Chapter 2

The word "wife" hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Johan's face contorted into a mask of pure rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Alexander. "You're out of your mind, Briggs! She's mine! Nobody in New York touches what belongs to the Conway family!"

Eleanore lay on the sofa, clutching Alexander's cedar-scented jacket to her chest. The shock of his declaration acted like a bucket of ice water, momentarily cutting through the drug's haze. She stared at the sharp, unforgiving line of Alexander's jaw, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Alexander let out a dry, humorless laugh. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen once and shoved it directly into Johan's face.

"Is that right?" Alexander asked, his tone dripping with lethal mockery.

Johan's eyes dropped to the screen. All the color instantly drained from his face.

It was a high-definition photograph. Johan, standing on the deck of a private yacht, slipping a massive diamond ring onto the finger of Karlie Christensen. The timestamp in the corner read three days ago.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd of socialites gathered at the door. The whispers instantly turned into sharp, biting gossip.

Johan's mouth opened and closed. He looked at Eleanore, panic replacing the rage in his eyes. "Eleanore, wait. It's not what it looks like. It's just business. A merger-"

A wave of intense nausea hit Eleanore. It wasn't the drug. It was the sudden, sickening realization of how thoroughly she had been manipulated. Johan had kept her isolated, controlled her finances, and played the devoted lover, all while planning to marry someone else for power.

She gripped the armrest of the sofa and forced herself to stand. Her legs shook violently.

The moment she swayed, Alexander's arm wrapped around her waist like a steel band, pulling her firmly against his side. He didn't look at her, but his grip was unyielding.

A dizzying wave of the drug pulled at her brain, making her vision swim. She dug her fingernails into her own bruised palms, using the biting pain to force her mind into a single line of clarity. Eleanore took a deep, ragged breath. She looked Johan dead in the eye.

"We are done," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but it didn't shake. "Don't ever come near me again."

Johan's eyes widened in disbelief. The idea of losing his grip on her snapped whatever sanity he had left. He lunged at her again, his hands clawing toward her face.

L. Thorne grabbed Johan by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the expensive wallpaper.

"Get your hands off me!" Johan thrashed against the wall.

The crowd parted suddenly. The sharp, rapid clicking of stiletto heels echoed on the hardwood floor.

Karlie Christensen pushed her way to the front. She wore a custom silk gown, her makeup flawless, but her eyes were wild as she took in the scene: her fiancé pinned to the wall, and Eleanore tucked safely under the arm of the most feared man on Wall Street.

Karlie forced a tight, plastic smile onto her face. She looked at Eleanore, her eyes filled with venom.

"Really, Eleanore?" Karlie's voice was high and mocking. "Throwing yourself at other men because your family went bankrupt? Have some dignity."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Alexander slowly turned his head to look at Karlie. His eyes were flat, dead, and utterly terrifying.

"Dignity," Alexander repeated softly. "Like the dignity of the Christensen family begging the Conways for a cash injection because your real estate portfolio is ninety days away from default?"

Karlie's smile vanished. Her jaw dropped.

The Wall Street investors in the crowd immediately pulled out their phones, their eyes darting toward Karlie with predatory interest. Alexander had just publicly executed her family's credit rating.

Alexander didn't waste another second on them. He looked down at Eleanore. The coldness in his eyes vanished, replaced by something dark and intense.

"Can you walk?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

Eleanore shook her head. The adrenaline was fading, and the drug was pulling her back down.

Alexander didn't hesitate. He scooped her up into his arms again.

L. Thorne shoved Johan aside and cleared a path through the doorway. Alexander walked out of the suite, carrying Eleanore against his chest. The crowd of elites parted instantly, pressing themselves against the walls to avoid his path.

Eleanore buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could hear the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat. It was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

They reached the VIP elevator. L. Thorne swiped a keycard and pressed the button for the underground garage.

The stainless steel doors slid shut, cutting off the noise of the hotel. Eleanore looked at their reflection in the polished metal.

"Why?" she whispered, her heavy eyelids drooping. "Why did you do that?"

Alexander looked down at her. He didn't answer. He just tightened his arms around her.

The elevator chimed, opening into the dark, concrete expanse of the parking garage. A black, armored Maybach was already idling near the exit.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light exploded from behind a concrete pillar. Then another.

Paparazzi.

Eleanore flinched, trying to hide her face.

Alexander didn't speed up. He didn't order Thorne to take their cameras. Instead, he stopped walking. He turned his body slightly, ensuring the cameras had a clear view of his profile, and pressed his lips firmly against Eleanore's forehead.

The cameras clicked frantically.

Thorne opened the rear door of the Maybach. Alexander carefully placed Eleanore onto the plush leather seat, then slid in beside her.

The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them in the dark.