Page 154 of His Ruthless Match

I clenched my jaw, breathing deeply as I fought to regain control. This wasn’t about me. It couldn’t be. I’d made the right call. I’d done what needed to be done. But the hollow feeling in my chest, the gnawing sense of loss—it didn’t care about right or wrong. It just hurt.

I tossed the pillow aside, burying my face in my hands as I tried to quiet the thoughts racing through my head. But they wouldn’t stop. They never fucking stopped.

I couldn’t sit there. Couldn’t let myself drown in the pain, in the memories, in the scent of her that lingered on my clothes and my sheets. I had to move. Do something. Anything.

Pushing to my feet, I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on, ignoring the mess I’d made of the cottage. Grelth could handle it. I couldn’t stay here to watch. I couldn’t bear to see her absence become real.

I’d channel it all—the anger, the frustration, the heartbreak—into something useful. Into solving the mess we’d walked into at the Crimson Dominion. There was something big happening there, something dangerous, and I wasn’t going to let it slip through my fingers. If I couldn’t protect Eva by being with her, I’d protect her by getting to the bottom of this and stopping whoever the fuck was coming after her before they got too close.

I didn’t trust anyone else to handle this, either. Not the way I could.

Yanking the door open, I stepped out into the night, the cool air biting against my skin. My cougar growled low in my chest, its frustration echoing my own. It didn’t like this any more than I did. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was keeping Eva safe. Even if it killed me.

43

EVA

The bedroom Raffaele had assigned me was enormous. Every inch of it screamed luxury—the massive four-poster bed with thick velvet drapes, the antique furniture polished to a gleaming finish, the chandelier casting soft, golden light over the space. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t home. And it wasn’t my little corner of Jareth’s cottage. No amount of opulence could fill the void in my heart.

I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching one of the embroidered pillows like it was the only thing holding me together. Tears streamed down my face. No matter how many times I wiped them away, they kept coming, blurring my vision and soaking the pillow. My throat ached from crying, my chest tight like a fist was squeezing the air out of me.

Jareth had left. He didn’t even say goodbye.

I was falling for him. Hell, I’d known it for a while. But I didn’t realize just how much he meant to me until he was ripped away from me. The pain was suffocating, overwhelming, and no amount of deep breaths or comforting thoughts could dull it. I wanted to scream. I wanted to break something, but I didn’t have the energy. All I could do was sit there with tears rolling down my cheeks as I replayed every moment we’d spenttogether, every sharp word, every heated glance, every quiet, stolen moment.

It was all gone.Hewas gone. And I didn’t know how to fix it.

My phone buzzed, and Gabe’s name lit up the screen. I almost didn’t answer since I couldn’t think straight, but something in my gut told me to take it, so I reluctantly picked up.

“Tell me you’ve got good news,” I said, wedging the phone between my shoulder and cheek.

“You owe me drinks for a month,” Gabe replied, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Maybe two.”

“What did you find?”

“Remember that flag I set on Cerulean Innovations?”

Of course I remembered. That name was the only breadcrumb we had after weeks of digging—tied to nothing, registered to no one, no digital footprint whatsoever. Until now.

“It just pinged,” he said, and my spine straightened like someone had poured ice water down it. “Brand new update. The company’s been formally filed under a larger corporation, one that happens to be owned by none other than Richard Foster.”

“Wait.TheRichard Foster?”

“Yup,” Gabe confirmed. “Media tycoon, owner of half the television networks in the northern hemisphere, father of four, rumored coke habit?—”

“Holy shit.” I was already moving to the desk and grabbing a notebook. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Cerulean Innovations is now listed as a wholly owned holding company under Foster’s shell corp. Technically, it’s labeled as a PR firm, but it hasn’t made any public-facing moves yet, just legal formation. No clients, no campaigns, no actual press releases.”

Yet.

I shot to my feet, notebook forgotten. “They’re the ones.”

“The ones what?”

“They’re the ones smearing Genevieve.” My mind was racing, connecting invisible dots at lightning speed. “We couldn’t figure out who was leaking the stories or why there was no clear origin. It’s because they used a fake PR front to seed it through anonymous channels. The videos, the photo leaks… it all makes sense now. But the question is… why?”