Chapter 13 - Eve
My phone buzzes for the fourteenth time in an hour. Lucy. Again.
I stare at her name flashing on the screen, watching it ring and ring until it goes to voicemail. A few seconds later, another text appears in the thread of increasingly frantic messages.
"Eve, PLEASE. The board is calling an emergency meeting. Greyhound has the votes. We're losing the company. WHERE ARE YOU?!"
I should care. That's what a rational person would do—panic, scramble, fight to save the empire I built from nothing. But as I lie on my sofa, still wearing yesterday's clothes, I feel nothing but a strange, hollow calm that terrifies me more than the panic would.
Why aren't I moving? Why aren't I fighting?
It's already gone. I knew it the moment Nathan showed me those financial reports, the moment I saw the triumph in his green eyes. He didn't just reveal the collapse—he orchestrated it, piece by piece, move by move.
Bastard. He's a complete and utter bastard.
The phone buzzes again. I silence it without looking and stare at the ceiling, tears sliding down my temples into my hair.
I hate this. I hate him. I hate myself for even considering—
But I already know the answer. I've known it since the masked ball, since I felt his hand on my waist and recognized something in him that called to something in me.
I'm going to choose the fire. Even if it destroys me. Even if I hate myself for it.
***
The cafe is quiet, tucked away on a side street where no one I know would ever find me. I sit by the window with a cup of coffee I haven't touched, my hands shaking against the table.
A woman my age rushes by outside, phone pressed to her ear. She's probably dealing with her own crisis—a difficult client, a demanding boss. Normal problems. Fixable problems.
What I wouldn't give for normal problems right now.
I've never had it easy. Even before Nathan, my life has been a series of battles. Fighting to be taken seriously in the fashion industry. Fighting the grief that threatened to swallow me whole.
And now I'm so tired. But is that real? Or is it just what he's made me feel? Has he broken me down so completely that I can't tell the difference anymore?
Nathan saw the exhaustion beneath my carefully maintained facade, and he offered me something I haven't had in sixteen years: the chance to let someone else carry the weight.
The price is just my freedom. My autonomy. My self. Everything I've fought for. Everything I am.
I look at my reflection in the window. Red hair falling loose. Green eyes that look defeated.
Maybe that's just what I'm telling myself to justify surrendering to a man who's terrorized me for weeks.
I don't even know anymore. I don't know what's real and what's manipulation.
I stand up, leaving the full cup of coffee on the table. I'm going to him. Not because I'm weak, but because all the other choices lead to the same place anyway.
Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.
The car is waiting outside the cafe. Sleek, black, expensive—unmistakably his. The driver opens the door without a word.
Of course he knew. Of course he's been watching, waiting for me to make the choice he knew I'd make.
Rage flickers through me—hot and sharp. I want to scream. I want to walk away and let Nathan's perfect plan crumble.
But my feet carry me forward anyway.
The door closes with a soft click, sealing me in. The city slides past the tinted windows, familiar streets suddenly feeling like a foreign country I'm leaving behind.
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
My hands are shaking. Tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back furiously. I won't cry. I won't give him that satisfaction.
But I'm already crying, hot tears sliding down my cheeks that I angrily wipe away.
I catch the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, and for a moment I think about asking him to stop. To let me out. To give me one more chance to run.
But he looks away immediately. Just another cog in Nathan's well-oiled machine.
Just like I'm about to become.
When we pull up to his building—a tower of glass and steel in the most expensive part of the city—my heart is pounding so hard I think I might be sick.
This is it. The moment of no return.
I could still leave. I could still walk away.
But where would I go?
The elevator rises, and I watch the city drop away beneath me. My reflection stares back at me from the polished metal—pale, frightened, tears streaking my face.
I'm walking into a trap. I'm surrendering everything I am to a man who's destroyed my life.
And I hate myself for it.
Nathan is standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows when I enter, his back to me, the city lights creating a halo effect around his silhouette.
Tall. Powerful. Every line of his body radiates absolute control.
And what he wants is me.
"Eve," he says quietly, finally turning. His green eyes find mine across the room. "I knew you'd come."
"Did you?" My voice comes out sharp. "Or did you just make sure I had no other choice?"
A slight smile touches his lips—satisfied, possessive—and it makes me want to slap him. "Both, perhaps."
I walk further into the room, my hands clenched into fists. I stop a few feet away from him.
"I hate you," I say, and my voice breaks. "I hate what you've done to me. I hate that you've taken everything and made it so I have to come crawling to you like—like some broken thing you can collect."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "You're not broken, Eve. You're—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand, tears burning my eyes. "Don't you dare tell me what I am. You don't get to do that. You've already taken everything else—my company, my privacy, my choices. You don't get to define me, too."
He takes a step forward, and I take a step back, my heart racing.
"I'll accept your deal," I say, the words tasting like ash.
"Save my company. And I'll be yours. But don't pretend this is anything other than what it is.
Don't romanticize it with talk of protection and promises to dead men.
You wanted me, and you took away every other option until I had no choice but to surrender. "
His jaw tightens. "Say it properly, Eve. I want to hear the words."
"Why?" I demand, anger flooding through the fear. "So you can gloat? So you can have your moment of victory?"
"Because I need to know you understand what you're agreeing to."
I meet his gaze, refusing to look away even though tears are streaming down my face now. "I'll belong to you. Completely. You win, Nathan. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?"
"This isn't about winning," he says softly, stepping closer despite my retreat. "This is about—"
"About accepting what's always been true?" I laugh, the sound bitter and broken. "That's what you said last night. But it's a lie, isn't it? Because what's true is that you stalked me, manipulated me, destroyed my life piece by piece until I had nowhere else to turn. That's what's true."
He reaches out, cupping my face in his hands, and I flinch but don't pull away. I feel the tremor that runs through him—the first crack in his careful control.
"You're mine now," he whispers, his thumb brushing away my tears. "And I'm going to make sure you understand exactly what that means."
"I'm terrified," I whisper back, my voice breaking completely. "I'm terrified of what you are. What I'm becoming. What happens next."
"I know," he says, and for the first time, I hear something like tenderness in his voice. "But I'll never let anything hurt you again. Not even yourself."
Then he kisses me, and it's not gentle. It's claiming, possessive, devastating. A kiss that erases the woman I was and brands the woman I'm becoming.
His. Completely and irrevocably his.
And God help me, even through the fear and the anger and the tears, I kiss him back.
Because I have nothing left. Because he's taken everything.
Because some broken part of me wants this.
***
His bedroom is dark when he leads me inside, only the city lights filtering through the windows providing any illumination. My heart is racing, fear and anticipation warring inside me. I'm hyperaware of Nathan beside me, the heat of his body, the way his breathing matches mine.
"You're thinking too much." Nathan leans close, his lips brushing my ear. "I've been watching you walk around in this dress all day, wanting to tear it off you."
The blunt words send heat flooding through me. My thighs part without conscious decision, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Nathan—"
"Shh." He turns me to face him, his hands gentle but firm on my shoulders. "You agreed to be mine. That means I get to show you exactly what I've been imagining for years."
He kisses me again, and I melt into it despite myself, my hands coming up to grip his shirt.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "Strip," he commands softly. "I want to see what's mine."
My hands shake as I reach for the hem of my dress, but I do it. I pull it over my head and let it fall to the floor. My bra and underwear follow until I'm standing before him completely naked, exposed in every way possible. I fight the urge to cover myself.
He circles me slowly, his gaze burning over every curve, every inch of skin. "Beautiful," he murmurs. "Even more perfect than I imagined."
He guides me to the bed, and I notice for the first time the silk restraints already attached to the headboard. My eyes widen.
"Lie down," he says. "Arms above your head."
"Nathan, I don't know if—"
"Trust me, Eve." His voice is gentle but implacable. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you need to learn what it means to surrender control."
I lie back on the silk sheets, my heart pounding as he takes my wrists and secures them to the restraints. Then he produces a black silk blindfold.
"Nathan—"
"Shh." He ties it over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. "Just feel, Eve. Stop thinking and just feel. I know what your body needs the most."
I hear him move away, hear the rustle of clothing being removed. Then the bed dips as he joins me, and I feel his hands on my ankles, spreading my legs, securing them as well until I'm completely helpless, splayed out for him.
"You ran from me," he says quietly, his fingers trailing up my inner thigh. "You fought me. You tried to resist what we both knew was inevitable. And now you're going to learn what happens when you defy me."
His touch is feather-light, ghosting over my skin but never quite giving me what I need. He traces patterns on my stomach, my ribs, the curve of my breasts—always close to where I'm aching but never quite touching.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what?" His breath is hot against my ear.
"Touch me. Really touch me."
"Oh, I will," he promises. "But not yet. First, you're going to understand that your pleasure belongs to me now. You come when I allow it. Not before."
His mouth closes over my nipple, and I arch off the bed with a gasp. He sucks and teases until I'm writhing, desperate, and then he moves to the other breast. His hand slides between my legs, fingers stroking through my wetness but never entering, never giving me the pressure I need.
"Fuck," he groans against my breast. "You're soaked."
I am. God help me, I am. His fingers trace the curves of my body, teasing.
"You're so wet for me," he murmurs. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind tried to resist."
When he slides two fingers inside me, I have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming.
"Jesus, you're tight," he groans. "I want to be inside you so badly."
"Then—" I can barely form words. "Then do it."
"You’re such an eager one", he says darkly. "But tonight is not about me."
He brings me to the edge again and again, his fingers and mouth working in perfect coordination. Every time I'm close—so close—he pulls away, leaving me gasping and desperate.
"Nathan, please," I sob. "I need—"
"I know what you need." His voice is dark with satisfaction. "But you don't get it yet. Not until you've learned your lesson."
Time loses meaning in the darkness. It could be minutes or hours that he tortures me with pleasure, bringing me to the brink over and over without letting me fall. I'm crying now, begging, completely broken down to nothing but need.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his fingers circling my clit with maddening lightness.
"You," I gasp. "I belong to you."
"Say my name."
"Nathan. I belong to you, Nathan. Please, please let me come."
He finally—finally—slides two fingers inside me, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit. "Then come for me, Eve. Come for your master."
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, so intense after the prolonged denial that I scream. He works me through it, wringing every last tremor from my body until I'm limp and gasping.
When he finally removes the blindfold, his face is above mine, his eyes burning with possession and something that might be tenderness.
"Mine," he whispers, and kisses me softly. "Now and always, Eve. Mine."