Bound To The Ruthless Wall Street Butcher

The Baxter townhouse was a rotting tooth in a row of perfect smiles. Inside, it smelled of stale wine and desperation.

Elayne found her father, Richard, slumped on the sofa. Meredith was pacing, screaming into her phone.

"They wouldn't let me in! Me!" Meredith shrieked when she saw Elayne. "You useless girl! Why didn't you come get me?"

Elayne walked past her. "I was busy saving us from your debts."

"Don't you walk away from me!"

"Meredith, shut up," Richard groaned. "Leave her alone."

Elayne locked her bedroom door and leaned against it. She slid to the floor.

She crawled to her closet and pried up a loose floorboard. Beneath it was a baby monitor.

She turned it on. The grainy green image showed a crib. A small lump was breathing rhythmically. He was safe. He was at her former nanny's apartment in Queens.

She dialed the nanny, Mrs. Higgins.

"I need to move him," Elayne whispered. "Tomorrow morning. Early."

"He's warm, Elayne," Mrs. Higgins said, her voice worried. "He's been fussy all evening."

"It's just teething," Elayne said, trying to convince herself. "I'll be there at six."

She went to the window. She pulled back the curtain.

Two black SUVs were parked across the street. Men in suits were leaning against them.

Gunnar's men.

He hadn't just sent her home. He had put her under house arrest.

Elayne couldn't leave. If she walked out with a bag, they would follow. If she went to Queens, she would lead them straight to the baby.

She didn't sleep.

At 7:55 AM, Cornell knocked on the door. Behind him was a team of stylists holding garment bags.

"Good morning, Miss Baxter," Cornell said.

"I need to change," Elayne said. "I'll use the downstairs powder room."

She went into the small bathroom and locked the door. She turned on the faucet loud.

She opened the small window above the toilet. It opened into a narrow alleyway filled with trash cans. It was the only blind spot.

Elayne squeezed through. She dropped into a pile of garbage bags, landing hard on her ankle. Pain shot up her leg, but she bit her lip and scrambled up.

She ran. She limped through the alley, out onto the side street, and flagged down a taxi.

"Queens," she gasped. "Fast."

Her phone buzzed. Mrs. Higgins.

"Elayne, he's burning up. It's 104. He's having a seizure."

Elayne's world stopped. The plan to hide him, the plan to run-it all vanished.

"Take him to Lenox Hill," Elayne screamed at the driver. "Turn around! Go to the hospital!"

She didn't care about Gunnar. She didn't care about the contract. Her son was dying.

She burst into the ER waiting room twenty minutes later. Mrs. Higgins was there, holding the small bundle.

Elayne grabbed her son. His skin was on fire.

"Help!" she screamed. "Someone help him!"

Nurses swarmed. They took the baby. Elayne collapsed into a chair, shaking uncontrollably.

She sat there for an hour, staring at the floor.

Then, she noticed the silence. The ER had gone quiet.

She looked up.

Standing at the entrance of the waiting area was Cornell Conrad. He wasn't looking at her. He was adjusting his glasses.

Behind him, walking through the automatic doors, was Gunnar Kirk.

He looked out of place in the sterile, fluorescent light. He looked like a storm cloud.

He walked straight to her. He stopped.

A nurse came out. "Ms. Baxter? The baby is stable. It was a febrile seizure. He's fine."

Elayne sobbed with relief.

Gunnar looked at the nurse. Then he looked at Elayne. Then he looked at the door where the baby was.

"Whose is it?" Gunnar asked. His voice was devoid of emotion.

Elayne stood up. Her mind raced. "A friend's," she lied. "She... she's in surgery. I'm the emergency contact."

Gunnar stared at her. His eyes bored into hers. He knew she was lying. But he didn't care.

"Mr. Kirk," Cornell interrupted gently. "The press is outside. A freelancer followed us from the house. They saw her come in with the child."

Gunnar's jaw tightened. Cornell was already on his phone, his voice a low, brutal command to a subordinate. "Buy the photographer's memory card. And his car, if you have to. The story is that Miss Baxter was visiting a child from the gallery's outreach program. Plant it. Now." He hung up and looked at Gunnar. "Get in the car, Elayne. Now."

"I can't leave him!"

"Cornell will handle the... friend's child," Gunnar said coldly. "You are coming with me. Unless you want the world to see my fiancée holding a bastard child in a public ER."