Chapter 3 - The 3:00 AM Ultimatum
By 3:00 AM, the storm clouds broke over Manhattan, washing the city in torrential rain. Inside Christian’s sprawling penthouse overlooking Central Park, the atmosphere was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of my laptop keys and the low murmur of Christian speaking to his legal team in the study.
My phone on the coffee table had been vibrating relentlessly for two straight hours.
Forty-seven missed calls from Julian.
Twelve from his mother.
Six from Camila.
And finally, a voicemail from Salvatore Rossi himself.
I tapped the speaker button, letting the old patriarch’s gravelly voice fill the room.
“Elena. You listen to me very carefully. You will be at the cathedral at ten sharp. You will smile for the photographers, you will walk down that aisle, and you will marry my son. If you embarrass this family in front of the press tomorrow, I will ensure you never step foot inside an academic institution again. I will crush your little medical clinic, and I will ruin your father. Do not test me, girl.”
The message clicked off.
A chilling silence settled over the room. I sat with my hands folded tightly on my lap, my jaw aching from how hard I was clenching my teeth. Even now, facing absolute ruin, the Rossis believed they could rule through terror and threats.
The study door swung open, and Christian stepped out. He had removed his jacket and rolled his white dress shirt sleeves up to his forearms, revealing the dark ink of an intricate family crest tattooed on his right wrist.
“Salvatore?” he asked simply.
“He threatened my father,” I whispered, anger vibrating in my voice. “He thinks he can still dictate my life.”
Christian walked over, picked up my phone, and effortlessly tossed it onto the sofa. “Salvatore is playing with an empty gun. At 8:00 AM, the New York Stock Exchange opens. At 8:05 AM, Meridian Capital will announce the immediate foreclosure on Rossi Shipping Line’s primary terminal. Their liquidity dries up instantly.”
“What about the guests? The cathedral?”
“Everything remains on schedule,” Christian replied, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk. “The media has already been primed. Every society blog is running stories about the wedding of the decade. Let them gather. Let Julian put on his custom tuxedo and stand at that altar with his smug grin.”
I looked up at him, a spark of realization hitting me. “You want him to think I’m still coming.”
“I want him to be standing under the eyes of five hundred of his peers when the floor collapses beneath him,” Christian said coldly. “He wanted a spectacle. He wanted to parade his ex-girlfriend in front of you and treat you like a beggar at his banquet. Let’s give him the finale he deserves.”
Suddenly, the penthouse intercom buzzed with a sharp, grating tone. The security guard’s voice crackled through the speaker: “Mr. Moretti, Mr. Julian Rossi is downstairs in the lobby. He’s causing a major disturbance, demanding to come up. He claims his fiancée is being held hostage.”
Christian pressed the intercom button without breaking eye contact with me. “Send him up. Just him.”
“Christian, wait,” I said, rising to my feet. “He’s unhinged right now.”
“Good,” Christian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “An unhinged man always signs his own confession.”
Two minutes later, the private elevator chimed. The double doors banged open, and Julian stormed into the living room, completely drenched in rain, his hair plastered to his forehead and his eyes bloodshot. He didn’t look like the polished heir from three hours ago; he looked wild, desperate, and entirely undone.
“Elena!” Julian screamed, marching toward me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You disappear with my best friend? Are you insane? Do you have any idea what my father is going to do to you?”
“Step back, Julian,” I said, stepping behind the marble kitchen island. “You smell like cheap perfume and panic.”
Julian sneered, turning his fury toward Christian, who stood completely still by the fireplace. “You took her? You actually brought her to your apartment? Christian, we’ve known each other since prep school! She’s a nobody from Queens! Why are you ruining our alliance over an academic charity case?”
“An alliance requires two solvent partners, Julian,” Christian said smoothly, taking a sip from a fresh glass of water. “You are neither.”
“Shut up!” Julian yelled, slamming his fist onto the marble counter. “Elena, you take your coat and you walk out of here with me right now. Camila is already at the hotel helping coordinate the press. We sweep tonight under the rug. You apologize to my parents, we say you had an emotional breakdown from pre-wedding stress, and we get married. You don't have another option!”
“She has every option,” Christian interjected.
Julian laughed hysterically. “With who? You? You think you’re going to marry her, Christian? You think your family board will let you marry a woman who broke your heart and threw you away seven years ago?”
May you like
The words hung in the air like poison. Julian’s malicious grin returned, confident that he had just struck a fatal nerve.
“You thought I didn't know about university?” Julian taunted, leaning toward Christian. “My father paid her to leave you alone! She took the money to save her pathetic dad’s heart surgery, Christian! She sold you out for a hospital bill! And you’re taking her back like a stray dog!”
