Eunice stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest suite, staring at the dress lying on the bed. It wasn't one of hers.
Ten minutes ago, a hotel staff member had delivered a sleek black box with a note from Hart: "Wear this. The investors appreciate elegance. Do not embarrass the company."
She lifted the fabric. It was a midnight-blue silk gown that shimmered like water under the moonlight. It was stunning, expensive, and terrified her. The cut was elegant, but it draped softly over her waist—a small mercy. It would hide the tiny bump that only she knew existed.
She slipped it on. The silk felt cool against her skin. It fit perfectly, perhaps too perfectly. She pinned her hair up in a loose bun, applied a touch of red lipstick to hide her paleness, and took a deep breath.
You are not a scared pregnant woman right now. You are Eunice Vance, top analyst for Matthew Group.
She opened the door and walked out into the living room.
Hart Matthew was waiting by the balcony doors. He had changed into a fresh tuxedo, the sharp black lines emphasizing his broad shoulders and commanding height. He was looking at his phone, but when he heard her footsteps, he turned.
He stopped.
His thumb hovered over the screen, freezing in place. His dark eyes swept over her, from the stray curl of hair on her neck to the way the blue silk clung to her hips. For a split second, the cold, ruthless CEO vanished, replaced by a man struck by raw hunger.
Eunice shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Is it… appropriate, sir?"
Hart blinked, the mask slamming back into place instantly. He cleared his throat and shoved his phone into his pocket.
"It is adequate," he said, his voice a fraction deeper than usual. "Let's go. We cannot keep Mr. Russo waiting."
The dinner was held at Ossiano, the underwater restaurant at the Atlantis. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls revealed sharks and stingrays gliding silently through the blue water while diners ate meals that cost more than Eunice's annual rent.
Their guest, Mr. Russo, was a boisterous Italian investor with a loud laugh and wandering eyes.
"Matthew! You did not tell me you hired models as analysts!" Russo boomed, standing up to shake Hart's hand, but his eyes were glued to Eunice. He took her hand and kissed the knuckles, lingering a second too long. "Bellissima."
Eunice forced a polite smile, pulling her hand back. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Russo."
Hart's jaw tightened visibly. He pulled out Eunice's chair—a gentlemanly gesture that felt more like a territorial claim. "Sit, Miss Vance."
The dinner was a blur of business jargon. Eunice did her job perfectly, presenting the data on her tablet, answering Russo's questions about profit margins. But every time she spoke, Russo leaned in closer, invading her personal space.
"You are very smart," Russo murmured, resting his hand on her forearm. "Perhaps after dinner, you could explain these figures to me in private? My suite has a wonderful view."
Eunice froze. It was a blatant proposition.
Before she could deflect, the waiter arrived with a vintage bottle of Dom Pérignon.
"A toast!" Russo declared, raising his glass. "To the merger! And to beautiful women!"
The waiter poured the sparkling gold liquid into Hart's glass, then Russo's, and finally stopped at Eunice's.
Panic spiked in her chest. She couldn't drink. Alcohol was dangerous for the babies. But refusing a toast with a major investor could insult him and kill the deal.
Think, Eunice. Think.
"I..." Eunice started, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the stem of the glass. "I—"
"Miss Vance is on duty," Hart's voice cut through the air like a blade.
Russo paused, glass halfway to his mouth. "Come now, Matthew. One drink won't hurt. Loosen up."
"She is my employee," Hart said coldly, his eyes locking onto Russo's with lethal intensity. "And when she is with me, she keeps a clear head. She will not be drinking tonight."
Hart didn't wait for a response. He reached over, took the champagne glass from in front of Eunice, and moved it to his side of the table.
"Drink your water, Miss Vance," Hart ordered, not looking at her.
Russo chuckled nervously, sensing the sudden danger radiating from the man across from him. He backed off immediately, removing his hand from Eunice's arm. "Of course. Strictly business. I respect that."
Eunice stared at Hart's profile. He was sipping his wine calmly, as if he hadn't just threatened a billionaire with his eyes.
Under the table, her hand drifted to her stomach. He had saved her. He didn't know why she couldn't drink—he thought he was just being a strict boss—but he had protected his children unknowingly.
For the first time since she found out about the pregnancy, she didn't feel entirely alone.