Page 22 of His Ruthless Match

When court was adjourned, I stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. Eva didn’t notice me at first, but when she did, her face tightened. She turned sharply and headed for the side exit, heels clicking faster this time.

I followed.

She didn’t slow or glance back. “Why are you here?” she whisper-yelled through gritted teeth.

“Spot check,” I said with a shrug. “Noticed you’d be in court today. Happy to report there were no threats in the courtroom.”

She stopped abruptly and spun to face me, her sarcasm cutting. “Whew, what a relief. I feel so much safer knowing you’ve graced us with your presence.”

Before I could respond, something prickled at the edges of my awareness. My instincts homed in on the shift in the atmosphere, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as we stepped through the courthouse doors.

Then came the flash of cameras, the aggressive shouts, and the rush of bodies.

“Eva Delgado? You’re representing Genevieve Witt, correct?”

A swarm of paparazzi descended, their lenses like a wall of eyes. Bright lights flashed in chaotic bursts, and the crowd surged closer, jostling us. I glanced at Eva. She wasn’t stupid—she knew better than to respond. Her head stayed down, her face impassive, but the crowd didn’t let up. They shoved forward, clawing for a better angle.

When a particularly aggressive shove nearly sent her sprawling, I caught her by the waist. My fingers instinctively curled into her skin as I guided her to the side.

“Back the fuck up,” I barked. “Right now.”

The intensity in my tone must’ve caught them off guard because the crowd faltered. Keeping my arm firmly around Eva’s waist, I steered her toward my car. She didn’t say a word, and her perfect mask of composure remained locked in place.

I gunned the engine and drove away from the chaos, my eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the road. The paparazzi weren’t following. Eva sat rigid beside me, her phonealready out, her fingers flying across the screen. She didn’t thank me, didn’t acknowledge me. Her calm grated on me.

“You good?” I asked after a few minutes.

“Fine,” she said curtly, her eyes glued to her phone.

I bit back the urge to snap at her. She was clearly shaken, whether she wanted to admit it or not. I let the silence stretch between us, the hum of the engine the only sound.

When I pulled up to her building, she finally put her phone away.

“Thanks for the ride.” She opened the door before I could respond, stepping out with all the grace and poise of someone who hadn’t just been swarmed by vultures.

“You want me to escort you inside?”

She turned back, her expression icy. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Too bad. I’m waiting here until you text me that you’re safely inside.”

She glared at me, her lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, she sighed and pulled her phone out again. “Fine. What’s your number?”

I rattled it off, and she punched it in with visible annoyance.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Eva: Inside. Happy now?

I scanned the street and surrounding area, making sure no one had followed us. Satisfied, I threw the car into gear and headed back toward the Veil tear.

7

EVA

The glow from my desk lamp pooled over the chaos of my workspace, a battlefield of papers, legal pads, and hastily printed emails. My laptop hummed faintly, displaying the damning photos of Genevieve yet again, as if mocking me for my lack of progress. The yacht photo, especially, seemed to taunt me. That vulnerable, private moment was plastered across the internet for public consumption.

Sighing, I flipped through the pages of the email I’d printed out. The crinkled pages were covered in scribbled notes from my frantic attempts to identify who could possibly hate Genevieve enough to go this far. A list of enemies, exes, even disgruntled former assistants stared back at me. None of it felt right. None of them seemed the type to orchestrate a full-scale smear campaign, and none of them had enough motive.