Page 23 of His Ruthless Match

The man in the yacht photos was a different matter. Genevieve had reluctantly confirmed he was her ex, who had walked out of her life long before this scandal started. He had refused to comment or answer my questions when I reached out, which in my line of work typically meant he knew he’d fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. His divorce from his wife, a prominent physician in L.A., complicated matters. Dr.Marissa Hollings. The polished, respectable name didn’t scream “vindictive saboteur.” Still, jealousy could drive people mad.

I jotted her name down and underlined it twice. I’d dig into her later. Right now, I needed answers about the origins of this attack. This was starting to seem far too organized to be a random series of leaks. It felt like someone was following a playbook, systematically dismantling Genevieve’s reputation one blow at a time.

Grabbing my phone, I scrolled to Gabe’s contact info. He was my fixer, my shadow agent. There was no line he wouldn’t cross, no firewall he couldn’t breach. If anyone could track down the puppet master pulling these strings, it was him. Any information he got me wouldn’t be admissible in court, but if I needed to know.

The phone barely rang twice before Gabe answered. “Eva.”

“Gabe, I need your help on this Genevieve Witt case. Full throttle,” I said, cutting straight to the point. Gabe and I were used to each other’s directness. “There’s been a social media smear campaign, and a yacht photo with a then-married man just surfaced in the tabloids—it’s deliberate, and I need to know who’s behind it.”

“I’ve already been doing some digging,” he said. “The accounts posting this shit are protected by layers of VPNs and proxies. Whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing.”

“Then you need to know more,” I said. “I need IP addresses. I need the person pulling the strings. Genevieve’s reputation is hanging by a thread, and all my research is coming up empty. I have a few leads I’m going to follow up on, but none of them feel right to me.”

“I’ve got you, boss. You know I always come through.”

I let out a slow breath. “I know. And I appreciate you, Gabe.”

There was a beat of silence, then he said, “I’ll call you when I’ve got something concrete. Try not to stress yourself into an early grave, yeah?”

I put my phone down and pinched the bridge of my nose. When was the last time I’d slept? Or eaten something that didn’t come out of a takeout box? My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but exhaustion tugged at my limbs.

My gaze drifted to the bracelet on my wrist, the smooth metal catching the lamplight. I toyed with it absently, twisting it around and around. I hated this thing. I hated that it tethered me to Jareth. That infuriating feline had no boundaries.

And yet, I couldn’t deny the relief I’d felt that he’d been there at the courthouse. The paparazzi had been brutal, shoving and shouting, their cameras flashing like a firing squad. I might’ve been hurt if he hadn’t steadied me. I could still feel his touch on my waist.

Scowling, I shook the thought away. He wasn’t a hero. He was a nuisance. An uncivilized, arrogant, and obnoxiously smug nuisance.

I rested my head on my folded arms. Just a few minutes, I told myself. Just enough to let my brain stop spinning and my shoulders unclench. My eyes fluttered shut, and the hum of my laptop faded into the background.

But even as I teetered on the edge of sleep, I couldn’t stop thinking about the case. Time was running out. And I had no idea how to stop the clock.

I woke up with a start,a crinkled piece of paper glued to my face from where I’d drooled on it. It was a humiliating amount—more than I thought one person could even produce. Ipeeled the paper off, squinting at the faint imprint of my cheek on the ink-streaked surface. The text was entirely illegible now.

I glanced at my watch and groaned. Two hours. I’d been asleep for two whole hours.Unacceptable.Time wasn’t something I could afford to waste. Not with Genevieve’s case unraveling and my own career dangling precariously close to public scrutiny.

“Get it together, Eva,” I muttered, throwing the ruined paper onto the pile of documents already swallowing my desk.

Coffee. I needed coffee. I trudged to the kitchen, then hit the button on the machine and waited as it spluttered and hissed. As I stared at the machine, I planned my next move. A hot shower. Then maybe I’d feel human again.

When the coffee was ready, I gulped a mouthful and burned my tongue in the process. “Fuck!” Still, it cleared some of the grogginess. I carried the cup to the bathroom.

The shower was blissfully hot, the heat bordering on scalding. I let the water beat down on the back of my neck, loosening the tension that had built up over the day. Steam swirled around me, easing some of my stress.

This was my sanctuary, where the rest of the world couldn’t touch me.

Until it did.

A sharp snap behind me broke the illusion of solitude. My eyes flew open, and I screamed.

Jareth was standing in front of me. He was covered in blood, clutching a knife, his expression wide-eyed and frantic.

My scream could’ve shattered glass. “What the actual fuck?!”

Jareth flinched, the knife slipping in his hand. “What the bloody hell iswrongwith you?” he barked, his voice rising in pitch as if he was the one being wronged.

“What’s wrong withme?” I shouted back, grabbing the nearest thing—my loofah—and swatting it at him. “You’re in my shower!”

“I didn’t mean to be!” he yelled, shielding himself from the barrage of soap suds. “I was mid-assassination!”