"Victor," she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. "I—"
He silenced her with a kiss, his lips fierce and possessive, swallowing her doubts. "No thinking," he said against her mouth. "Just feel. Just us."
Us. The word hit her like a blade, sharp and unexpected. There was no *us*, not really—this was a transaction, a means to an end. But as he kissed her, as his hands drove her higher, she couldn't deny the connection, the pull that went beyond strategy. She was falling, and she didn't know how to stop.
He pulled her off the bar, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the sectional, the city lights casting their bodies in a surreal glow. He laid her down, his weight pressing her into the leather, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken truths. His eyes held something new—vulnerability, maybe, or a hunger that went beyond the physical. It unnerved her, but she didn't look away.
"You're not just a game," he said, his voice raw. "Not to me."
The confession shook her, cracking the walls she'd built around her heart. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let herself feel something real, but the ghosts of Liam and Sophia loomed, their betrayal a constant reminder of why she was here. She reached for him, pulling him down, kissing him with a desperation that bordered on pain.
"Then prove it," she said, her voice fierce. "Make me forget everything else."
He did. His hands were everywhere, stripping away the last of her dress, her panties, leaving her bare beneath him. He shed his shirt, his skin hot against hers, and she traced the lines of his chest, his scars, his strength, memorizing him as he'd memorized her. When he entered her, it was slow, deliberate, a joining that felt like a vow. Eva's cry was muffled against his shoulder, her nails digging into his back as he moved, each thrust a rhythm of possession and surrender.
"Eva," he groaned, his voice thick with need. "You're mine."
The words should have scared her, should have reminded her of Liam's empty promises, but they didn't. They felt true, raw, a truth she wasn't ready to face. She matched his pace, her hips rising to meet him, their bodies a symphony of heat and desperation. The world fell away—the city, the pain, the plan—until there was only this, only them, only the edge they were hurtling toward.
When release came, it was shattering, a wave that tore through her, leaving her trembling in his arms. Victor followed, his groan a primal sound that echoed in her chest, his body collapsing against hers, heavy and warm. They lay there, tangled, breathless, the city's pulse a distant hum beneath their own.
For a moment, Eva let herself feel it—the connection, the intimacy, the possibility of something real. But as her breathing slowed, reality crept back. Liam. Sophia. The video. The betrayal. She'd come here to destroy them, not to fall for Victor. Yet here she was, her heart racing with something dangerously close to affection, her body still humming from his touch.
Victor shifted, propping himself on one elbow, his eyes searching hers. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice soft but probing.
She hesitated, the truth too raw, too dangerous. "That this complicates things," she said finally, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest.
He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Life's complicated," he said. "But this—this feels right."
She wanted to argue, to push him away, but his touch was gentle, his gaze unguarded, and it disarmed her. She leaned into him, kissing him softly, a kiss that held more honesty than she'd intended. "Maybe," she whispered. "But I'm not good at right."
He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart ache. "Neither am I," he said. "But I'm willing to try. Are you?"
The question hung between them, a challenge she wasn't ready to answer. She rolled out from under him, reaching for her dress, needing distance to think. Victor watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn't stop her. She dressed in silence, the weight of his gaze heavy on her skin.
"I should go," she said, her voice quieter than she'd intended.
He stood, pulling on his pants, his movements fluid and unhurried. "You don't have to," he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing her arm. "Stay. Talk to me."
She shook her head, her resolve wavering. "Not tonight," she said, forcing a smile. "But I'll see you again. Soon."
He didn't push, but his eyes promised he wouldn't let her run forever. "Soon," he echoed, his voice a low promise.
Eva left the penthouse, her body still tingling, her mind a chaos of desire and doubt. The elevator ride down was a descent into reality, the mirrored walls reflecting a woman caught between revenge and something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name.
**Flashback**
Eva sat in a coffee shop, two weeks before the video, watching Liam and Sophia across the table. They'd been planning a group trip, their laughter easy, their dynamic familiar. But there was a moment—a glance between them, too long, too intimate—that had made Eva's stomach twist. She'd dismissed it, chalked it up to paranoia, but the memory haunted her now, a clue she'd ignored.
Later, alone with Sophia, Eva had asked, "Is everything okay with you and Liam? You seem… close."
Sophia's smile had been too quick, too sharp. "We're just friends, Eva. Don't be weird." But her eyes had flickered, a lie hidden in their depths.
_________
That lie was a wound now, festering, driving Eva to this moment. She'd trusted them, loved them, and they'd torn her apart. The memory fueled her rage, her resolve, but Victor's touch lingered, a complication she hadn't planned for.
The cab ride home was a blur, the city's lights streaking past like tears. Eva leaned her head against the window, her body still alive with the memory of Victor—his hands, his lips, the way he'd claimed her. She'd wanted to use him, to wield him as a weapon, but he was no pawn. He was a king, and she was dangerously close to becoming his queen.
Her phone buzzed, a message from Liam, the first in days. "Saw you at the estate. What are you playing at, Eva? Stay away from my family."
The words were a spark to her fury, reigniting her purpose. Liam thought he could warn her off, thought he still had power over her. He was wrong. She typed a reply, her fingers trembling with rage. "You don't get to tell me what to do. Not anymore. Watch your back, Liam. I'm just getting started."
She hit send, her heart pounding with a mix of defiance and dread. The game was escalating, the stakes higher than ever. Victor was a wildcard, a man who could destroy her as easily as he could save her. But Eva was done playing safe. She'd burn it all down—Liam, Sophia, her own heart—if it meant winning.
As the cab pulled up to her apartment, Eva stepped out, the night air cool against her flushed skin. She looked up at the sky, the stars hidden by the city's glare, and made a silent vow. She'd have her revenge, no matter the cost. And if Victor was part of that cost, so be it.
But deep down, a small, traitorous part of her whispered that she wasn't just fighting for revenge anymore. She was fighting for herself, for the woman she was becoming, and for the man who saw her—not as a victim, but as a force. The thought terrified her, but it also set her free.
Eva walked into her building, her heels echoing in the empty lobby, a queen ready to claim her throne—or burn it to the ground.