The cool night air hit Evelyn's skin like a splash of ice water, grounding her in the reality of her rebirth. Beside her, Killian Thorne walked with a predatory grace, his hand a heavy, warm weight beneath hers. Behind them, the muffled sound of gasps and a frantic MC trying to call back the attention of the crowd echoed from the ballroom.
Marcus would be standing on that stage right now, looking like a fool. The thought was a sweet poison.
Killian's black Rolls-Royce Ghost glided to the curb before the valet could even react. The driver, a man with the build of a stone wall, leaped out to open the door.
"Get in," Killian commanded. It wasn't a request.
Evelyn slid onto the buttery leather seat, the scent of expensive sandalwood and cold steel filling her senses. Killian sat beside her, the door closing with a heavy thud that silenced the world outside. He didn't look at her; he pulled out a slim silver case and lit a cigarette, the ember glowing like a warning light in the dim interior.
"You have exactly five minutes before I hand you over to my security for trespassing on my time," Killian said, his voice a low vibration. "The Northwest blueprints. How did you get them, and why should I believe the woman who was supposedly 'madly in love' with Marcus Vance?"
Evelyn settled back, smoothing the emerald silk over her knees. "I didn't get them. I made them. Marcus didn't 'steal' them in the traditional sense; he drugged my tea six months ago and photographed the prototypes in my home office. He thinks the final versions are locked in his safe. He's wrong."
She looked Killian dead in the eye, refusing to flinch. "I built backdoors into the structural integrity of every design he took. If he breaks ground using those plans, the buildings won't just fail inspection—they'll collapse financially within three years. I'm the only one who can fix the flaws. And I want to give the corrected versions to Thorne International."
Killian exhaled a cloud of smoke, his grey eyes narrowing. "And in exchange, you want protection."
"I want more than protection, Mr. Thorne. I want an alliance," Evelyn corrected. "Marcus is a parasite. He needs my talent to feed his ego and his bank account. Without me, he's a hollow shell. I want you to give me a seat at your table—a position as the Lead Architect for the Waterfront Project."
Killian let out a short, dry laugh. It was a sound devoid of humor. "The Waterfront is a five-billion-dollar contract. You're twenty-four, Miss Rossi. You're a socialite with a pretty hobby."
"I am a woman who knows where Marcus Vance hides his offshore accounts," she countered, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know the names of the senators he's bribed. And I know that tomorrow morning, he is going to announce a hostile takeover of your subsidiary in Singapore. Unless, of course, a certain scandal breaks tonight."
Killian's posture changed. The boredom vanished, replaced by the sharp, focused intensity that had made him the most feared man in the city. He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
"You're playing a very dangerous game, Evelyn. If you're lying to me, I won't just let Marcus ruin you. I'll make sure you disappear."
"Then we're in agreement," Evelyn said, her heart hammering against her ribs, though her face remained a mask of stone. "Because if I stay with him, I'm already dead."
Killian studied her for a long moment. He saw the desperation hidden behind the coldness—a look he recognized from his own reflection in the early days. He tapped his ash into the tray and looked toward his driver.
"Don't go to the Rossi estate," Killian ordered. "Take us to the Blackwood Hotel. Suite 901."
Evelyn's breath hitched. "The Blackwood? That's your private residence."
"If you're going to be my 'new interest' for the press, you might as well look the part," Killian said, a dark glint in his eyes. "Marcus will be at your father's house within the hour. Let him find an empty room. Let him wonder why his bride-to-be is with the Devil."
He reached out, his gloved thumb brushing the lace choker at her neck. It was a gesture that was half-threat, half-caress.
"But remember, Evelyn. Once you enter my world, you don't leave until I say the contract is finished."
"I've spent one life being a victim," Evelyn replied, leaning into his touch with a defiance that surprised them both. "I think I'll enjoy being a conspirator."
As the car sped through the rain-slicked streets of the city, Evelyn looked out the window. The neon lights blurred into streaks of red and gold. In her past life, she would have been crying right now, begging Marcus for forgiveness.
In this life, she was sitting next to the only man who could help her burn the world down.
The "inciting incident" was over. The war had officially begun.