The night my younger sister stole my millionaire fiancé at our engagement party

The following weeks were a whirlwind of high-level forensic accounting and covert corporate restructuring. Dominic’s empire was vast, stretching from legitimate shipping ports in Long Beach to massive commercial real estate holdings across the Southwest. But as I dug deeper into the ledgers, I discovered something troubling.

It wasn't that Dominic was hiding illicit funds—his legitimate businesses were astonishingly clean. The problem was external. Someone was quietly buying up small commercial properties adjacent to Moretti Holdings' primary shipping terminals through a labyrinth of Delaware shell companies, attempting to choke off Dominic’s access to the docks.

It was a hostile takeover attempt disguised as urban development.

"Look at this," I said late one Thursday evening, spinning my laptop around so Dominic could see the screen. We were alone in his corner office, the lights of downtown Los Angeles glowing like a sea of diamonds through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "These three parcels on the North Harbor docks were purchased last month by a firm called Apex Capital. On paper, they look like an independent real estate trust. But if you trace the wire transfers back three layers..."

Dominic leaned over my shoulder, his broad chest brushing against the back of my chair as he studied the data stream. His clean, masculine scent—pine, cedar, and dark espresso—surrounded me, making it difficult to concentrate on the numbers.

"Apex Capital," Dominic murmured, his voice rumbling against my ear. "That's Arthur Sterling's front."

I blinked, looking up at him. "Arthur Sterling? The municipal rail magnate? He's seventy years old and sits on the city's board of economic development."

"He's also a man who has been trying to control the West Coast shipping lanes since my father was alive," Dominic said, his jaw tightening. "Sterling thought he could wait me out. But seeing as my legitimate holdings are expanding too fast for his comfort, he's trying to cut off my maritime access before the city council votes on the new port expansion next month."

"If he controls those adjacent parcels, he can legally block your trucks from reaching the main loading bays," I realized, the accounting puzzle pieces locking into place in my head. "He could cost Moretti Holdings millions in logistics delays."

"He could," Dominic agreed. He straightened up, walking slowly to the window and staring out into the night. The city lights cast long shadows across his sharp features, making him look like a statue carved from ancient stone. "Sterling thinks he's untouchable. He plays by the city's rules—greasing palms, buying politicians, hiding behind expensive lawyers."

"Then we beat him at his own game," I said, standing up from my desk.

Dominic turned, raising an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Arthur Sterling’s empire is built on public-private municipal contracts," I explained, stepping closer to him, my professional confidence taking over. "If Apex Capital acquired those land parcels using funds tied to municipal bond issues—which they almost certainly did to secure tax write-offs—then any hostile blockade of a designated public shipping lane constitutes a federal antitrust violation."

I tapped the screen of my laptop. "Give me forty-eight hours with Sterling’s public asset disclosures and corporate tax filings. If he used municipal bond money to finance a private blockade, I can hand the federal prosecutor an airtight racketeering case on a silver platter."

Dominic stared at me for a long moment, the hard, dangerous edge in his eyes melting away into a look of profound, undeniable respect.

"You truly are a terrifying woman, Evelyn Vance," he said softly, a genuine smile touching his lips.

"I'm just a good accountant," I replied, holding his gaze.

"No," Dominic murmured, stepping closer until only a few inches separated us. "You're much more than that."

The air between us suddenly grew heavy, charged with an electric tension that had been building quietly since the night in the Newport Beach garden. I could feel the heat radiating from his chest, could see the tiny amber flecks in his dark eyes as his gaze dropped slowly to my lips.

Before I could overthink it—before my self-preservation instincts could kick in—Dominic’s hand came up, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed my cheekbone with an unexpected, breathtaking tenderness.

"Evelyn," he breathed, his voice rough and low.

"Don't," I whispered, though I didn't pull away. My eyes fluttered closed for a fraction of a second as his thumb traced the line of my lower lip. "We're in your office. I work for you."

"You work with me," Dominic corrected gently.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a slow, tentative kiss that tasted of dark coffee and sudden, undeniable inevitability. My hands, almost of their own accord, came up to rest against the lapels of his shirt, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart beating against my palms.

It wasn't like the cold, performative kisses I had shared with Ryan over the years. This felt real. Solid. Like an anchor dropped into a stormy sea.

When Dominic finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, his dark eyes were shining with a raw, unguarded emotion.

"Come to dinner with me tonight," he murmured against my mouth. "Not a business meeting. Not a safe house. Just... dinner. With me and Mia."