Chapter 4 4

Elenor stared at the thick legal document, a dry, incredulous laugh tearing from her throat.

She took two steps back, putting distance between herself and the marble counter. "This is insane. You're joking."

Christian's face remained an unreadable mask. He picked up a heavy Montblanc fountain pen from the counter and tapped the signature line on the last page.

"Marriage is the only metric of stability my investors will accept," he stated, his logic impenetrable.

"You could find any socialite in Manhattan to do this!" Elenor argued, her chest heaving. "Why me? You met me in a bar twelve hours ago!"

A flicker of something dark passed through Christian's eyes, but he masked it instantly beneath a veneer of corporate calculation.

"Because you have no background," he said ruthlessly. "You have no powerful family to complicate my assets. You are easy to control."

The words hit Elenor like a physical blow to the stomach.

Easy to control. No background.

It was the exact same rhetoric Clemens had used to destroy her last night. She was nothing but a pawn to these men, a disposable accessory.

Christian watched the color drain from her face. He saw the exact moment the pain registered in her eyes, and he drove the nail in deeper.

"Sign this," Christian said, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive hum, "and for the duration of this two-year contract, you will have the absolute protection of the Porter name. No one will ever look down on you again."

Elenor bit her lower lip hard enough to taste copper. Her mind was a chaotic war zone.

She didn't want to sell herself. She didn't want a marriage built on a transaction.

Christian flipped to the final page of the document, pointing to a specific clause.

"A two-year term. When it expires, you walk away with an eight-figure alimony settlement. Clean break."

Elenor turned her head, looking out the massive windows at the sprawling, indifferent skyline of Manhattan.

She thought about the last four years. She thought about how she had twisted herself into knots trying to fit into Clemens' elite world, only to be thrown away like garbage.

If she agreed to this madness, she would instantly sever all ties to her pathetic past. She would never have to beg for scraps of respect again.

Christian saw the hesitation fracturing her resolve. He picked up a glass of warm water and pressed it into her cold hands.

"Sign the paper, Elenor," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear. "And you will never be anyone's insignificant charity case again."

That sentence struck the deepest, most wounded part of her soul. It shattered her final defense.

Elenor took a ragged breath. Her hand shook violently as she reached out and took the heavy Montblanc pen from his fingers.

She pressed the nib to the thick paper. The scratching sound of the pen filled the silent room.

Christian's eyes tracked the movement of the pen, his breathing slowing to an almost imperceptible crawl.

She signed her full name.

The second the pen lifted, Christian snatched the document off the counter. A flash of raw, unfiltered fanaticism burned in his eyes before he quickly turned away.

He walked to the wall safe, punched in a code, and locked the agreement inside. The heavy metal click sounded like a prison door slamming shut.

Elenor dropped the pen. Her hands felt empty. She felt like she was trapped in a bizarre, suffocating dream.

Christian turned back around. The intense predator was gone, replaced once again by the cold CEO.

"Go shower. I had my assistant send up a dress from my personal shopper's emergency stock for you," he commanded, checking his platinum Patek Philippe watch. "We have exactly two hours to get to City Hall."

Elenor's eyes widened in horror. "City Hall? Today? Why so fast?"

"The golden rule of crisis management," Christian said flatly, adjusting his cuffs. "Speed is everything."