Gravity yanked Elsie downward. The freezing wind sliced across her exposed skin like invisible razor blades as the cobblestones rushed up to meet her.
Below, Arthur's pupils contracted to pinpricks.
He violently shoved Fenton out of his way, sending the older man crashing into the dirt. Arthur sprinted toward the drop zone with terrifying, explosive speed.
Just a fraction of a second before Elsie's body shattered against the stone, Arthur threw his arms out.
He caught her.
The massive kinetic impact forced a harsh grunt from Arthur's chest. His knee slammed brutally into the cobblestones, cracking the stone beneath him, but his arms remained locked around her like bands of solid steel. He didn't drop her.
Elsie gasped, her eyes flying open.
Instead of the agonizing crush of broken bones, she was enveloped in a wall of radiating body heat and the sharp, intoxicating scent of cold cedar and cigar smoke.
She grabbed fistfuls of his expensive suit lapels, her entire body convulsing with violent, uncontrollable sobs. She clung to him like a drowning woman to a raft.
Arthur looked down. He saw the angry red handprint on her cheek. He saw the humiliating, sheer lace clinging to her shivering body.
The rage inside him crystallized into pure, lethal ice.
Without a word, he shrugged off his custom-tailored suit jacket and wrapped it tightly around Elsie's shoulders, burying her exposed skin from the world.
Fenton scrambled to his feet, his face pale and sweating profusely. He stumbled forward, his hands raised in panic. "Mr. Michael, I swear, this is a misunderstanding! She's sick, she doesn't know what she's doing-"
Arthur slowly stood up, keeping Elsie securely tucked against his chest.
He looked at Fenton. It wasn't a look of anger. It was the look a man gives an insect right before he crushes it.
"Who gave you the right," Arthur said, his voice a low, demonic whisper that carried across the courtyard, "to touch what is mine?"
Fenton's knees buckled. He collapsed onto the ground, his mind short-circuiting. How could this disgraced, ruined girl be connected to the most powerful billionaire in the country?
Aisha and Belle ran out of the front door, freezing when they saw the scene. Jealousy and fear warped Belle's face.
"She's a liar!" Belle shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Elsie. "She's a dirty slut who sleeps with anyone, she-"
Arthur didn't even look at her. He simply raised two fingers toward Lee Weston.
Lee stepped forward. His hand moved in a blur, delivering a vicious, open-handed slap directly across Belle's face.
The force sent Belle spinning to the ground, blood instantly pooling at the corner of her mouth.
Aisha screamed, throwing herself over her daughter. "You're monsters! I'll expose you to everyone in New York!"
Arthur let out a dark, humorless laugh. He nodded at Lee.
Lee tossed a sleek tablet onto the ground in front of Fenton. The screen was playing a crystal-clear audio recording of Fenton negotiating Elsie's price with Mortimer Graves, followed by the offshore bank transfer receipts.
"I've already contacted the FBI," Arthur announced, his voice echoing with absolute finality. "The investigation into Phillips Group's financial fraud and human trafficking begins in exactly ten minutes."
Fenton let out a gut-wrenching wail. He crawled forward, trying to grab Arthur's pant leg. "Please! Mr. Michael, I'll give you anything!"
Arthur kicked him away with a look of pure disgust. "You should pray to whatever god you believe in that she isn't seriously injured. Because if she is, I will bury your entire bloodline."
Hidden beneath the heavy warmth of Arthur's jacket, Elsie listened to this man completely obliterate her nightmare with nothing but his power. Her eyes burned with fresh tears.
Arthur looked down at her. The lethal coldness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, jarring softness.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his chest rumbling against hers. "I'm taking you out of here."
He carried her toward the armored SUV. Not a single one of Fenton's guards dared to breathe, let alone step in his way.
Lee signaled the other bodyguards. They immediately fanned out, locking down every exit of the estate to ensure Fenton couldn't shred a single document before the feds arrived.
Arthur placed Elsie in the backseat and climbed in beside her. The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the screaming and the cold wind.
The sudden silence and the blast of the car's heater finally broke the last of Elsie's defenses. She buried her face in her hands and wept openly.
Arthur didn't speak. He reached into the mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and unscrewed the cap, placing it gently into her trembling hands.
He noticed the dark purple bruises forming on her wrists where the maids had held her down.
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket. His movements were slightly stiff, unpracticed, but he gently wiped the smeared lipstick and tears from her face.
Elsie looked up at him, her throat raw. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this for me?"
Arthur's hand paused. His dark eyes locked onto hers, pulling her in.
"I am the man," he said, his voice a low, steady anchor, "who can help you send every single one of them to hell."
