CHAPTER 4: THE COURTHOUSE & THE GALA
1576 Words
The courthouse smelled like stale coffee and old paperwork.
Elana Voss stood under fluorescent lights that made everyone look sick. Her black dress was from a thrift store on 8th Ave. $12. It itched at the collar.
Across from her, Adrian Cross looked like he’d been dragged here at gunpoint.
Black suit. White shirt. No tie. His jaw was tight enough to c***k teeth. Ice-blue eyes scanning the room like he was looking for an exit, or a threat.
Two strangers stood as witnesses. A woman chewing gum. A man scrolling his phone.
The clerk didn’t look up. The judge looked bored.
“Do you, Elana Marie Voss, take this man, Adrian James Cross, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Elana’s throat was sandpaper. “I do.”
Her voice echoed. It sounded fake. It sounded final.
“Do you, Adrian James Cross, take this woman, Elana Marie Voss, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Adrian didn’t blink. “I do.”
A stamp hit paper. Loud.
The judge sighed. “By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Husband and wife.
The words settled on Elana’s skin like dust.
Clause 1 of the contract flashed in her head: No feelings. This is business only.
“Sign here,” the clerk said, sliding papers across. “And here. And the NDA.”
Elana signed. Elana Cross.
The name looked wrong on paper.
“Ring,” Adrian said. It wasn’t a question.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box.
Elana’s heart stuttered.
Inside, nestled in faded silk, was a vintage sapphire ring. Deep ocean blue. Cut old. Surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds that caught the ugly light and made it beautiful.
It was too much. Too expensive. Too personal.
“Where did you get that?” Elana whispered.
Adrian didn’t answer. He took her left hand. His fingers were cold.
The ring slid on.
Perfect fit.
Like it had been made for her. Like it had been waiting.
The breath left her lungs.
“The details aren’t in the contract, Mrs. Cross,” Adrian said quietly.
Mrs. Cross.
He said it like it meant nothing. Like it meant everything.
They were done in 10 minutes. Marriage certificate. Spousal NDA. Addendum about public appearances and media statements.
Outside, it was raining. Hard.
A black car with tinted windows idled at the curb. Adrian opened the door for her. No words.
The ride to the tower was silent except for the sound of rain on the roof.
Elana stared at the ring. It was heavy. It kept sliding on her thin finger.
“Stop fidgeting,” Adrian said without looking at her.
“I’m not”
“You are.”
Elana shoved her hand under her thigh.
The Cross Tower was 60 stories of glass and steel. Money made solid.
A private elevator took them to the 42nd floor. The doors opened and Elana forgot to breathe.
The penthouse was all windows. The entire city below, wet and glittering. Marble floors. White furniture. Art on the walls that probably cost more than her mother’s hospital bills.
It was empty. No photos. No mess. No life.
“This is your wing,” Adrian said, gesturing down a hall to the left. “Guest bedroom. Walk-in closet. Don’t go into the east wing.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” His tone closed the topic. “Dinner is at 8. Gala is tomorrow at 6. Be ready.”
He walked away before she could answer.
At 7:58 PM, Elana stood in front of the full-length mirror.
The red dress hung on the door when she woke up. No note. Just the dress.
Slit to the thigh. Backless. Silk that felt like water. $12,000 according to the tag still hidden in the seam.
She looked like a stranger. Red lips. Hair down in waves. Heels that made her 5’6” feel like a weapon.
She looked like the kind of woman Adrian Cross would be seen with.
She looked like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
The car was waiting. Adrian was already inside.
Tuxedo. Bowtie loose. Top two buttons undone. And a glass of whiskey in his hand at 6 PM.
He looked up when she got in. His eyes dragged over her, from the heels to the exposed back to the red mouth.
For half a second his mask slipped. Something hot. Something angry. Something that looked a lot like want.
Then it was gone.
“Clause one,” he said, turning to the window.
“No feelings,” Elana finished. Her voice was steadier than she felt. “Got it.”
The Blackwell-Cross Charity Gala was on the 50th floor.
Crystal chandeliers. String quartet. Waiters with champagne. Women in diamonds and men in watches that cost more than cars.
The moment the car stopped, cameras flashed.
“Mr. Cross! Who is she?”
“Is this about the merger?”
“Any comment on the fraud case?”
Adrian got out first. Then he turned and offered Elana his hand.
She took it. His palm was warm and steady.
“My wife,” Adrian said to the crowd. Voice cutting through the noise. “Elana Cross.”
Mrs. Cross.
The name hit her again. Cameras ate it up.
Inside was worse. The air was thick with perfume and money and gossip.
“That’s not Lily,” a woman in pearls whispered to her friend.
“Lily’s been gone five years. Car accident.”
Elana’s smile started to hurt.
“Champagne?” A waiter offered.
“No,” Adrian said. “She doesn’t drink.”
“How do you know what I drink?” Elana asked quietly.
“I read the file.” His hand was on the bare skin of her back. It burned. “Clause one. Know your asset.”
“Is that what I am? An asset?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
Then she saw her.
Blonde. White dress. Walking straight toward them with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Adrian,” the woman said. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone.”
“Not someone,” Adrian said. “My wife.”
The woman’s gaze raked over Elana. The dress. The hair. The ring. “You look familiar.”
“This is Victoria Hale,” Adrian said. “Lily’s best friend.”
Victoria. The name from the background check. The one who was in the car with Lily the night she died.
“Elana Voss,” Elana said, holding out her hand.
Victoria looked at it, then didn’t take it. “Voss. Cute.” Her eyes dropped to the sapphire. “That ring. Interesting.”
Adrian’s hand tightened on Elana’s waist. “Victoria.”
“What? It’s identical to Lily’s.” Victoria smiled. “Weird coincidence, right?”
The quartet started a waltz.
“Dance,” Adrian said.
“I don’t know how”
“Then learn.”
He pulled her to the floor. One hand on her back. The other holding hers.
They moved. Perfectly. Like they’d done it a hundred times.
“You’re shaking,” Adrian murmured against her ear.
“I’m not Lily.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to decide if I’m real.”
Adrian stopped dancing. “Clause one, Elana.”
“Say it.”
“No feelings.”
The song ended. Everyone clapped.
Victoria was waiting when they stepped off. “Adrian. Can we talk? Privately. About Lily.”
“Not tonight.”
“It’s about the accident.” Victoria lowered her voice. “I found something. In her car. In the glovebox.”
Adrian went completely still. “What did you find?”
Victoria glanced at Elana. “Not in front of her.”
Elana forced a smile that felt like glass. “I’ll get some air.”
The balcony was cold. The city stretched below, millions of lights and millions of secrets.
The door opened behind her.
“Elana.”
Adrian. He smelled like rain and expensive cologne and whiskey.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said.
“What did she find in Lily’s car?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“It does if it’s why you married me.” Elana turned. “Is that why? Because I look like her? Because you’re trying to”
Adrian stepped forward. Close. Too close.
His hand came up. Hovered next to her cheek. Like he wanted to touch her. Like he was fighting himself.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Why? Because it’s true?”
For a moment, nothing. Just the sound of the city and their breathing.
Then his phone buzzed.
Adrian pulled it out. Read the text.
And the color drained from his face.
“What?” Elana asked. “What is it?”
Adrian looked up. His eyes were furious. And scared.
“The hospital,” he said. “Your mother. She’s coding.”
The world tilted.
“What?”
“We have to go. Now.”
He grabbed her hand. His grip was iron. He pulled her through the gala, past Victoria who was still watching, past the cameras, straight to the elevator.
Behind them, Victoria’s smile widened.
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