Chapter 3 - The Cold Ride North
The ink was barely dry on the three-part legal document before Elias took Eleanor’s arm.
His grip was firm, warm, and surprisingly careful. He did not pull her; he simply guided her past her father, who was already frantically folding his copy of the debt release into his breast pocket with trembling, cowardly haste.
"Eleanor," Edward called out, his voice weak and fraudulent as they reached the door. "Darling... call me when you get settled. We’ll have lunch next week."
Eleanor did not turn around. She kept her chin lifted, her heels clicking evenly against the polished stone floor.
"He won't call you," Elias said quietly beside her as they stepped into the private express elevator. "And you will not answer if he does. His phone will be disconnected by noon tomorrow anyway."
The elevator dropped forty-two floors in absolute silence. Beside her, Elias stood with his hands tucked into his trousers, his shoulders square. He didn't fidget. He didn't check a phone. He simply existed in the space with a stillness that felt like a coiled spring.
"Why me?" Eleanor asked as the digital indicator passed the twentieth floor. Her voice was steady, but her pulse hammered in her throat. "You could have hired three forensic firms. You could have bought any woman in this city—younger women, women who look like they belong on a yacht in Monaco. Women like Claire."
Elias turned his head, looking down at her through the warm light of the elevator cab. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, then dropped to her waist, tracing the line of her body with an intensity that made the hair on her arms stand up.
"Claire is plastic and panic," Elias said, his voice deep and dismissive. "A gust of wind would blow her apart. I don't build empires with plastic, Eleanor. I build them with stone."
The elevator dinged softly, opening into the underground executive garage.
A black Maybach sat running near the private security gate, its exhaust drifting like white smoke into the cold concrete air. The driver, an older man with gray hair and a scarred jaw, jumped out immediately to open the rear passenger door.
"Good evening, Mr. Vale," the driver said.
"Marcus," Elias replied. "This is Eleanor. She is my wife. Treat her accordingly."
Marcus’s eyebrows twitched, but his discipline was absolute. He bowed his head respectfully. "Welcome, Mrs. Vale."
The words struck Eleanor like a cold splash of water. Mrs. Vale.
She slid into the butter-soft leather interior. The car smelled of rich hides and heated luxury. Elias climbed in beside her, his large frame taking up half the bench, his thigh brushing against hers through the layers of fabric. The contact sent a strange, electric jolt through her spine.
As the car accelerated smoothly up the ramp and into the biting Chicago night, the city glittered around them. Snow flurries danced against the dark tinted windows, catching the amber glare of the streetlights along Lake Shore Drive.
"Where are my things?" Eleanor asked, staring straight ahead at the partition. "My apartment in Lincoln Park. My laptop. My clothes."
"Your laptop was imaged and packed forty minutes ago by my security team," Elias said, pulling a leather folio from the center console. "Your books, your files, and your personal effects will arrive at the house by eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Eleanor snapped her head around, anger finally flaring through her shock. "You had people in my home before I even signed that paper?"
"I knew you would sign," Elias said calmly, without looking up as he unscrewed the cap of a fountain pen.
"You arrogant—"
"I knew you would sign," he repeated, turning his dark blue eyes toward her, "because you are a woman who finishes what she starts. You spent fourteen years trying to keep a sinking ship afloat out of duty. You would never let it go down with your name on the captain's log. I simply gave you a bigger ship."
"And the marriage?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly. "Is that part of the ship too? A tax deduction? A legal shield so I can't be compelled to testify against your shell companies?"
Elias set the pen down. He leaned across the leather seat, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
"I have never needed a legal shield in my life, Eleanor," he murmured, his voice dangerously close to her ear. "The marriage is because I have watched you for eighteen months from the other side of this city. I watched you walk out of a bank meeting at nine p.m. in the rain, carrying your own briefcase, refusing to let your father see you cry. I watched you command a room of hostile creditors and make them back down with nothing but balance sheets and iron will."
May you like
His hand came up, hovering near her jaw. For a second, she thought he might touch her, but he simply tucked a loose strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm, rough, calloused.
"I don't want a trophy," Elias said, his eyes burning into hers. "I want a sovereign. And tonight, I took you."
