Chapter 271

No.1

Elisa ended the call with Alastair, letting the screen fade to black before slipping the phone back into her clutch. The sleek, cavernous interior of the black Maybach was suffocatingly silent. She had successfully compartmentalized the chaos of the Browning gala, but the man sitting at the far end of the plush leather seat was a volatile storm.

August hadn't spoken a word since they left the estate. Back at the Browning driveway, under the sharp, judging gaze of Harrison's butler, August had swallowed the bitter taste of his own defeat,practically throwing himself into the car. His face was a tight mask of fury, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. The public reprimand from Harrison Browning had stripped him of his authority, and the humiliation was radiating from him in waves.

"Manhattan," he finally bit out to the driver, his voice a low, cold growl, breaking the toxic silence.

The driver, separated by a thick pane of privacy glass, didn't turn. A disembodied voice from the intercom simply said, "Yes, sir." The engine purred,and the Maybach pulled smoothly further down the

private road.

No.2

The silence inside the car returned to a physical weight. It pressed down on Elisa's chest, making it hard to breathe. She turned her head to watch the manicured lawns and towering trees fly past the window, anything to avoid looking at the man beside her. The air was thick with his suffocating,impotent anger.

After ten minutes of this crushing silence, a flicker of movement outside the window caught her eye.A familiar landmark. They were heading east, deeper into Long Island, not west toward the city.

A cold knot of dread formed in her stomach. This was the wrong way.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice sharp. She turned to face him.

August, who had been staring blankly ahead,consumed by his own fury, snapped to attention.He frowned, looking out his own window, his brain slowly processing the unfamiliar route. The car was turning into the private, brightly lit underground entrance of the Chambers Grand Hotel.

No.3

"What the hell are you doing?" he roared,his voice suddenly exploding in the confined space. He slammed a button, and the privacy glass slid down

with a soft whir. "Who told you to come here?"

The driver brought the car to a smooth stop in a reserved spot and killed the engine. He pulled the key from the ignition.

"My apologies, sir," the driver said, his voice flat and professional. "It was a direct order from Madam Germaine. She said there were media vehicles following you from the gala. You and Mrs.Chambers are to spend the night here to quell any rumors of a separation."①

Before August could respond, the driver opened his door, stepped out, and walked quickly toward the exit. A heavy metal gate slammed down behind him, the sound of the lock engaging echoing through the concrete garage. August immediately whipped out his phone, dialing the hotel's general manager. "Raise that gate right now," he barked, his voice dripping with absolute authority. But the manager's voice on the other end trembled."Mr.Chambers... I am so sorry. It's Madam Germaine's highest directive. Her personal security team has completely taken over the system. We are locked out." The line went dead.

No.4

"Damn it," August cursed, shoving his door open.He looked around the empty garage. The only accessible exit was a single, private elevator, its

green light glowing invitingly. It led directly to the penthouse suite.

Elisa let out a short, humorless laugh.She gathered the velvet of her dress and stepped out of the car."It seems your mother is still pulling your strings,August. Writing scripts for her favorite puppet."

"Shut up," he snapped, yanking at his bow tie until it came undone. He stalked toward the elevator, his shoulders rigid with anger. He would not be managed. He would not be controlled.

Elisa followed him, a sense of weary resignation settling over her. There was no winning a fight on his family's home turf. Her only option was to get inside the room and then figure out a way to get out.

No.5

The elevator doors slid open on the top floor,revealing the opulent, sprawling presidential suite.They stepped out, one after the other.

The mnoment Elisa's heel crossed the threshold into the living room, a sharp click sounded from behind her.The heavy mahogany door was now locked.

August spun around, grabbing the handle and rattling it violently. He pulled his master keycard from his wallet and swiped it over the sensor. The panel flashed a hard, unforgiving red. Germaine

had overridden his top-tier access. It didn't budge.He slammed his fist against the wall-mounted communications panel. It was dead. No signal.

"God damn it! What is she trying to do?" Hle hit the solid wood of the door with his fist, his knuckles turning white from the impact.

No.6

Elisa's gaze swept the room, her trained eyes assessing the environment for threats. Her eyes landed on a room service cart positioned in the center of the living area.

On the cart sat an open bottle of vintage bourbon and two crystal glasses, already filled with the amber liquid.

Next to the glasses was a heavy cream card with gold embossing. Germaine's elegant, sharp handwriting was unmistakable.

The Chambers family requires a legitimate heir. Do not disappoint me tonight.

Elisa read the words, and a wave of pure, physical nausea churned in her stomach. The blunt,transactional command-treating her like a broodmare-made her feel sick. Suddenly, Allena's desperation and Germaine's "extreme option"made a twisted, horrifying sense. Germaine didn't care about Allena's feelings. To the ruthless

No.7

matriarch, the ultimate way to "destroy" Elisa's newfound independence and her untouchable alliance with the Brownings was to violently clip her wings and chain her back to the Chambers dynasty through a forced pregnancy.

August saw the card too. A harsh, cynical laugh escaped his lips. He completely ignored the poured glasses, his paranoia flaring. "She thinks I'm stupid enough to drink what she pours?" he sneered.Instead, he reached into the cart's lower cabinet,pulling out a sealed, brand-new bottle of vintage bourbon. He cracked the seal himself, entirely unaware that Germaine had anticipated this exact move and laced the entire cabinet. He tilted his head back and, in a single act of furious defiance against his mother, brought the botte to his lips and took a long, deep swallow of the fiery liquor.

Elisa watched the muscles in his throat work as he drank. A deep, unnatural flush immediately spread from his neck up to his temples, far too rapid for a simple alcohol reaction. His pupils, even in the dim light of the suite, were blown wide. He took a sharp,audible breath, as if the air had suddenly grown thick. Her blood ran cold. The locked door. The note. The instantaneous, textbook physiological response. It wasn't just bourbon. It was a weapon.

But it was already too late.