Chapter 8

A cold, gray drizzle washed over New York City the next morning.

Elizabeth stood on the wide stone steps of City Hall. She wore a sharp, tailored white suit. A clear plastic umbrella shielded her from the rain, but the damp cold seeped into her bones.

A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

The back door opened. Dorian stepped out. He wore a charcoal gray bespoke suit. He opened a massive black umbrella and walked up the steps.

He stopped beside her, shifting the umbrella to cover them both. The physical proximity forced a sudden warmth into the space between them.

They walked into the marble lobby side by side. Their footsteps echoed in perfect, synchronized rhythm.

Around them, couples held hands, taking selfies and giggling. Elizabeth and Dorian stood in the line like two executives preparing for a hostile merger.

When they reached the counter, the clerk slid two thick stacks of paperwork across the desk.

Dorian picked up a pen. He signed his name with aggressive, sweeping strokes, then turned his head to watch her.

Elizabeth kept her face blank. She filled out the forms, her pen pausing for a fraction of a second before she wrote 'Dorian Underwood' in the spouse section.

The clerk stamped the papers and smiled brightly. "Congratulations! You are officially married."

They walked back out to the covered portico. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and reflective.

Dorian reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a thick manila envelope. He handed it to her.

"The prenup," Dorian said.

Elizabeth took the envelope. She pulled out the document, flipped directly to the last page, and signed her name on the dotted line. She didn't read a single word.

Dorian's eyebrows pulled together. "You aren't going to read it? I could be leaving you with nothing."

Elizabeth slapped the document against his chest. "Your rules, my compliance. Wasting time reading these clauses is pointless, Dorian. We both know this is just a piece of paper, and the real rules are the ones we silently agreed upon three nights ago. I know exactly what kind of game we're playing."

Dorian caught the papers. A genuine smile touched his lips.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card. He grabbed her hand and pressed it into her palm, his fingers curling hers closed around it.

"The penthouse was your cage," Dorian said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now it's officially ours. The game starts in earnest tonight."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked down the steps toward the waiting Maybach.

He opened the door, paused, and looked back at her. His eyes locked onto hers with a heavy, possessive weight. Then he got in, and the car pulled away.

Elizabeth stood alone on the steps. She looked down at the black card in her hand. It felt less like a key and more like a warrant.

She pulled out her phone and typed a secure message to Daryl.

I'm in. Get the data ready for tonight.

She hailed a cab. She had a war to plan.