64. Grayson
64
GRAYSON
E leanor is up to something. Not justsomething small, not a petty move to rattle us or keep herself relevant. No, this is acalculated strike. A play she’s been waiting to make, biding her time until theperfectmoment. And now, she thinks she’s already won. I felt it the second she walked into the gala, the way she moved through the room like shebelonged there. The way she spoke to Margot, dropping hints like poison, her words designed tounravelus before we even realized what she was doing. Eleanor doesn’t show up unless she has something to gain. And I need to figure out what thatsomethingis before it’s too late.
By the time Margot and I return to our penthouse, the adrenaline from the evening still pulses through my veins. Paris sprawls beneath us, the city lights glowing against the darkened sky. From our balcony, the Seine curves lazily through the streets, reflecting golden flickers of streetlights. The Eiffel Tower looms in the distance, glittering like it holds the secrets of the night. But I don’t care about the view. Not when Margot is pacing across the living room, her bare feet silent against the marble floors, her heels abandoned by the door. Her dress clings to her in the mostdistractingway, but right now, her mind is too sharp, toodangerous for me to let myself think aboutanything else.
She stops suddenly, spinning toward me. “She’s working the investors, Grayson. That’s theonlyexplanation. She wasn’t there for fun. She wasthere for blood.”
I nod, already pulling out my phone. “Olivia’s on it. She’s tracing Eleanor’s financials, looking into any unusual transactions, meetings, shell companies, if she’s making a move, we’ll find it.”
Margot lets out a breath, shaking her head. “This isn’trandom. She’s had this in motion for months, years, maybe.”
I step toward her, closing the space between us. “And we’regoing to stop her.”
She lifts her chin, those blue eyes locking onto mine. “You soundsosure.”
I grip her waist, my hold firm, grounding. “Because, Iamsure.” My voice lowers, rough with conviction. “Eleanor wants us to panic. She wants us to feel like she’s already won.”
Margot exhales slowly, her fingers tightening around my lapels. “Then let’s remind her who she’s up against.” And just like that, we have a plan.
Across the city, in a penthouse dripping with luxury, Cassian Laurent lounges like a man who doesn’tneedto worry about consequences. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. A half-empty glass of whiskey rests beside him on the coffee table, the golden liquid catching the light from the oversized windows. The city stretches out beneath him, but his attention is solely on thestormbrewing across the room.
Isabella Monroe storms in like agoddess of wrath, her gold gown shimmering as she tosses her clutch onto the nearest chair withfartoo much force.
“You areinsufferable,” she snaps, yanking off one of her diamond earrings like it personally offended her.
Cassian smirks, his dark eyes gleaming. “Good evening to you too, Monroe.”
She glares, placing her hands on her hips. “YouknewEleanor was going to show up tonight.”
Cassian exhales slowly, swirling his whiskey before taking a leisurely sip. “Now,whywould you assume that?”
Isabella folds her arms, her glare sharp enough tocut diamonds. “Because you never looksurprised, Laurent. And because Iknowyou. You never walk into a room unless you already know the exits.”
Cassian sets his drink down, standing with calculated ease. “I didn’t know she’d be there.” He tilts his head slightly. “But I wasn’tshocked, either.”
Isabella scoffs. “You think this isfunny?”
Cassian watches her, gaze flicking down to her parted lips before dragging back up. “I think you’reveryconcerned about who I’m making deals with.”
She exhales sharply, something unreadable flickering across her expression. “I’m concerned because you’rereckless,” she says finally. “Eleanor is asnake, Cassian. If she’s circling you, it’s because she thinks she’salready won.”
Cassian steps closer, his voice dropping. “Youdocare.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh,please.”
His smirk deepens. “Admit it, Monroe.” His voice is a slow, deliberate drawl. “Youhatethe idea of me in bed with someone else.”
Her breathcatches and for just a second, she doesn’t move. Then, shethrowsa pillow at him.
Cassian catches it easily, laughing. “Temper, temper.”
Isabella lets out an exasperated sigh, grabbing her clutch off the chair. “You arethe worst.”
“And yet,” Cassian calls after her as she storms toward the door, his voice rich with amusement, “you’restill here.”
She stops. Doesn’t turn, but the way her fingers tighten around the strap of her clutch, the way she lingers for just a beattoolong, Cassiannotices. And for the first time all night, his smirk fades, because sheshouldleave. But she doesn’t.
The next morning, Margot and I sit in a private conference room, overlooking the Seine.
Olivia slides a tablet across the polished glass table. “You’re not going to like this.”
Margot and I scan the screen, andeverything clicks. Eleanor isn’t justtalkingto investors. She’sstaging a hostile takeover.
“She’s been funneling money through shell corporations,” Olivia explains. “She’s already secured backing from at leastthreeof our major investors. If she gets one more, she’ll have enough leverage to challenge your controlling stake in Perfectly Matched .”
Margot’s grip tightens around the tablet. “She wants to cut usoutcompletely.”
My jaw clenches, my muscles going taut. “Then we stop her.”
Margot sets the tablet down with a controlled breath, her blue eyes sharp,dangerous. “No, Grayson.” She meets my gaze, her voice cold and sure.
“We destroy her.”
Because this time, we’re not just playing towin. We’re playing toend the game entirely.