Page 28 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

T he knock at my door isn’t who I want it to be.

But I answer it anyway.

Eve stands there in a simple, fitted mini, strapless, holding a paper bag that smells like heaven and a bottle of red tucked under her arm.

“It’s not what you think,” she says before I can say anything. “I’m not here to sleep with you.”

“That’s a hell of a greeting.” I lean against the frame, still not moving. “You’re definitely here with ulterior motives, so what is it? An ambush? A bribe?”

She holds up the bag. “Fresh pasta. Real garlic. And a meatball the size of your ego.”

I grunt, stepping aside to let her in. “So, definitely a bribe.”

“I figured you haven’t eaten. And judging by your face, probably haven’t slept either.”

She’s not wrong.

She moves like she’s done this before—uncorks the wine, sets out two mismatched glasses from my cabinet without asking, opens the takeout, and starts plating it with the casual confidence of someone who has never cooked a day in her life.

“I’ll warn you now,” I say, exchanging the odd cups for proper stemware, “if this is some kind of come-to-Jesus dinner, I’m walking out of my own damn penthouse.”

Eve rolls her eyes and sits across from me. “Relax. I’m not here to fix your feelings.”

“So what are you here for?” I ask, standing at the counter, arms crossed, pretending like I haven’t already taken three deep inhales of whatever magic came out of that takeout bag.

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she calmly plates everything with the kind of patience that makes me irrationally twitchy, and pours another glass of wine like she owns the place.

She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak again until she’s sitting at the table with her fork in hand and the steam curling up from real-deal pasta.

Only when I finally give in and sit down across from her does she look up.

“You had every opportunity to tell me what happened between you and Grant when you brought me in. When you laid out the contract.”

I swirl the wine, watching the deep red catch the dim light. “I wanted you to figure things out on your own.”

Her brows lift. “And?”

“And what?”

“Have I?” she asks, stabbing a piece of rigatoni like it insulted her.

I set the wine down and lean back in my chair. “You tell me.”

Eve narrows her eyes. “There’s a hole in the story. I’ve connected a lot of dots, but there’s still something missing—and I want you to fill it.”

I give a slow, amused smile. “And what do you think it is?”

She sets her fork down with a quiet clink. “Grant’s mother.”

That makes me pause—just for a breath—but I recover with a sip of wine, giving her nothing.

She watches me.

Waits.

“Something happened,” she says, voice low but steady. “Something between Grant and his father. Something no one talks about. And whatever it was, you were sent away the very next day. Because you knew. Or you saw it.”

I scoff. “That’s your theory? That I witnessed a murder, and the family shipped me off before I could squeal?”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t put anything past the filthy rich.”

I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Well, if I’m being suspected of homicide, I should probably call my lawyer before I incriminate myself.”

“Don’t deflect,” she says. “I know what I’m asking. I know it’s ugly. But I’ve already seen the rot under the floorboards, Dante. You dragged me into this for a reason. I’m not leaving until I know what the hell I’m standing in.”

For a moment, all I can do is look at her and tap a finger on the edge of my plate. “That’s not it.”

“No?”

“Not even close.”

Eve’s brow furrows. “Then what?—?”

I cut her off with a shake of my head. “You want the truth?”

She nods.

I look at the window, the city burning gold against the glass. “You’ve already figured out enough. And with the board vote a few days away… what the hell.” I glance back at her. “Our graves are already dug.”

“It was five years ago,” I say, voice quieter now, but steady. “Right after the firm announced us as co-CEOs.”

Eve doesn’t speak, just sips her wine. Waiting.

“It was the night our first major architectural win went public. Wolfe Industries. The whole city was buzzing—every blog, every paper. We had reporters lined up, investors throwing money at us. It was the first time I actually believed we could do this. Together.”

I look down at the glass in my hand and twist the stem slowly.

“Grant invited me back to his penthouse that night. Said we should toast the moment. Just the two of us.”

Her brows lift slightly, but she stays silent.

“It started simple,” I continue. “Champagne. Loosened ties. That massive sound system humming low in the background while we talked about everything—our fathers, how we got here, what it cost. All of it.”

I glance up at her, let the next part land the way it should.

“And maybe the champagne made me reckless. Or maybe I’d just been holding it in for too long. But I told him.”

“Told him what?” Eve asks, voice soft now. Less guarded.

“That I’ve always had a crush on him.”

Her brows arch at that.

“It wasn’t some ploy. Just… a quiet truth I’d buried,” I say. “I told him I remembered seeing him again after I returned from the UK. How he looked standing there at our father’s office, a man just like me. And I thought, fuck. He’s still the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I close my eyes, just for a second. “He always was. But seeing him again… it was like I could finally breathe for the first time since I left.”

When I open them, Eve is watching me like she’s seeing something new. Not with judgment. Just… clarity.

“I tested the water,” I admit. “Said it quietly. Asked if he’d ever thought about me that way.”

“And?” she prompts.

“He didn’t laugh. Didn’t pull away. He hesitated, like he didn’t want to admit it. Then he nodded. Just once. But it was enough.”

The memory is sharp. Bright as fire, and I rub my bottom lip like I can still feel him there.

“I kissed him. Careful, at first. Like I was expecting him to bolt. But he didn’t. He kissed me back. Hard. And then it was like years of wanting broke open all at once.”

My voice drops as I speak, the memory curling around me like smoke.

“Our clothes were half off in a second. Hands were everywhere. I pushed him back onto the table, held him steady as I ground against him. My mouth on his chest, his head tipped back like he was coming apart.”

I take a breath and run my hands down my face, resting my elbows on my knees—because the next part still makes my blood run cold.

“And that’s when the suite door opened.”

Eve tenses slightly.

“Corrine walked in,” I say. “Sobbing. Hysterical. Said something was wrong.”

Everything snapped.

Grant shoved me back like I’d burned him. Like kissing me was some bomb he hadn’t expected to touch. The way he flinched—how fast he moved—it was like I’d just destroyed something sacred.

Corrine was already gone, her cries echoing down the hallway.

Grant chased her and I followed him. Just far enough to see the scene unfold at the end of the hall.

He caught up to her near the elevator. She was trembling, wiping at her eyes with one hand while the other jabbed at the call button like the building was on fire.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Grant kept saying. Over and over, like he was trying to hypnotize her with denial. “Corrine, please—don’t leave. Just talk to me.”

There was something about the way he said it—this raw desperation, this crack in his voice I’d never heard before—that made something click. I don’t know if they were ever official, but there was something there. Something unspoken. Or maybe just something Grant was terrified of losing.

Then she turned on me.

“You drugged him, didn’t you?” she snapped, eyes glassy and wild. “What did you put in his drink?”

I stood there, stunned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You coerced him.” Her voice shook. “You’ve always had this… obsession. I saw the way you looked at him.”

I waited for Grant to step in. To say No, that’s not true. I kissed him back. I wanted it too.

But he said nothing.

Didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at her. Just stood there, frozen, like the weight of it all had crushed his ability to speak.

That silence was the break. That was the moment everything cracked open between us.

So, I left.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a goodbye. Didn’t wait to see if he’d come after me again. I just walked out of his penthouse with his taste still on my lips and a crater splitting my chest wide open.

The CFO had collapsed in his office from a heart attack. Corrine was the one who found him—said she’d come to drop off quarterly projections and walked in just as he hit the floor. It rattled her.

That’s why she came to Grant’s that night in a panic.

After, she stepped in to help “hold the fort,” and Grant let her. Gave her the title like it was a favor, like it meant nothing. And I was too drunk and too pissed off to contest it. Drowning in a cocktail of anger, bourbon, and whoever I could get my hands on.

I made sure Grant saw it all.

Every Companion I took to the holiday parties. Every lover, every late-night scandal whispered through the halls. Male, female—didn’t matter. It was punishment. For both of us.

Corrine watched, too. Always smiling. Always calculating.

She’s been the wedge between us since the beginning. The only thing that’s changed is her strategy. When guilt didn’t work, she switched to shame. When that failed, she brought up Grant’s mother. Now? She’s all knives and boardroom politics.

But the goal’s the same: drive me out.

And the worst part?

Some days, I don’t know if Grant will ever really stop her.

Eve doesn’t interject. She doesn’t argue. She just watches me, calm and steady, like she’s seen enough of people unraveling to know when not to push too hard.

Then, quietly: “So this had nothing to do with Grant’s mother?”

“No.” My eyes meet hers, and I let the sincerity bleed into my voice. “If you want the truth about that, ask Grant. Or Corrine.”

She blinks. “Corrine?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She was there.”

Eve stills. That carefully composed mask of hers cracks for just a second.

“She was there?” It’s a whisper from her lips.

“She lived with them,” I add. “For a year.”

The silence that falls between us is sharp. Cutting.

Eve doesn’t look at me. She stares into her untouched wine like she’s trying to read the bottom of the glass. Like maybe the answers are floating there, waiting to be scooped out and pieced together.

Her face gives nothing away—but I know that look.

She’s reassembling the puzzle now.

Eve stands. “I’m going to hit the little girl’s room,” she says, voice unreadable.

I hear her voice in the hallway—low, clipped, controlled.

“Jax? Remember my new toxic bestie?”