"I am," Elsie said. "My own."

It was the next afternoon. Debbi had insisted on dragging Elsie out of the gloomy manor and into the city for "retail therapy." They were in a boutique on Fifth Avenue, surrounded by racks of clothes that cost more than a Honda.

"Use the card," Debbi whispered, nudging her. "The Black Card. Punish him."

Elsie fingered the heavy titanium card in her wallet. Hardin had had it sent to her room that morning via Godfrey, with a note: Buy something to cover the bruise.

He knew.

"Fine," Elsie said. She grabbed a red dress off the rack. Backless. Dangerous. "I'm trying this on."

She went into the changing room. The silk felt cool against her skin. She turned to look at her back in the mirror. The bruise on her hip was hidden, but the memory of his shove made her wince.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the curtain.

"Where is she? I saw her come in!"

Elsie froze. Jed.

She threw the curtain open.

Jed was standing in the middle of the boutique, looking disheveled. He was drunk again. He had grabbed Debbi by the arm.

"Let go of her!" Elsie shouted, stepping out.

Jed turned. His eyes widened when he saw her in the red dress. Lust and rage warred on his face.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Spending your old man's money? Does he even can get it up, Elsie? Or do you have to perform for him?"

The shoppers gasped. Phones were raised. The red light of recording.

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. But then, she remembered the pepper spray in her purse. She remembered the look in Hardin's eyes when he challenged her.

Prove it.

She wasn't weak anymore.

She walked up to Jed. He smirked, expecting her to cry.

"You're pathetic, Jed," she said calmly.

"I'm pathetic? You're a whore!"

Elsie didn't hesitate. There was a display of complimentary champagne on a silver tray next to them. She grabbed a flute.

Splash.

For the second time in three days, Jed got a face full of alcohol.

He screamed, blindingly wiping at his eyes.

"You bitch!" He raised his hand to strike her.

Elsie didn't flinch. She didn't step back.

But before Jed's hand could connect, a massive shape tackled him. The store security guard slammed Jed into the carpet.

"Get off me!" Jed howled.

Elsie stood over him. She looked like a queen in the red dress.

"If you ever come near me or my friends again," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "I won't use champagne next time. I'll use acid."

The police arrived minutes later. They dragged Jed out, kicking and screaming.

Elsie stood trembling in the middle of the store. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her knees weak.

"Are you okay?" Debbi asked, hugging her.

"I... I think so."

Elsie walked to the counter. She pulled out the Black Card. Her hand was shaking.

"I'll take the dress," she whispered.

The sales clerk looked at the card, then at the computer screen. Her eyes widened.

"Um, Mrs. Hunter?" the clerk said respectfully. "The bill has already been taken care of."

Elsie frowned. "What?"

"We received a call from the Hunter Family Office. They were monitoring the... transaction. They said they have been tracking Mr. Reeves since the incident at the Plaza. They wanted to ensure your safety." The clerk lowered her voice. "They said Mr. Hunter is very proud of your aim."

Elsie spun around. She looked out the front window.

Across the street, parked in the loading zone, was the black SUV. The window was rolled down an inch.

She couldn't see him, but she felt him.

Hardin was watching.

It wasn't just a coincidence. He had been following her. Or rather, guarding her.

She wasn't sure if it was creepy or comforting. But as she walked out of the store with the red dress, she clutched the bag a little tighter.

In the back of the Maybach, Hardin watched Elsie exit the store. She looked fierce. Beautiful.

"Did you see that slap, sir?" Silas asked from the front seat.

"I saw it," Hardin said. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She's got fire."

"Jed Reeves is going to be a problem," Silas noted.

"Not for long," Hardin said. His face darkened. "Destroy him, Silas. Legally, financially, socially. I want him to wish he had drowned on that boat."

"Consider it done."

Hardin rolled up the window. "Take us home. My wife will be needing a ride."

"You're not going to offer her one?"

"No," Hardin said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "If I'm nice to her, she'll get suspicious. Let her hate me. It's cleaner."

---

By the time she got back to the manor, the video of the boutique incident was viral. But Jed had edited it. He had cut out his aggression, his slurs. He had only kept the part where Elsie splashed him and threatened him.

The headlines were brutal.

GOLD DIGGER GOES WILD: ELSIE WATKINS ASSAULTS EX.

HUNTER BRIDE: VIOLENT AND UNSTABLE?

Elsie sat in her room, scrolling through the comments.

She's crazy.

She did it for the money.

Poor Jed.

Her phone rang. It was Hardin. He was in the house, probably down the hall, but he was calling her.

"Come to the library," he said. Click.

Elsie walked to the library. Her head was held high, but inside, she was crumbling.

Hardin was waiting. He threw a tablet onto the desk.

"Explain," he demanded.

"He attacked Debbi," Elsie said. "I defended her."

"You made a scene," Hardin said coldly. "The Hunter name does not do 'scenes' in mid-town boutiques. My mother is having palpitations."

"I didn't ask for him to be there!"

"You attracted him," Hardin said. "Drama follows you, Elsie. And I don't have the energy for drama. My lawyers are drafting a separation agreement."

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. "You can't. The contract-"

"The contract has a morality clause," Hardin lied. "Public embarrassment is grounds for termination."

"I need the money," Elsie said, her voice cracking. "My mother's house..."

"Not my problem."

Elsie looked at him. He was sitting in that damn wheelchair again, looking bored. Looking cruel.

She realized something. He was bullying her. He was pushing her to see if she would break.

She thought about the mother-in-law clause. Clause 22: All marital dissolutions must be arbitrated by Constance Hunter.

Elsie took a deep breath. She pulled out her phone.

"What are you doing?" Hardin asked.

"Calling your mother," Elsie said.

Hardin's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." She put the phone to her ear. "Hello, Constance? It's Elsie. Yes, I'm crying... oh, it's terrible. Hardin is being so cruel... yes, Jed attacked me and Hardin wants to divorce me for it... I just feel so unsafe..."

Hardin lunged forward in his chair. "Hang up the phone!"

Elsie turned away, sobbing fake tears into the receiver. "He's yelling at me now, Constance! He's so stressed... I'm worried about his heart..."

She could hear Constance's voice screeching on the other end.

"Okay... okay, thank you, Constance."

Elsie hung up. She turned to Hardin. Her face was dry. Her expression was smug.

"Your mother says you are absolutely not allowed to divorce me," Elsie said sweetly. "And she's coming over. Tomorrow."

Hardin looked like he wanted to strangle her. His jaw worked furiously.

"You play dirty," he said.

"I learned from the best," Elsie replied.

Hardin stared at her for a long, tense moment. Then, slowly, the anger faded into something else. Respect?

He reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out a box.

He slid it across the desk.

"What is this?" Elsie asked.

"A new phone," Hardin said. "New number. Encrypted. Jed can't find this one. The press can't find this one."

Elsie opened the box. It was the latest iPhone, sleek and black.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because if you're going to be my wife," Hardin said, turning his wheelchair away, "you need to be unreachable by trash like Jed Reeves. I've already transferred your contacts, but I've blocked everyone except your friend Debbi and the family office."

Elsie picked up the phone. It was already set up.

She looked at him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Hardin grumbled. "Just get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Elsie walked to the door. She paused.

"Hardin?"

"What?"

"You're not as mean as you pretend to be."

"I'm worse," he said. "Goodnight, Elsie."

---

The next morning, a convoy of cars pulled up. Constance, a woman in her sixties with hair like a steel helmet and pearls the size of golf balls, swept into the foyer.

Hardin and Elsie stood waiting. Hardin was in the wheelchair. Elsie was standing next to him, her hand resting tentatively on the handle.

"Mother," Hardin said dutifully.

"Don't you 'Mother' me," Constance snapped. She marched over and kissed Elsie on both cheeks. "You poor dear. The press is awful. But don't worry, we bought the boutique's security footage. We're leaking the full version to TMZ in an hour. You'll be a hero."

Elsie blinked. "Oh. Thank you."

"Now," Constance said, turning to Hardin. "About this living arrangement."

"It's fine," Hardin said quickly.

"It is not fine. You are in the West Wing. Elsie is in the East Wing. It's ridiculous."

"We like space," Hardin said.

"You need medical monitoring!" Constance announced loudly. "The doctor said your arrhythmias are unpredictable at night. You cannot be alone in that wing. If you have an episode, who calls 911? The ghost of your grandfather?"

"I have a panic button," Hardin argued.

"Buttons fail. Wives don't," Constance said with a glare that could freeze lava. "Elsie, you are moving into Hardin's suite. Today. You will be his nurse at night. It is your duty."

Hardin looked at Elsie. Do something, his eyes pleaded.

Elsie shrugged. She's your mother.

Moving into Hardin's suite was like moving into a Bond villain's lair. It was all black marble, chrome, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.

The bedroom was massive. The bed was a king-sized slab of dark wood and grey silk.

"I'll sleep on the sofa," Elsie said, putting her bag down.

"You will not," Hardin said. He was standing now, the door locked. "My mother has cameras in the hallway. If the maids see you sleeping on the sofa, she'll know."

"So what? We share the bed?"

"It's big enough," Hardin muttered. "Just stay on your side. If you cross the middle, I'll push you off."

"Chivalry is dead," Elsie noted.

She went into the bathroom to unpack her toiletries. She placed her bright pink face wash next to his clinical, grey shaving kit. It looked like a neon sign in a graveyard.

Hardin walked in. He saw the pink bottle. He scowled.

"What is that?"

"Face wash."

"It's... loud."

"It's pink, Hardin. It won't bite you."

He reached for it, intending to move it into a drawer. Elsie reached for it at the same time, defensive of her small territory.

"Don't touch my stuff!"

They bumped into each other.

Hardin lost his balance-or pretended to. He stumbled back, pulling Elsie with him.

They landed against the vanity counter. Elsie was pressed against his chest. His arms came around her instinctively to steady her.

The bathroom was filled with the steam from the shower he had just run. It was hot. Intimate.

Elsie looked up. Hardin was looking down. His face was inches from hers.

She felt it again. That heartbeat. Racing.

And something else.

Hardin wasn't leaning on her for support. He was holding her. His hands were firm on her waist. His thumb grazed the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.

The air shifted. It wasn't about the contract anymore. It was about the man and the woman and the undeniable magnetic pull between them.

Hardin's gaze dropped to her lips.

Elsie's breath hitched. She didn't pull away.

"Hardin..." she whispered.

The sound of his name on her lips seemed to snap him out of it.

He released her abruptly, backing away until he hit the shower door. His eyes were wild, but he forced a mask of coldness over his face.

"Clause Four," he rasped, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "Distance. Keep your distance, Elsie. For both our sakes."

He turned and slammed the bathroom door in her face.

Elsie stood there, touching her waist where his hands had been. Her skin was tingling.

"He wants me," she realized. "He hates me, but he wants me."

---