For the next three days, the Presidential Suite at the Palmer House transformed into a smokeless battlefield.
The room was filled with the frantic tick-tick-tick of telegraph machines, the rhythmic chugging of stock tickers, and heavy clouds of cigar smoke. Long strips of ticker tape covered the floor like white, dead snakes.
William Ashford hadn't slept a full night in days.
He was like a tireless, precision machine, operating at a manic pace. Dozens of secretaries, lawyers, and traders rushed in and out, everyone sweating with anxiety. In the eye of this storm stood William—shirt collar open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a burning cigar forever clamped between his fingers.
"Tell Morgan's people, if they dare to sell at the current price, I will buy out every single one of their transport lines in New Jersey."
William stood before a massive railway map of the United States. Red pen in hand, he slashed a violent line across the map, his voice hoarse but carrying an unquestionable, terrifying authority.
"But Sir, that would require mobilizing twenty million in cash flow..."
"Do it!" William whipped around. His grey-green eyes were webbed with red veins but shone with a frightening brilliance. "I don't want numbers in a bank book. I want the throat! As long as I choke this line, half of America's grain transport is in my hands!"
Evelyn, holding a tray, moved like a ghost through this crowd of roaring men.
She didn't understand the complex financial jargon, but she understood the situation.
She saw bankers, usually high and mighty, cowering before William. She saw opportunistic rivals crumble after a single phone call from him.
In this room, William was not a man. He was a god.
He was a deity manipulating the lifeblood of the nation.
"Coffee."
William didn't turn around; he simply extended a hand backward.
Evelyn stepped forward immediately, placing a cup of black coffee—perfectly temperature-controlled, no sugar, no milk—into his hand.
William threw his head back and downed it, the bitter liquid rolling past his bobbing Adam's apple. He let out a long breath, handed the empty cup back to Evelyn, and rubbed the back of his neck exhaustedly.
"A bit sour," he muttered a complaint, but there was no blame in his tone. It sounded more like a subconscious act of petulance.
Evelyn didn't speak. She set down the tray and walked behind him.
In this room reeking of men's sweat and anxiety, she was the only softness.
She raised her hands and, through the expensive fabric of his shirt, pressed onto William's rock-hard shoulders.
William's body tensed for a fraction of a second, then relaxed as he recognized the familiar touch. He continued to stare at the map, but his head tilted back slightly, resting against Evelyn's stomach—a posture that was both extremely dangerous and deeply trusting.
Evelyn's fingers roamed over his trapezius muscles, finding the knotted tension and kneading it out ruthlessly.
"Ngh..." A low, muffled groan vibrated from deep within William's throat, like a large feline being scratched in just the right spot.
Evelyn looked down at this man.
From her angle, she could see his thick eyelashes, the high bridge of his nose, and the thin lips pursed tight in concentration.
In her past life, she had only found this man terrifying. He was cold-blooded, heartless, an accomplice to her death.
But in this moment, amidst this suffocating commercial slaughter, Evelyn suddenly felt a tremor of excitement so intense it made her legs weak.
This was the scent of power.
Watching him command the room, watching him toy with greedy opponents, watching him decide the fate of thousands with a single signature... This pure, masculine potency exuded an attraction more fatal than any handsome face could ever offer.
This was a real man. Not the drunks in the Lower East Side who only knew how to beat their wives, nor the dandies at the Manor who only knew how to have affairs.
He was a lion king fighting in the wasteland. Cruel, bloody, but because of that... mesmerizing.
Evelyn's heart began to race uncontrollably.
She suddenly realized she didn't just want to use him. She didn't just want to destroy Aurora.
She wanted to become him.
Or at least, she wanted to earn the right to stand beside him. Even as his shadow, she wanted to share in this ecstasy of standing above all living things.
"A little to the left," William rasped, eyes closed.
Evelyn obediently moved her fingers, increasing the pressure.
"When this merger is over, where do you want to go?" William asked suddenly. Though his eyes remained closed, his tone held a rare note of casual conversation.
Evelyn paused for a beat, but her hands didn't stop. "Back to the Manor, Sir. That is my job."
William chuckled softly. The sound vibrated through his chest and transferred to Evelyn's abdomen where he leaned against her, causing a ripple of numbness.
"The Manor? That cage can't hold you."
He suddenly reached up and grabbed Evelyn's hand as it massaged him. His palm was broad, dry, and scalding hot, completely enveloping hers.
"Kyle, have you ever considered that the roads in this world aren't just the ones paved under your feet?" He opened his eyes and turned his head, those grey-green irises staring straight at her, burning with the fire of ambition that hadn't yet faded. "There is another kind of road, one paved over the bones of others."
Evelyn looked at him, her breathing quickening.
"I am not afraid of bones, Sir," she whispered. "I am only afraid of having no road to walk."
The smile in William's eyes deepened. He squeezed her fingertips, then let go.
"Good. Then fill the coffee pot. There's one last battle to fight tonight."
He transformed back into the cold tyrant, turning away to dive back into the pile of data.
Evelyn watched his back, taking a deep breath of the air filled with cigar smoke.
She had never thought this choking smell could be so intoxicating. It was the scent of ambition. And she was completely addicted.