Page 7 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

JARETH

N ew York City was an assault on the senses, and not in a good way.

The streets reeked of hot asphalt, exhaust fumes, and whatever unidentifiable fried thing humans seemed to adore shoving down their throats.

Noise came at me from every direction—horns blaring, vendors shouting, the rumble of subway trains beneath the ground. It was chaos. Dirty, suffocating chaos.

Grumbling, I tightened my grip on the strap of my backpack as I moved through the crowd. The Shadow could spin it however he liked, but following his sister around while she played lawyer was not my idea of a worthwhile assignment. I was built for taking out threats, not playing house.

But no one said no to The Shadow, least of all me.

When I finally reached her apartment, I made my way to the elevator, enduring the cheesy instrumental music all the way to the top floor.

She opened the door after an eternity. She stood there, her hand on the doorframe like she was debating slamming it shut in my face.

I raised a brow. “Well? Are you going to let me in, or are we having this conversation out here?”

With a huff, she stepped aside. Her apartment was pristine, all clean lines, bright natural light, and fresh flowers in artful arrangements. The air smelled faintly of lavender. It was nothing like the grimy streets outside. I whistled between my teeth as I took it all in.

“Fancy,” I said as I strolled inside like I owned the place. “I see your brother’s not the only one living the high life.”

Eva crossed her arms, her tone dry as sandpaper. “Take your shoes off.”

I blinked, looking down at my boots. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. I don’t know where you’ve been, but I’m not letting you track whatever that is into my home.”

Cursing under my breath, I toed off my boots and left them by the door, tossing my backpack next to them. “Happy now, Your Highness?”

“What do you need from me?”

I smirked. “Just here to check out vulnerabilities. The apartment’s, that is. Not yours.”

Before she could argue, I was already moving, heading straight for her bedroom. I heard her gasp as I opened the door, but I didn’t stop.

“You can’t just?—”

I opened drawers, sifted through closets, and generally made myself at home. It was part inspection, part fun. A lacy black thong caught my eye. Grinning, I held it up. “Figured you were too uptight to own something like this. What’s the story? Sleepover guest leave it behind?”

Her face went scarlet as she snatched it from my hand, slamming the drawer shut on my finger. “Get the fuck on with it.”

Laughing, I rubbed my pinched finger and moved to the windows, my smirk growing as I took in the stunning view of the city skyline. “Nice view,” I said as I worked to install extra locks on the sliding balcony door. “Shame you’ll need to keep it locked up tight.”

She glared daggers at me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?”

“Absolutely,” I replied cheerfully. “But there’s no arguing with your brother.”

I made mental notes as I moved through the rest of the apartment—every point of entry, every potential vulnerability.

As I worked, I slid my hand into my pocket, fingers brushing the tiny tracking device nestled there.

I’d planned to hide it somewhere, but seeing how tightly wound Eva already was, I hesitated. I’d wait for now. Maybe.

By the time I finished, she was standing in the living room, tapping one stiletto impatiently against the polished floor. Her arms were still crossed, and her glare had intensified.

“Now you’re going to give me access to your online calendar,” I said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

After a brief standoff, she relented with an annoyed sigh, pulling out her phone and begrudgingly sharing her schedule. As I scrolled through her appointments, I shook my head. “Do you ever sleep? Or have fun, for that matter?”

“I’m very busy,” she snapped.

“I see that.”

I wandered into her kitchen, pulling open the fridge. What I saw made my jaw drop. A block of moldy cheese, a single apple, and three bottles of wine.

“What the hell? Do you just not eat?”

She crossed the room, shutting the fridge door with a huff. “I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping.”

“You do know there are delivery services for that, right? I don’t even live in the human world, and I know that.”

“Yes, Jareth . I’m fully aware. Thank you for taking the time to teach me something even toddlers know. Are you done?”

Her response was sharp and cutting, but I just smiled cockily as I moved to the entryway and retrieved my boots and my backpack. “I can take a hint. I’ll see myself out.” As I headed for the door, I slipped the tracking device into her designer purse with a practiced flick of my wrist.

I didn’t bother looking back as I opened the door. “Enjoy your wine and moldy cheese.”

Her response was a muttered curse.

Satisfied that Eva was safe in her penthouse, sitting on her throne of judgment and eating moldy cheese, I headed to her office. If she wasn’t going to invite me, I had no choice but to visit it on my own.

Breaking into Eva’s office was disappointingly easy.

The building’s security was a joke. A few outdated cameras and motion sensors.

None of it posed any real challenge. The alarm system was so basic it might as well have been a welcome mat.

I bypassed it in under a minute, stifling a yawn as the lock clicked open.

“Pathetic,” I muttered, stepping inside.

The hallway on Eva’s floor was dim and quiet.

Every other sane person had already gone home.

I adjusted the strap of my backpack and glanced around the pristine office space.

Everything smelled faintly of disinfectant and expensive furniture polish—a far cry from the chaos and grit of The Below.

The place was all glass walls and gleaming surfaces.

Cold, professional, and entirely too clinical.

Eva’s office was tucked in the back, its frosted glass door bearing her name in bold, no-nonsense letters. Of course, her nameplate would scream importance.

Her workspace was larger than I expected, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

A sleek, oversized desk dominated the center of the room, flanked by three enormous computer screens that hummed faintly in the silence.

Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents arranged with such precision it bordered on obsessive.

The faintest hint of lavender lingered in the air, just like it had at her apartment. Her scent. I’d first noticed it back at the wedding—fresh, clean, and maddeningly delicate. Not that I cared, of course. It was just... there.

“Neat freak,” I muttered, running a hand along the edge of her desk. Not a speck of dust. Not a single paper was out of place. It was all so controlled .

The multiple computer screens caught my attention. I stepped closer, my reflection flickering across their black surfaces. Curious, I swiped a finger across one, frowning when it didn’t respond. I tried again, harder this time. Nothing.

I wasn’t a total idiot. There was technology in The Below that we had adapted and utilized from the human world, but I always resisted it.

I had no need for it. I had a very basic smartphone that I used for communication purposes, but I didn’t care to learn the ins-and-outs of technology.

Technology would never replace the ability to think independently and act on pure instinct. Especially when faced with danger.

And this technology seemed rudimentary compared to what Vivian used.

“What the hell?” I batted at the screen like it was a particularly stubborn prey animal, and when that didn’t work, I threw my hands up in frustration.

I turned my attention to the drawers, crouching slightly as I pulled the first one open.

Pens, sticky notes, and a sleek notebook filled with her precise handwriting.

The notes were dense and organized in a way that spoke to her obsessive need for control.

The middle drawer was next. I grinned as I unearthed a stash of emergency snacks: a few granola bars, a pack of peanut butter crackers, and a small tin of mints.

“Practical. Figures.”

The last drawer offered nothing interesting, but I rifled through it anyway. No incriminating secrets, no hidden weapons. She really was as polished as she seemed. It was disappointing, really.

Standing, I pulled out my phone and made a few notes.

The place needed cameras. A better alarm system.

Maybe even a weapon hidden in her desk—not that she’d know what to do with it.

Still, it was clear she needed someone looking out for her, even if it wasn’t likely that she’d actually end up in danger.

I paused, turning my gaze back to her desk. A streak of mischief crept into my thoughts. Grabbing one of the bright yellow sticky notes from her drawer, I scribbled a quick message:

Hate that I missed you. Sorry if I left some cat hair on your screen.

J.

I pressed it onto the center of her largest screen, stepping back to admire my handiwork. It looked ridiculous, the bright yellow clashing with the sleek black glass. I grinned.

The lights went off with a satisfying click as I reset the alarm and locked the door behind me. Stepping out into the cool night air, I let out a long breath, the city’s chaotic hum rising around me.

“She needs me,” I muttered to myself as I turned and headed back into the chaos of New York. “Even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.”