HIS BILLOIN DOLLAR BRIDE

Chapter Six

The metallic click of the gun's safety mechanism echoed through the dark study, sharp and definitive over the roar of the downpour outside.

"Step away from him, Eva," Julian snarled, his hand trembling slightly as he leveled the heavy black barrel at her chest. Lightning flashed through the arched windows, catching the sweat beaded on his forehead and the erratic, desperate gleam in his eyes. "Or I swear to God, I will paint this inheritance with your blood before the execution clause even hits the printer."

Behind Julian, the mansion's head housekeeper let out a muffled sob, a guard’s blade biting a fraction deeper into the delicate skin of her throat.

Eva felt the hard corners of Arthur Knight's hidden leather journal pressing against her ribs, tucked securely beneath the bodice of her green dress. Her mind, fueled by adrenaline, stripped away the terror. She had just learned her true identity from those pages: Ifeoma Precious Brooks, the rightful owner of fifty-one percent of Knight Enterprises. She couldn't die here. Not when she finally held the weapon to avenge her father and save her mother.

Before she could speak, a heavy, unyielding warmth blocked her view.

Damian stepped directly into the line of fire, his broad shoulders cutting off Julian's trajectory completely. He didn't flinch. His charcoal suit coat was ruined from the rain, his jaw set into a terrifyingly rigid line. The raw, territorial alpha energy radiating from him was palpable, a suffocating force in the narrow space between the mahogany desk and the safe.

"You're unhinged, Julian," Damian said, his baritone dangerously level, carrying the weight of an absolute ruler. "You pull that trigger, and you don't just face a murder charge. The biometric safe behind me automatically uploads this entire room’s security feed to an off-site cloud server. You won't sit on the throne. You'll rot in a maximum-security cell before the board can even call a quorum."

Julian let out a ragged, breathless laugh, his finger twitching against the trigger guard. "You think I care about the cloud, cousin? You've looked down on me since we were children. You think you’re a god because you inherited the old man's cold blood. But without that copy of the ledger in your hands, you have no proof of a later codicil. The company is mine at noon."

Eva watched from behind Damian's shoulder, her eyes darting to the heavy crystal decanter sitting on the edge of Arthur's desk. Damian’s left hand was tucked behind his back, his fingers curling in a silent, rhythmic sequence. Three taps against his thigh.

A signal. He was going to move on the count of three.

She didn't wait for him to risk his life alone. As Damian took a sharp, aggressive step forward to close the distance, drawing Julian’s panicked gaze directly to his chest, Eva grabbed the crystal decanter and slammed it down onto the brass desk lamp.

The bulb exploded with a violent, blinding pop and a shower of white sparks.

Darkness swallowed the room for a split second. A deafening gunshot shattered the air, the muzzle flash illuminating Julian's terrified face as the bullet embedded itself into the heavy mahogany bookshelves behind them.

In the same heartbeat, Damian lunged. He hit Julian like a freight train, his massive frame driving his cousin into the stone floor. The gun clattered out of Julian’s grip, skidding across the Persian rug. Damian delivered a brutal, short-arc punch to Julian’s jaw, knocking him instantly limp, before spinning around to face the guards at the door.

But the guards were already retreating, throwing the weeping housekeeper into the room as they realized the gambit had failed. The heavy double doors slammed shut, the electronic lock clicking into place from the outside.

"Damian!" Eva dropped to her knees, her hands sweeping across the floorboards until her fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the fallen firearm. She stood up, checking the chamber with practiced efficiency she’d learned surviving the roughest streets of East London.

Damian rose slowly from the floor, his breathing heavy, his silver tie-bar bent and his white shirt stained with his cousin’s sweat and blood. He didn't look at Julian’s unconscious form. His gray eyes pinned Eva against the darkness of the study, burning with a mix of fierce possessiveness and calculating intensity.

He walked toward her, each step slow, predatory, and deliberate. The physical tension between them, stretched to its absolute limit by the near-death encounter, snapped into something thick and intoxicating. When he stopped, his chest was nearly brushing the fabric of her dress, his heat radiating through the damp air.

"You took a shot for me," he murmured, his large hand reaching out to cup her jaw, his thumb wiping a stray speck of soot from her cheekbone. His touch was electric, sending a violent wave of heat straight down her spine. "I told you to let my security handle the variables, Eva."

"Your security was locked outside, Mr. Knight," Eva whispered, her breath hitching as his thumb moved to the corner of her lower lip. She could feel the rapid, powerful thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt. "And I don't let anyone fight my battles for me. Especially not an iceberg who thinks he owns my heartbeat."

Damian’s gaze darkened, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back. The proximity was agonizing, a beautiful torture. "You're a dangerous woman, Eva Brooks. Or whoever the hell you really are. But right now, we are out of time."

He released her, the sudden coldness of the room rushing back between them as he grabbed the leather folder containing the 1998 corporate ledger from the desk. "Julian’s men have sealed the tower locks. We need to reach the helipad on the roof before his legal team arrives with the formal probate injunction at sunrise."

"We can't leave through the main halls," Eva said, adjusting the hidden journal against her ribs, ensuring it was completely invisible. "Julian’s guards are monitoring the elevators."

"There's a service stairwell behind the library shelves," Damian said, pulling a heavy iron lever disguised as a book casing. A segment of the mahogany woodwork groaned and swung inward, revealing a narrow, spiral stone staircase illuminated by a single flickering emergency bulb. "Move. Now."

They descended into the belly of the fortress, the steps damp and steep. Eva kept her pace matched to his, her mind spinning. She had the proof she needed to dismantle the entire Knight dynasty, but she was currently running for her life alongside the man who ruled it. If Damian discovered she was Ifeoma Precious, the transaction would instantly turn into a war for total corporate supremacy.

They emerged into the underground garage, the air smelling of gasoline and exhaust. Damian’s private armored SUV sat idling in the dark, the headlights off.

"Get in," Damian commanded, opening the passenger door for her before sliding into the driver's seat. He slammed the vehicle into gear, the tires screeching against the concrete as he blew through the automated security gates, breaking out into the blinding, rain-swept Surrey countryside.

The drive toward London was a silent blur of speed and high-octane adrenaline. By 5:30 AM, the silhouette of the Wellington Private Hospital loomed against the pale dawn sky.

"We check on your mother first," Damian said, his voice returning to its iron-clad executive tone as he parked in the restricted medical bay. "Then my legal team will meet us in the boardroom upstairs to file the counter-suit against Julian before the market opens."

Eva nodded, her muscles aching from the tension of the night. They walked through the secure rear entrance of the elite clinic, the pristine white corridors quiet and sterile. The relief she felt seeing her mother’s name on the private wing monitor was overwhelming.

But as they approached Sarah Brooks’s luxury suite, the glass door was wide open.

Inside, the heart monitor was dark, the clear plastic tubing disconnected and hanging limply over the side of the empty, stripped mattress.

Eva’s heart stopped, her breath catching violently in her throat. "Mom?"

A tall, slender figure turned around from the corner of the room, holding a medical clipboard. Monica Vance stepped into the light, her silver-blonde hair perfectly styled, a cold, triumphant smirk twisting her beautiful features.

"Looking for the patient, darling?" Monica purred, her eyes flicking to Damian before landing back on Eva’s pale face. "I told you Julian already knew her name. The Wellington board reviewed the funding accounts thirty minutes ago under the new acting chairman's authority. The deposit was flagged as fraudulent corporate embezzlement."

Monica slid a legal document across the bedside table, her smile widening as she delivered the final blow.

"Your mother was moved to an unlisted county charity ward on the other side of London ten minutes ago, Eva. And without the five-hundred-thousand-dollar clearance code from Damian's frozen accounts, the surgical team just released her matching kidney to the next billionaire on the list. You have exactly three hours to find her a new organ before her heart completely stops."