SWNOVELS Chapter 5
Ellison stood by his grandmother's hospital bed, concern cracking his stoic mask as he watched her breathe through the oxygen mask.
His phone's vibration broke the sterile silence. A message lit up his screen-his eyes sharpened with recognition as he read it. He then sent a one-word response. [Yes.]
The speed of his reply caught Joycelyn off guard. Wiping tears away, she typed with trembling fingers: [Could you pick me up? We need to talk.]
His terse agreement felt like salvation. Maybe a marriage of convenience wasn't the worst option.
She had barely sent her location when her phone died, taken by either rain or drained battery.
'If he comes, I'll marry him,' she decided. 'If not, be it."
As Ellison moved to leave, his grandmother's fragile grasp caught him.
"You stubborn boy," Isolde Grant whispered.
"I didn't mean to worry you, Grandma. I've found someone-we're getting married tomorrow. No more stress, okay?" His voice held rare tenderness.
Hope flickered in Isolde's tired eyes. "Really?" She struggled to sit up.
Gently easing her back down, he tucked her blankets close. "Really. I'm going to get her now. You'll meet her in the morning. Rest now."
"Promise you're not lying to me."
"Never."
The world knew Ellison as ruthless and driven, but for his grandmother, his patience was infinite. After briefing the nurses, he grabbed his keys, ready to head out.
"Mr. Grant, there's a Category 3 hurricane today. It wouldn't be safe for you to drive," the bodyguard reported promptly, stepping forward as he saw Ellison preparing to leave.
"It's fine." Brushing off his warning, Ellison left for the parking lot.
His black Maybach cut through the storm like an avenging angel, driving toward its destiny.
Fierce wind battered Joycelyn's small frame beneath the bus shelter. She clung to her suitcase, the tempest offering no real protection.
Fear of missing Ellison kept her rooted despite the need for better shelter. Rain hammered the roof like buckshot while trees thrashed in the gale.
Just as despair settled in her bones and she was about to find another shelter, headlights pierced the darkness and a black car approached through the pouring rain.
The Maybach pulled up smoothly. Ellison stepped out, ignoring the storm's fury. Rain instantly plastered his suit to his frame, but his focus remained on the girl before him-lost, hurt, like an abandoned kitten in
the storm.
"Get in," he said simply, taking her suitcase.
His voice cut through chaos. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "I thought you weren't coming," she whispered, swollen eyes meeting his.
Though the storm had left her trembling, his presence sparked something warm in her chest, like dawn breaking through the endless night. Her tears of desperation turned to relief, hope kindling in her gaze. Seeing her drenched state, he took her icy hand. "Inside. Now."
She stared at his sharp profile, finding unexpected comfort in his grip.
The wind chose that moment to tear the bus stop sign loose, sending it hurtling toward them. In one fluid motion, he pulled her against his chest.
His body became her shield, steady and immovable. She felt his sharp flinch and heard his muffled grunt of pain.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, voice tight with worry.
"It's nothing." Ignoring his injured arm, he guided her to safety.
Once he put the suitcase away, he climbed into the car, soaked to the bone. The sealed doors created their own world apart from chaos.
"You must be injured. Let me look at your arm," she insisted, remembering the metallic crash. "Home first," he said curtly without much explanation.
The drive passed in tense silence, Joycelyn gripping her seatbelt like a lifeline. Forty minutes brought them to his private garage.
"Here we are." He lifted her damaged suitcase with his good arm.
"Mr. Grant?" Her voice came congested from the cold. "Shouldn't we discuss terms?" She stood by the car door, her reddened eyes watching him with uncertainty.
"Change your clothes first." He carried her suitcase and strode toward the elevator.
She followed like a shadow, head down-worlds away from last night's bold drunk girl.
He stopped, waiting for her cautious approach.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw the black leather shoes and dripping hem of his suit pants. Looking up, she found him waiting for her.
"State your terms," he said, authority rolling off him. "Or we do this my way."
Sniffling, she spoke directly. "Marriage to appease my family. Your identity stays secret. No
announcements. Divorce in six months to a year. Separate bedrooms."
Unable to meet his intense gaze, she looked away and added weakly, "You... you said you'd take responsibility."
They both knew she had no leverage.
"First three points accepted. We'll discuss divorce later." He tilted her chin up. "Explain the separate rooms."
Forced to meet his eyes, wet hair dripping, she stammered, "I want my own space, in case you... in case..." Her pale face flamed crimson as words failed.
His subtle smile and rain-slicked hair radiated raw magnetism.
"In case I want you, I come to your room?" His deep voice held dangerous promise. "Is that what you're trying to say?"