Chapter 3 3

Elenor stared at the name printed on the newspaper. Her brain flatlined. Her muscles locked into place, rigid as stone.

Christian took a slow sip of his black coffee. He watched her panic unfold with the detached interest of a predator watching a trapped mouse.

He pulled out a barstool and sat down, crossing one long leg over the other. Elenor felt the air in the room thicken, as if his relaxed posture was a gravitational force, commanding every square inch of space around him.

"I swear, it was an accident," Elenor whispered, her voice cracking. "I won't bother you. I'll leave right now, and no one will ever know."

"Wall Street doesn't believe in accidents," Christian interrupted, his tone devoid of emotion. "It only looks at results."

He picked up a remote from the counter and pressed a button.

The massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall flickered to life, tuned to a major financial news network.

The anchor was currently dissecting the volatility risks surrounding the upcoming Porter Holdings IPO.

"Any negative scandal right now," Christian said, pointing a long finger at the screen, "will evaporate hundreds of millions in market cap before the opening bell."

"But no one knows about last night!" Elenor pleaded, her fingernails digging painfully into her own palms. "Just let me go."

Christian reached into his pocket and slid his phone across the marble counter toward her.

Elenor looked down.

The screen displayed a series of grainy, paparazzi-style photos. It showed the two of them outside the bar, locked in a heavy embrace, and then getting into the Maybach.

Her face was partially obscured by his jacket, but Christian's sharp profile was unmistakable.

Elenor clamped a hand over her mouth, a wave of nausea hitting her. "How... how were there photographers?"

"My competitors pay very good money to watch my every move," Christian stated coldly. "If these photos reach the tabloids, the narrative is out of my control."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "The board of directors demands a CEO with absolute stability and rigorous self-control."

He tapped the red bite mark on his neck. "This, combined with those photos, proves I lack both."

The crushing weight of responsibility slammed into Elenor's chest. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I don't have money. I can't compensate you for this."

Christian set his coffee mug down. He stood up and walked around the counter, stopping right in front of her.

He reached out. His rough thumb brushed against the corner of her eye, wiping away a tear that had threatened to spill.

The unexpected gentleness of the gesture sent a violent shiver down her spine.

"I don't need your money," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "I need a permanent solution to this PR crisis."

Elenor tilted her head up, desperate for a way out. "What solution?"

Christian turned on his heel and walked over to the heavy oak desk near the window. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents.

He walked back and slammed the file down onto the marble counter. The heavy thud made Elenor jump.

Her eyes dropped to the bold, capitalized words on the first page.

PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT - STATE OF NEW YORK.

Elenor blinked rapidly, convinced the alcohol was still messing with her brain. She read the words again.

Christian planted both hands flat on the marble, caging her in. His dark eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity.

He spoke in the most sterile, business-like tone imaginable.

"You are going to marry me. We will use a legal union to turn a catastrophic scandal into a corporate fairy tale."