THE CEO’S 6-MONTH WIFE

CHAPTER 6: THE PRESS DEBUT

The silence lasted three seconds.

Then the cameras went feral.

Adrian Cross didn’t look at Victoria. He didn’t look at the phone. He looked at Elana Voss.

Her face was white under the red lipstick. Her hand was still in his, cold and damp. Bare feet in a robe at 12:14 AM. Proof. Evidence. A weapon.

"Mr. Cross! Is it true?"

"Was this marriage arranged?"

"Mrs. Cross, did you break into the east wing?"

"Is the $2 million transfer real?"

The string quartet stopped mid-note. Someone dropped a champagne flute. The crash echoed.

Elana could feel 200 pairs of eyes peeling her skin off. The sapphire on her finger suddenly felt like handcuffs. Mrs. Cross. The name they were all laughing at behind their diamond bracelets.

Her stomach turned. She wanted to run.

Adrian’s hand tightened on her waist. Bruising. Anchoring.

"Say something," he murmured, so low only she could hear. His breath was warm against her temple. "Please."

Elana lifted her chin. Her voice shook. "Clause one," she whispered back. "No feelings. Right?"

His jaw ticked. A muscle jumped.

For a second she thought he’d let go. Walk away. Let her drown.

Then he turned to the crowd.

"My wife," Adrian said. His voice cut through the chaos like glass. Calm. Deadly. "Was in my home. At 12 AM. Because she couldn’t sleep. Because she’s my wife."

He paused. Let the cameras catch it. Let the flash freeze his possessive hand on her back.

"And Victoria Hale," he said, smiling without warmth. The kind of smile that made board members resign. "Was trespassing on my private security feed to get that photo. That’s called corporate espionage, Victoria. My lawyers will be in touch."

Gasps.

Victoria’s smile faltered. Just a fraction. "I that’s not I got that from a source"

"Is it?" Adrian took a step forward, pulling Elana with him. Her heels clicked. "You had someone hack my penthouse cameras. To humiliate my wife. At a charity gala for women’s health. How ironic."

The room shifted. Whispers changed direction.

Hack.Espionage.Lawsuit.

Elana’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it would c***k her ribs. He was lying. He had to be lying. She did break Clause 4. She was at that door.

But Adrian’s hand on her back was steady. Possessive. Mine.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. The touch sent heat down her spine. "Play along," he said. "Or we both burn."

Elana nodded. Once.

God help her.

Adrian turned back to the reporters. Flashes exploded until her vision spotted.

"The Cross Charity Gala is about supporting women’s health," he said. "Not gossip. Not invasion of privacy. Not ex-fiancées with nothing better to do. If anyone has questions about my marriage, ask me. Don’t ask my wife to answer for a crime she didn’t commit."

"Mrs. Cross, did you enter the restricted wing?" a reporter shouted.

Adrian answered before she could. "She was looking for water. In her own home. I apologize if our house is too large for guests to navigate at night. We’ll put up better signs."

A laugh rippled through the crowd. Nervous. Relieved.

Elana’s smile hurt. It felt painted on. She kept her eyes on Adrian. Not Victoria. If she looked at Victoria she’d scream.

Victoria recovered fast. She always did. "How sweet. A white knight." She sipped champagne like this was theater. "But Adrian, darling, the contract said no feelings. We all know what this is."

Adrian’s hand on Elana’s waist went rigid.

"And what is this, Victoria?" he asked softly. Too softly. The room leaned in.

"A business transaction." Victoria’s eyes gleamed. Cruel. "Like the last one. Like Lily."

The name hit like a slap.

The room went silent again. You could hear the quartet’s violinist breathing.

Adrian’s mask cracked. Just for a second. Grief. Rage. Five years of it bleeding through. Then it was gone.

"My sister’s name," he said, voice like steel, "is not for public discussion."

He turned and walked. Pulling Elana with him.

She had to jog to keep up. Cameras followed them all the way to the elevator.

Inside, the doors closed and the air left her lungs.

The moment the car doors shut, Adrian let go.

Like she was fire.

He stared straight ahead. Rain on the windows.

"Did you go in there?" he asked. Flat. Dead.

Elana’s throat was dry. "Yes."

"Why."

"I couldn’t sleep. The house is huge. I got lost." The lie tasted bitter.

"Bullshit." He poured whiskey from the car bar. Hands shaking. Spilled some. "You were snooping."

Elana stood her ground. The red dress felt too tight. "You put a shrine to your dead wife in the middle of our home and told me not to look. What did you expect? That I’d just ignore it?"

Adrian slammed the glass down. Whiskey sloshed onto the leather. "I expected you to follow the contract!"

"Screw the contract!" The words came out before she could stop them. Loud. Too loud. "Clause 1, clause 4, clause whatever. You don’t get to mourn someone for five years and pretend I’m just a body in a dress! I’m not Lily!"

The car was silent.

Adrian stared out the window. Rain traced lines down the glass.

Finally: "We made it through the debut," he said. "That’s all that matters."

"Is it?" Elana asked. Her voice was small now. "Or did you just use me to bury Victoria?"

Adrian didn’t answer.

The rest of the ride was rain and whiskey and the weight of the ring on her finger.

They got back to the penthouse at 9 PM.

Adrian went straight to his office. Didn’t look at her. Locked the door.

Click.

Elana stood in the hallway for a full minute. Then she went to the guest room.

She peeled off the red dress like shedding skin. The silk caught on her hip.

Bruises. Purple. Where his fingers had been during the dance.

She stared at them in the mirror. Evidence.

Her phone buzzed on the marble counter.

Unknown number.

Photo: The contract. Her signature. Clause 1: No feelings. Clause 4: No east wing.

Text: Pretty wife. Shame she’s lying to everyone. -V

Elana dropped the phone. It clattered.

Victoria had the contract.

Victoria had the photo.

Victoria was coming for them.

Elana sank to the floor. The marble was cold.

She looked at the black door at the end of the hall. Red light. Still locked. Still a tomb.

She looked at Adrian’s office door. Light on. A thin line under the door.

She walked to it. Knocked.

No answer.

"Adrian?"

Silence.

She pressed her ear to the wood. Heard nothing at first.

Then a sound. Low. Broken.

Like a man who was finally done pretending. Like glass breaking somewhere inside him.

Elana reached for the handle.

It was locked.

From the inside.

Her chest hurt.

And then

Click.

The elevator dinged down the hall.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Measured. Not Adrian’s. Not security.

A man’s voice, muffled through the penthouse door: "Mr. Cross? We need to talk about the merger. And your wife."

Elana froze.

The voice was familiar. Smooth. Dangerous.

Victor Hale.