Chapter 312:

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He looked back down at her, his attention successfully recaptured.

Outside, the city noise was a dull roar that did nothing to fill the echoing silence in her soul. She pulled her thin jacket tighter, the cold seeping into her bones, mirroring the chill that had taken root in her heart. For a few blocks, she just walked, aimlessly, letting the indifferent crowds of a Saturday night swallow her whole. The feeling of being terrifyingly alone, which had begun in the precinct, now bloomed into a vast, desolate certainty. She was an island, and the tide was rising.

A black Maybach glided to a silent stop at the curb beside her. The tinted rear window slid down. It was a driver, his face calm and professional.

“Ms. Wilder,” he said. “Mr. Cromwell sent me. He was in a secure meeting and couldn’t take your call, but he was notified you tried to reach him on the secure line and asked me to find you immediately. He said you wouldn’t call that line unless it was an emergency.”

August’s phone rang just as he was guiding Allena toward his own waiting car. He glanced at the caller ID. Maeve Kearney. He answered, his voice clipped. “Maeve.”

Her voice came through, tight with a frantic, tearful energy. “August, thank God. I am so sorry about what happened. I feel just awful. Please, tell me Elisa is okay. You have to make sure she gets home safe. Please, for me.”

He hung up without another word, his jaw tight with irritation.

Allena sensed the shift in his mood. “What is it, darling?” she asked, rubbing his arm.

August’s eyes found Elisa, who was standing by the open door of the Maybach a few yards away. “Nothing,” he said, his voice cold. “A small favor.”

He strode toward Elisa, his long legs closing the distance in seconds. He didn’t ask. He commanded.

𝘑оі𝗇 𝘰𝗎𝘳 со𝘮𝗆𝘂n𝘪𝗍𝗒 𝘰𝗻 𝘨a𝗅𝗇𝘰𝘷𝘦l𝘀.𝘤о𝘮

“Get in my car. I’ll take you.”

Elisa didn’t even turn to look at him. She spoke to Alastair’s driver. “Let’s go.”

August’s authority, so absolute in his world, had just been publicly nullified. A flash of raw anger crossed his face. He moved faster than she expected, his hand shooting out and clamping down on her arm. His grip was brutal, his fingers digging into her flesh, coincidentally pressing near the fresh bruise on her wrist.

A sharp, involuntary gasp of pain escaped her lips. She didn’t cry out, but she turned, her eyes meeting his, cold and defiant.

“Don’t make me say it again,” August said, his voice a low growl. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one night. Don’t make Maeve call me again.”

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