Jilted At City Hall, Married A Zillionaire

The glass door to the box flew open.

Four NYPD officers in tactical gear stormed in, weapons drawn.

"Hands! Let me see hands!"

Officer Miller, a man with a face like a bulldog, lowered his weapon when he saw the wheelchair. He paused, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Jefferson Montgomery," Miller said, holstering his gun. "Well, well. You're supposed to be under house arrest in the Hamptons."

Flashbulbs popped from the hallway. The press had tailed the police.

Jefferson's mind raced. He calculated the fallout. Violation of curfew. Presence at a suspected money-laundering front.

He looked down at Harper, who was still frozen in his lap, looking like a deer in headlights.

He made a decision.

Jefferson didn't push her away. Instead, his hand moved to the back of her head, pressing her face into his chest, shielding her from the cameras.

"Officer Miller," Jefferson said, his voice smooth as silk. "I'm celebrating my engagement. Surely love isn't a crime?"

Miller narrowed his eyes. "Engagement? You're single, Montgomery."

Harper tried to pull back, to speak. "I-"

Jefferson pinched her side. Hard. He leaned his mouth to her ear. "Play along," he hissed, "or I sue you for sexual harassment and assault."

Harper went limp. "Okay," she squeaked into his sweater.

"We just decided tonight," Jefferson lied effortlessly. "It's... an elopement."

Miller laughed. It was a dry, ugly sound. "An elopement? In a club being raided for narcotics?" He stepped closer. "Unless you have a marriage license on you right now, this is a parole violation. You're coming downtown."

"We were on our way to City Hall," Jefferson countered. "You interrupted us."

Miller checked his watch. "It's 11:20. City Hall is closed."

Jefferson stared at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The room went silent.

He dialed a number. "Get me my attorney. Now."

He waited three seconds. "Patterson. I need an emergency judicial waiver for a marriage license. Immediate issuance. Yes, authorize the maximum expedited processing fee. And make a donation to the Policeman's Benevolent Fund. Triple the usual amount. Get it done."

He hung up. He looked at Miller. "The clerk is opening the emergency window. Care to escort us? If it's fake, you can arrest me there."

Miller's jaw worked. He knew he was beaten by money and influence, but he wasn't letting go yet. "Fine. I'll drive you myself. If that paper isn't signed in an hour, you're sleeping in a cell."

Jefferson looked down at Harper. "Darling," he said loud enough for the press to hear. "Looks like we get a police escort."

Harper looked up at him. The alcohol was fading, replaced by sheer terror. She looked at this stranger, this powerful, manipulative man who had just claimed her.

"Let's go," Jefferson commanded.

His driver pushed the wheelchair forward. Harper, shoeless and shaking, had no choice but to walk beside him, Jefferson's hand gripping hers like a vice.

Outside, the sirens wailed. This time, they were clearing the road for them.