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.
