Chapter 6 No.6

They walked out of City Hall side-by-side. Christian held the freshly stamped marriage license in his hand.

He didn't even glance at it before casually handing it off to his executive assistant, instructing him to lock it in the corporate vault.

Once they were back inside the soundproof sanctuary of the Maybach, Elenor let out a long, shaky exhale. Her muscles felt like they had been put through a meat grinder.

Christian reached into the mini-fridge and handed her a bottle of sparkling water. A faint, almost imperceptible gleam of satisfaction rested in his dark eyes.

He leaned back against the leather headrest and looked at her.

"Mrs. Porter," he said.

The two words rolled off his tongue with a smooth, dangerous kind of intimacy.

Elenor choked on her water, coughing violently as the liquid went down the wrong pipe.

Christian reached over, his large hand gently patting her back. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"There's no need to act when it's just us," Elenor wheezed, her face burning red as she wiped her mouth. "Just call me Elenor."

Christian didn't argue. He simply withdrew his hand, his expression returning to its usual impenetrable calm.

The heavy silence in the car was suddenly shattered by the frantic buzzing of Elenor's phone inside her purse.

She pulled it out. The caller ID displayed an unknown landline number.

She swiped to answer, pressing the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Is this Elenor Gould?" a mechanical, authoritative male voice asked. "This is Officer Davis from the NYPD 19th Precinct."

Elenor's stomach plummeted to her shoes. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

"Yes, this is she," she answered, her voice trembling.

"We have your brother, Jamison Benson, in custody," the officer stated bluntly. "He was involved in an aggravated assault. You need to come down here to process his bail."

All the blood rushed from Elenor's face. "Assault? Jamison? That's impossible, he doesn't fight!"

"Save it for the desk sergeant, ma'am. Get down here," the officer snapped before hanging up.

Elenor's hands shook so violently she almost dropped the phone. Her brain was spinning. Jamison was a straight-A pre-law student. He had never been in trouble a day in his life.

Christian noticed her panic immediately. His brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"My brother," Elenor choked out, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "He's at the police station. I need to go."

She leaned forward, tapping frantically on the glass partition. "Please, pull over! I need to catch a cab to the 19th Precinct!"

Christian's hand shot out. He clamped his fingers around her wrist, physically halting her frantic movements. His grip was firm, immovable.

"Drive to the 19th Precinct," Christian ordered the driver, his voice slicing through the panic in the car.

"No, you don't have to do this," Elenor protested, trying to pull her arm back. "This isn't part of our agreement. I don't want to drag you into my family's mess."

Christian's eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits.

"When Mrs. Porter's brother gets arrested," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal register, "it becomes my mess."

He didn't let go of her wrist. With his free hand, he pulled out his phone and hit a speed-dial number.

"Get the entire criminal defense team to the 19th Precinct," Christian commanded his chief legal counsel. "Now."

Elenor stared at his sharp, uncompromising profile. Amidst the terrifying chaos of her brother's arrest, a strange, entirely foreign sense of safety began to wrap around her chest.