Contract With A Monster: The Heiress's Revenge

The next morning, the sun over Manhattan was bright and unforgiving.

In the penthouse office of French Media, Delos stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked immaculate in a charcoal suit, but the shadows under his eyes told a different story. His mind was a steel trap, replaying the gaps in his memory, the humiliation of being drugged in another man's home. The attack on Harmon Holdings wasn't just business now. It was retribution.

"The security footage was corrupted," Marcus reported, standing at attention. "Someone wiped the servers at the Harmon estate between 11 PM and 1 AM. Professionally. We have no visual on who entered your room."

Delos turned. His expression was a mask of cold indifference. He tossed the diamond butterfly onto his glass desk. It spun, a dizzying blur of light.

"They set me up," Delos said. "Richard Harmon invites me to his home, and suddenly I'm dosed with a hallucinogen and a woman is in my room. It's a honey trap."

"We can't prove it, sir."

"I don't need proof to punish them." Delos sat down. "The bid for the Starfall Bay project. Move the deadline up by forty-eight hours."

Marcus blinked. "That's... aggressive. Most firms won't be ready."

"Exactly," Delos said. "Burn them."

At the Harmon estate, the atmosphere was poisonous.

Eve limped into the dining room. She wore a high-collared cashmere sweater despite the warm weather. The bite mark on her neck had bloomed into an ugly, dark bruise.

Julian was already eating, picking at a plate of eggs. He watched her walk in, his eyes tracking her movement like a vulture.

"Rough night?" Julian asked.

"I fell in the garden," Eve lied. She took her seat, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth.

Julian stood up. He walked behind her chair. Eve stiffened, her muscles locking up. He leaned down, his nose hovering inches from her hair.

He inhaled deeply.

"You smell different," Julian whispered. "Like you took a bath in cheap soap to wash something off. But underneath it... there's something else. Something expensive. Scotch, maybe."

Eve's heart hammered against her ribs. "It's from the guests. Someone hugged me."

"Who?" Julian pressed, his hand resting on the back of her neck. His thumb brushed the collar of her sweater.

The door slammed open.

Richard Harmon stormed in, his face a mottled red. He threw a tablet onto the table. It slid across the wood and crashed into the milk pitcher.

"He moved the deadline!" Richard roared. "Delos French moved the deadline! We have two days!"

"It's a power move," Julian said, stepping away from Eve. "He's testing us."

"He's trying to bury us!" Richard turned on Eve. "And you. You're useless. You and that ridiculous 'crisis communications' firm of yours. All you do is manage scandals, and now we're in one!"

"I can help," Eve said quietly. "I know the legal framework for the bid better than anyone."

"You're a publicist, Eve, not a lawyer," Richard spat. "You spin stories. You're an expense."

"I passed the bar exam two years ago, Father," she replied, her voice dangerously low. "You just refused to acknowledge it."

Richard ignored her. He looked at Julian. "Fix this. Or neither of you gets a dime from the trust this month."

The butler, Alfred, entered with a silver tray. "A courier just arrived, sir. From French Media."

Richard snatched the envelope. He ripped it open.

Eve watched his eyes scan the paper. He paled.

"What is it?" Julian asked.

"It's a notice of breach of hospitality," Richard whispered. "He knows something happened last night."

Eve gripped her fork until her knuckles turned white. She stared at the signature at the bottom of the letter. Delos French. The loops of the letters were sharp, aggressive.

She realized with a jolt of pure terror that the man who wanted to destroy her family was the same man whose blood she had drawn. And he was coming for them.