CHAPTER FOUR

GRAYSON's POV

The door to my office swung open without warning, and Marcus strode in with that particular brand of confidence that came from knowing he'd never need to knock because I'd never tell him to leave.

"You're not going to believe what I just heard," he said, dropping into the leather chair across from my desk with a grin that told me he was about to ruin my entire day.

I didn't look up from the contract I was reviewing. "If this is about the Henderson merger again, I already told you I'm not interested in partnering with a company that can't manage basic fucking accounting."

"It's not about Henderson," Marcus said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's about Eva Rose."

My pen stopped moving.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The name alone was enough to short-circuit every carefully constructed defense I'd built over the past ten years.

"What did you just say?" I asked quietly, finally looking up at him.

Marcus's grin widened. "Eva Rose. Remember her? Quiet girl from high school? The one you used to—"

"I know who she is," I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. "What about her?"

"Cynthia just told me she's coming back to Willow Creek for Christmas," Marcus said, watching me carefully now, like he was trying to gauge my reaction. "First time in ten years, apparently. She's participating in the auction."

The world tilted.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you absolutely certain that's what Cynthia said?"

"Positive," Marcus confirmed. "Cynthia was practically squealing about it. Said Eva finally agreed after years of turning her down. She'll be here in a few days."

My hands stilled on the contract, the words blurring into meaningless shapes on the page.

Eva.

My Eva.

It sounded too surreal to be true. After ten years of searching, ten years of hiring private investigators who came back with nothing, ten years of lying awake at night wondering if she was alive or dead or happy or broken—she was coming home.

And she was participating in the auction.

The thought made something dark and possessive coil in my chest.

"Thanks for letting me know," I said, my tone dismissive enough that Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

"What else do you want me to say?" I asked, turning back to the contract even though I couldn't read a single word anymore.

Marcus studied me for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're still fucked up about her, aren't you?"

"Get out, Marcus."

"Grayson—"

"I said get out."

He left, finally, and I was alone with the silence and the memories I'd spent a decade trying to bury.

I stood slowly, walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, and pressed my palm against the cold glass.

Eva Rose was coming home.

The girl I'd spent four years tormenting because I didn't know how else to handle the fact that she made me feel things I'd never been allowed to feel. The girl who'd looked at me with those wide, wounded eyes and asked why I hated her so much when the truth was I'd never hated her at all.

I'd been terrified of her.

Terrified of the way she made my chest ache when she smiled. Terrified of the way I wanted to protect her even as I destroyed her. Terrified of the weakness she exposed in me just by existing in the same space.

My father had beaten weakness out of me from the time I could walk. Taught me that emotions were liabilities, that vulnerability was death, and that real men didn't cry or feel or break. And I'd learned. God, I'd learned so well.

Until Eva Rose walked into my life and shattered every rule I'd ever been taught.

She made me want to be soft. To be kind. To be the kind of man who could hold her hand in the hallway and kiss her forehead and tell her she was beautiful.

But I couldn't be that man. Not with my father watching. Not with the expectation that I'd be hard and cruel and untouchable, pressing down on me from every direction.

So I'd made her hate me instead.

I'd humiliated her. Tormented her. Destroyed her so thoroughly that she'd fled Willow Creek and never looked back.

And the day she left, something inside me broke so completely I wasn't sure it would ever heal.

I spiraled. Hard. Fast. Into a darkness so deep I couldn't see light anymore.

Not even my mother's death or the torture my father put me through all my life was anything compared to the way my life crumbled when I discovered I had chased her away.

That was the wound that never closed. The ache that never faded. The ghost that followed me through every success, every achievement, every hollow victory that meant nothing because she wasn't there to see it.

I'd searched for her. Hired the best investigators money could buy. Traced her through name changes and addresses and jobs she'd left behind like breadcrumbs. But she'd been smart. Careful. Every time I got close, she disappeared again.

And now she was coming back.

Not for me. Not because she'd forgiven me or missed me or wanted to see me again.

She was coming back to auction herself off to the highest bidder. To let some random, faceless man buy access to her body for twelve days.

The thought made my fists clench hard enough that my knuckles went white.

Why would she do that? What could possibly be desperate enough to make Eva Rose—quiet, careful, guarded Eva—sell herself like that?

Money. It had to be money. Nothing else would drive her to something so extreme.

And if it was money she needed, then I had more than enough to give her. More than enough to buy her. To keep her. To make sure no other man ever touched her again.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Cynthia's number before I could talk myself out of it.

She answered on the third ring. "Grayson? What's up?"

"I want to enter the auction," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos rioting through my chest.

"The Christmas auction? Grayson, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because Eva's going to be there," Cynthia said, her tone gentle but firm. "And I don't want to make things harder for her than they already are. You know what happened between you two. You know what you did to her. I can't let you—"

"I've been playing Santa for your children's hospital fundraiser for free every single year for the past decade," I interrupted, keeping my voice calm. Reasonable. "I've donated millions of dollars to your causes. I've shown up to every event you've asked me to attend. This is the least you can do to return the favor, Cynthia."

Another long silence.

"You're serious about this," she said finally.

"Completely."

"Grayson, if you hurt her again—"

"I won't," I said, and meant it with every fiber of my being. "I promise you, Cynthia. I won't hurt her."

Cynthia sighed, long and heavy. "Fine. I'll add your name to the list. But Grayson? If you fuck this up, I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your life."

"Understood," I said, and ended the call.