,” I said hoarsely. It wasn’t a question. Of course he’d seen it.

“Yeah. I saw it.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “Great. Now I can add you to the list of people who think I’ve completely lost it.”

“No one who knows you thinks that,” Jareth said firmly, pulling out the stool beside me and sitting down. His presence grounded me even as my emotions spiraled.

“You mean no one except the entire city of New York?” I snapped, gesturing toward my phone. “Do you have any idea how bad this is? My clients, potential clients, other attorneys… they’re all going to see this. Who’s going to trust a lawyer who looks like… like…”

“Like a human?” Jareth asked. He slid my phone out of reach of my hand. “Stop torturing yourself.”

“I’m not torturing myself,” I said, even as my voice cracked. “I’m being realistic. Everything I’ve worked for—everything I’ve built—is unraveling. And for what? Because some asshole with a camera wanted a story?”

My voice broke on the last word, and Jareth’s expression softened. He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine.

“Eva, you are not defined by a fucking tabloid article. You know who you are. The people who matter know who you are. This? This doesn’t change that.”

“What if it does? What if this is what people remember? Not my work, not my cases—just this?”

Jareth leaned in, his eyes locked on mine, his hand tightening around mine. “Then fuck them. You’re Eva fucking Delgado. You’re brilliant, you’re relentless, and you’re a pain in my ass, but you’re not someone who gives up. You don’t let people like this win.”

My vision blurred with tears I refused to let fall. He looked so certain, so unwavering, as if his belief in me could hold me together when I was ready to fall apart.

“You make it sound so simple,” I whispered.

“It is. You’re stronger than this. And you’ve got me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That did it. The tears spilled over. I ducked my head, my hands trembling, and Jareth immediately pulled me into his arms.

He held me like I was something precious, stroking my back as I buried my face into his chest. His warmth and steady heartbeat were everything I needed in that moment, and it made me fall for him just a little harder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

After a while, I pulled back, wiping at my cheeks and managing a shaky smile. “You’re annoyingly good at this comforting thing, you know that?”

He brushed a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for stubborn, infuriating women.”

I laughed, the sound lighter this time, and it felt like a small victory. “Lucky me.”

Jareth leaned back slightly, his gaze searching mine. “Seriously, Eva. You’re going to get through this. And if anyone tries to stand in your way, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

My heart stuttered at the intensity in his voice and the way his golden-brown eyes seemed to see straight through my walls. I knew he meant it. Every word.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. “Anytime.”

For the first time, after opening that article, I felt like I could breathe again. The weight on my chest wasn’t gone, but it was lighter. And as I looked at Jareth, I realized something terrifying and wonderful: I trusted him. Completely.

We sat together in comfortable silence for a while, his arm draped around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel alone in the chaos that had become my life.

Later that evening, I was curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath me, staring at the live feed of Genevieve’s hotel suite.

The footage displayed her sitting motionless in a chair by the window in the sitting room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Her guards, stationed at the door, stood as still as statues.

Their expressions, usually alert but indifferent, seemed…

vacant. The eerie stillness of the scene made my stomach churn.

“She’s just sitting there,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. “She hasn’t moved in almost twenty minutes.”

“It’s weird,” Jareth said. He lounged next to me, his body deceptively relaxed, but his sharp gaze fixed on the screen.

“The guards don’t look right either. Too stiff.

Too…” He paused, searching for the word.

“Mechanical.” It’s like they were barely even conscious except for the fact that their eyes were open.

I tightened my grip on the laptop, an uneasy knot forming in my chest. Genevieve had been fragile lately, but this was something else entirely. I shuddered. She was sitting like her body wasn’t her own.

The feed flickered for a moment, then stabilized. My heart stopped as Genevieve suddenly stood, her movements slow and almost robotic. The guards, as if synchronized, turned toward the door at the exact same time.

“What the hell is going on?”

Jareth frowned. “That’s not normal.” His eyes narrowed. “They’re supposed to stay with her in the room. Why are they moving like that?”

I watched, my pulse quickening, as Genevieve and the guards left the room. The camera switched to the hallway feed, tracking their movements. At the end of the hall, the guards turned left while Genevieve turned right.

“Shit,” Jareth muttered, already sitting up straighter. “They’re not supposed to split up.”

Panic clawed at my throat as I grabbed my phone, dialing Genevieve’s number with trembling fingers. The line rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. I tried again. And again. No answer.

“She’s not picking up,” I said, my voice rising with each word. “Something’s really wrong.”

Jareth was already moving. He grabbed the go-bag of disguises we kept by the door and tossed a jacket toward me. “We’re going to the hotel.”

I yanked on a dark hoodie and pulled my hair into a bun before putting on my wig. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, my chest heavy with dread. By the time I’d pulled on my sneakers, Jareth was already waiting by the door, his expression grim.

The elevator ride felt excruciatingly slow.

I clutched my phone in both hands, refreshing my social media feed in case something gave us a clue.

My breath caught when a video popped up at the top of the feed.

The caption read: Genevieve Witt out on the town in an unexpected locale—what happened to Hollywood’s golden girl?

I opened the video with a sense of foreboding. The grainy footage showed Genevieve walking into a seedy bar. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated, and completely graceless. Men quickly surrounded her, leering and grabbing, touching where they had no right to.

“Shit.” My stomach churned. “She’s at some bar, and she looks like she’s about to make some unfortunate decisions.”

Jareth glanced at me, his jaw set in a hard line. “Where’s the bar?”

This video, unlike the others, had a location tag attached to the video, and I tapped on it as we climbed into my car. “The Velvet Room. It’s downtown.”

He hit the gas. The streets blurred past us as he weaved through traffic with practiced ease. My heart raced as I stared at the video. Genevieve was spiraling further into chaos. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t normal.

When we pulled up outside The Velvet Room, the thrum of bass from inside the club pounded deep within my chest. The line to get in stretched down the block, but Jareth strode straight toward the bouncers.

The bouncers took one look at Jareth and stepped aside, their gazes dropping as he passed. I didn’t even stop to ask him why. His presence was magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to ignore, and I assumed the bouncers noticed that right away. If it were me, I wouldn’t have dared to stand in his way.

The inside of the club was a sensory assault. Flashing lights, pounding music, and the smell of sweat and alcohol filled the air. I looked around the dance floor for Genevieve. It didn’t take long to find her.

She was in the center, her nearly naked body glistening under the strobe lights as she moved to the music. What bothered me most was her distant, blank expression. The men around her were predatory, their hands grabbing at her as if she were a prize to be claimed.

“Fuck,” I breathed, horror knotting in my chest.

I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of those I bumped into. Jareth was right behind me.