The black Maybach idled smoothly at the base of the wide stone steps of Manhattan City Hall.

The driver hurried to open the door. Christian stepped out first, the midday sun glinting off his dark hair as he casually buttoned his suit jacket.

Elenor followed, her legs feeling like lead. She was wearing a white, vintage Chanel tweed suit that Christian's assistant had somehow procured within an hour.

The bright autumn sunlight stung her eyes. She instinctively raised a hand to shield her face.

Christian turned back. He held out his hand, his large palm facing upward, waiting.

Elenor stared at his hand for a fraction of a second before placing her icy fingers into his.

His hand clamped down instantly, his grip firm and unyielding, as if anchoring her to the earth. He led her up the steps.

Passersby turned their heads, their eyes lingering on the striking couple, assuming they were just another pair of wealthy elites tying the knot.

They pushed through the heavy brass doors. The chaotic noise of the crowded lobby hit Elenor, making her stomach churn with sudden panic.

She slowed her pace, an overwhelming urge to run seizing her muscles.

Christian felt the resistance in her arm. He stopped and tilted his head, leaning down until his lips were inches from her ear.

"If you back out now," he warned, his voice a lethal whisper, "the breach of contract penalty is fifty million dollars."

Elenor glared at him, her jaw clenching. "I wasn't going to run," she hissed through her teeth.

A team of high-powered lawyers in sharp suits was already waiting for them near the clerk's office. They efficiently handed Christian a stack of expedited paperwork.

They bypassed the massive line of waiting couples and were ushered directly into a private office. A senior city clerk sat behind a heavy desk, offering them a warm, practiced smile.

The clerk began to process the application. The solemn legality of the process bounced off the wood-paneled walls, making the reality of the situation crash down on Elenor.

She was binding herself to a stranger. A ruthless billionaire who was using her to appease his board of directors.

"Do you, Christian Porter, swear the information on this marriage license application is true and correct?"

"I do," Christian answered instantly. There was zero hesitation in his deep voice.

He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Elenor with a heavy, suffocating weight.

"And do you, Elenor Gould..."

Hearing her birth name echo in the room was a stark reminder; Deann Benson had never bothered with the paperwork to legally change her last name, another small, cruel proof that she was never truly a part of their family. Elenor's throat closed up. The silence in the small room stretched, thick and unbearable.

Christian's thumb pressed hard into the back of her hand, a silent, commanding pressure.

Elenor squeezed her eyes shut, drew in a shaky breath, and forced the words past her lips. "I do."

"Excellent," the clerk declared cheerfully, stamping the document with a heavy seal. "By the State of New York, your marriage license is hereby issued. Please remember, the mandatory twenty-four-hour waiting period must pass before you can have the actual ceremony."

Elenor stiffened her spine. She expected Christian to simply take the document and leave.

Instead, Christian reached up, his large hands framing her face. He tilted her head up and crashed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a fake kiss. It was deep, consuming, and aggressively possessive.

His scent, his heat, his sheer physical dominance completely overwhelmed her senses. Elenor's knees weakened, her hands instinctively grabbing his lapels to stay upright.

After what felt like an eternity, Christian pulled back just enough to break the seal. His thumb dragged slowly across her swollen lower lip.

"You are mine now," he rasped, his voice so low only she could hear it.

Elenor's heart hammered violently against her ribs. She saw a flash of dark, terrifying obsession in his eyes that made her breath hitch.

Before she could process it, the clerk slid the crisp, stamped marriage license across the desk.

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.

The Maybach navigated aggressively through the dense Manhattan traffic. The atmosphere inside the cabin was suffocatingly tense.

Elenor brought her thumb to her mouth, her teeth sinking into the edge of her nail-a nervous habit she had developed years ago whenever her anxiety peaked.

Christian glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He reached over and firmly pulled her hand away from her mouth.

He didn't release her hand. Instead, he wrapped his long fingers around hers, engulfing her small hand in his warm, calloused palm.

Elenor flinched, trying to tug her hand back, but his grip was ironclad.

"Biting your nails ruins the elegant image of my wife," Christian said smoothly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

It was a terrible, transparent excuse, but Elenor was too exhausted to fight him. She let her hand rest limply in his.

Christian's phone vibrated. It was his chief counsel.

He pressed the speaker button, letting the lawyer's crisp voice fill the car.

"Mr. Porter, we have the details on Jamison Benson's arrest," the lawyer reported. "It was an altercation outside a private club on the Upper East Side."

Elenor held her breath, leaning closer to the phone.

"The victim sustained a broken nose and minor lacerations," the lawyer continued. "He is currently pressing for maximum felony charges."

Elenor gasped. A broken nose? Jamison wouldn't even step on a spider. What could have possibly provoked him to do that?

"Who is the victim?" Christian asked, his voice chillingly calm.

There was a brief pause on the other end. "A man named Clemens Vincent."

The name hit Elenor like a physical bullet to the chest. Her blood turned to ice. A violent ringing started in her ears.

She violently ripped her hand out of Christian's grasp, her face turning the color of ash.

Clemens. Why was Jamison fighting Clemens?

Christian's eyes darkened instantly. The air pressure in the car seemed to plummet.

He tapped the screen to end the call. He slowly turned his head to look at Elenor.

"Clemens Vincent," Christian repeated, testing the name on his tongue like a poisonous substance. "This Clemens Vincent... he has a problem with you? Is he the reason your brother is sitting in a holding cell right now?"

Elenor dropped her head into her hands, utterly humiliated. Her darkest, most pathetic secret was being dragged into the light.

"His family's foundation controls Jamison's scholarship and my entire career," she whispered, her voice cracking with despair. "They practically own us."

Christian let out a harsh, mocking scoff. "Classic old money arrogance."

"You don't understand," Elenor sobbed, her fingers digging into her scalp. "The Vincent family has judges and politicians in their pocket. If Clemens wants to ruin Jamison's life, he will. He'll send him to prison just to punish me."

Christian watched her unravel. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered along his cheek.

He reached out, his fingers gripping her chin. He forced her head up, making her look at him.

His dark eyes were blazing with a terrifying, absolute authority.

"Listen to me," Christian commanded, enunciating every single word. "In this city, nobody touches the Porter family. And the Vincents are nothing but noise."

The Maybach jerked to a sudden halt, parking perfectly in front of the stone steps of the NYPD 19th Precinct.