The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 33: Elyn: Take Off Your Mask

I wear a simple dress, nothing flashy or bright, which doesn’t hint at my usual preferences. The color is pale, almost timid, a far cry from the colorful tones I normally reach for.

But slipping into a place crawling with press requires caution, not fashion.

I layer a long overcoat over the dress, tugging the lapels close. A plain black hat, large sunglasses, and a black mask covering everything from my nose to my chin complete the disguise, and my hair is twisted into a tight bun.

I learned the hard way that some fans can recognize me from the back of my head alone. The way I usually style my hair is practically its own signature.

Greg had assured me earlier that my security team would handle everything, that I wouldn’t so much as brush shoulders with the press.

I arrive at the hotel just before three, early enough to beat the chaos but not early enough to look suspicious.

Jean is by my side, brisk and composed as always, with an earpiece clipped neatly to her collar.

She coordinates with the security team seamlessly as she leads me through a discreet staff corridor. Apparently, the hotel has three separate access routes for VIPs—Greg’s team had already mapped all of them—but Jean picks the one currently blind to both public and hotel cameras.

Within minutes, I’m slipping into a back elevator used for housekeeping carts and maintenance staff.

When we reach the designated floor, Jean double-checks the hall before waving me forward.

"You’re clear."

The private room Greg booked for us is spacious but minimal, the kind of place meant for briefings or quiet negotiations. The moment I step inside, two of my security personnel fan out, scanning everything.

They check vents, light fixtures, behind curtains, and even under the table. One sweeps a handheld detector along the walls, searching for hidden cameras or recording devices.

Only when they’re satisfied, and only when Jean nods in agreement, do they file out, closing the door quietly behind them to give me privacy.

I exhale, long and shaky, and sink into the chair near the window. The overcoat slides off my shoulders.

While waiting, I take out my phone and scroll.

Minutes later, I see the live coverage of the inauguration ceremony downstairs.

I tap into it.

On-screen, the CEO gives a polished introduction before gesturing toward the president. And there he is.

Even through a lens and a screen, his presence hits with the force of a cold tide. His posture is immaculate, shoulders squared, expression carved with that subtle intensity he wears like a second suit.

He smiles, barely, just the faintest upward curve, but even that doesn’t soften him.

It only makes him look more controlled, more unreachable, as if the smile is something he grants, not something he gives.

There’s something about him that pulls people into a straight line, into listening to him. His presence alone can demand attention.

The CEO goes on about a partnership with the government, a new foundation they’re establishing together. Applause rises. Cameras flash. And Greg stands there like he’s carved out of a different material entirely. Colder, steadier, razor-sharp beneath the polished exterior.

When the inauguration ends, it isn’t long before I hear a knock.

I straighten instinctively.

The door opens, and Greg steps inside.

For a moment, all I can think is how much more intense he is in person. The man I saw on the screen is the same in form, the same in suit and posture.

But here, in the same room, the air shifts around him. His gaze finds mine instantly, locking without effort, and there’s a weight to it that makes my breath catch.

He looks exactly like the man the country saw moments ago.

Just... more.

He sits across from me without a word, the chair barely making a sound as he settles into it. His eyes lift to my face, sharp and serious.

I straighten my posture, palms pressed lightly on my knees. I begin, "I’m sorry that you have to spend your break like this—"

"Take off your mask," he cuts in, tone clipped but not unkind. "And quit the apologies."

Right. I forgot I still had it on. Heat rises to my cheeks as I peel the mask away and set it beside my phone.

I begin again, "I might have another scandal coming, which is why I don’t think it’s wise to announce our marriage at the charity ball this weekend."

His expression doesn’t shift into disappointment. But his gaze turns sharp.

"Logan’s legal team and I talked," I say, drawing a breath. "His will states that I’m supposed to receive all his company shares in Hansley Group which is 45%, plus a lot of his assets and financial holdings worth three billion. Isn’t that insane?"

The word comes out with a half-scoff, half-laugh of disbelief. Hearing it aloud still feels ridiculous.

"The board and shareholders know about it now," I continue. "But worse, the legal team knows my marriage with Logan wasn’t even registered. And they want me at the shareholder meeting tomorrow." My pulse jumps just thinking about it. "If this blows up, it’ll look like I scammed a man who wasn’t even my husband to give me everything. The headlines will write themselves—gold-digger cons billionaire for inheritance."

I’m talking too fast. Halfway through, my voice catches in my throat, but I push through, breathless by the end of it.

Greg’s eyes darken. His face remains composed, stone carved into authority, but there’s a subtle tightening around his mouth, a brief flicker in his gaze.

Disappointment, probably. Or irritation that my disaster of a life keeps bleeding into his carefully constructed timeline.

"It’s pretty much a scandal, indeed," he says finally.

Just that. A clean, sharp verdict.

I nod slowly, feeling small in a way I haven’t since the night he pulled me out of that police detention cell. After all his help, after the prison mess, after everything... he can’t even reap the benefits of our arrangement yet, because my problems keep multiplying like some cosmic joke.

My cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I know." I lower my eyes for a moment. "I’m... sorry."