Chapter 310:

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The officer sighed, a sound that suggested this was just another Saturday night drama between people with too much money and not enough sense.

“And you want to press charges?”

Before Elisa could answer, Preston Vance, who had been holding court with another officer in the corner, strode over. “Of course she’s pressing charges. This was a clear case of assault. I’m advising Ms. Wilder in this matter, and I can assure you, we have the resources to see this pursued to the fullest extent of the law.”

Elisa’s stomach turned. He wasn’t her advisor. He was an opportunist.

She reached for her phone, needing to hear a real ally’s voice. She dialed Harvey Vance. Voicemail. She tried Alastair. Straight to voicemail. The feeling of being utterly, terrifyingly alone began to creep in, cold and familiar.

Just then, the atmosphere in the precinct shifted. The low hum of activity quieted. Maeve Kearney’s frantic, near-hysterical phone call had been like a drill to August’s skull. He had been on his way out of the city, intending to put the entire disastrous evening behind him, but her words had stopped him cold. The image she painted — of Elisa being hauled to a precinct, with Preston Vance playing the role of her white knight — ignited a possessive, territorial fury that eclipsed his earlier disgust. He wasn’t there to rescue her. He was there to reclaim what was his and put the Vances back in their place.

The precinct captain emerged from his office, a forced, obsequious smile plastered on his face.

He was followed by August.

ѕ𝗵𝖺𝘳𝗲 𝘆𝘰𝗎𝗿 f𝘢𝘃o𝘳𝗶𝘁𝘦s 𝖿𝗿𝗼𝗆 𝘨𝗮𝘭𝘯ov𝘦𝗹ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝗺

August wore the same impeccably tailored suit from the party, though the knot of his tie was slightly loosened — a rare sign of haste. He moved through the grimy police station like a king inspecting a slum. On his arm, clinging to him like a designer accessory, was Allena Mills.

A top corporate lawyer from Skadden, Arps flanked them, his briefcase held like a shield.

August’s eyes swept the room, cold and dismissive. They passed over the officers, the drab furniture, and then, for a fraction of a second, over Elisa. There was no recognition. No concern. It was the look you give a piece of furniture that’s in your way.

Allena, however, met Elisa’s gaze. A flicker of triumph, sharp and cruel, flashed in her eyes before being replaced by a mask of perfectly calibrated worry.

The lawyer spoke in low tones with the captain. Papers were produced. A pen was signed. The entire bureaucratic process, which had been dragging on for over an hour, was condensed into less than three minutes.

Preston saw his moment. He walked toward August, a challenging smirk on his face. “Chambers. You’re late.”

August finally turned his head, his gaze landing on Preston. His voice was devoid of all warmth, like the surface of a frozen lake. “My wife. It’s not your place to worry about her.”

The words “my wife” were a territorial claim, a statement of ownership, not affection. They were a warning shot fired at Preston, not a comfort offered to Elisa.

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