Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 11

From: Christian Grey

Subject: I’ll Show You Hot

Date: June 20 2011 17:08

To: Anastasia Steele

My darling wife-to-be

Maybe I can use the tie this evening, when I test your stamina.

Christian Grey

Impatient CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

PS: The sabotage is just conjecture. Don’t worry about it. This is not a request.

The elevator doors open.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Grey!” There’s a cacophony of voices. Andrea is standing by the doors, holding a

large frosted cake with Happy Birthday and Congratulations, Mr. Grey written in blue icing across the

top. There’s a solitary gold candle burning on top.

What the fuck. Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

This has never happened.

Ever.

The throng—which includes Ros, Barney, Fred, Marco, Vanessa, and all the VPs of their departments

—breaks into a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.” I fix a smile on my face to hide my surprise and,

when they finish, blow out the candle. They all cheer and start applauding, as if I’ve done something

worthy of celebration.

Sarah offers me a champagne flute.

There are shouts of “Speech. Speech.”

“Well, this is a surprise.” I turn to Andrea, who gives me a slight shrug. “But thank you.”

Ros pipes up, “We’re all grateful you’re still here, Christian, especially me, because it means I’m still

here, too.” There’s a smattering of polite laughter and applause. “So we wanted to express our

gratitude in some way. All of us.” She extends an arm to our colleagues. “We also want to wish you a

happy birthday and congratulations on your good news. Let’s raise a glass.” She does. “To Christian

Grey.”

My name echoes through the office.

I raise my glass to salute her and take a large swig.

There’s more applause.

I really don’t understand what has gotten into my staff. Why now? What gives?

“Was this your idea?” I ask Andrea when she hands me a slice of cake.

“No, sir. It was Ros’s.”

“But you got all this together.”

“Sarah and I did, sir.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Grey.”

Ros gives me a warm smile and tips her glass toward me, and I remember I owe her a pair of navy

Manolos.

It takes me thirty-five minutes to extricate myself from the little gathering in my office. I’m touched, and

I’m surprised that I’m touched. I must be going soft in my old age. But as ever, I’m anxious to return

home…anxious to see Ana.

She comes dashing out of the rear entrance to SIP and my heart flips to see her. Sawyer is by her side;

he opens the Audi door and she slides in beside me while Sawyer climbs in front with Taylor.

“Hi.” Her smile is dazzling.

“Hi.” Taking her hand, I kiss her knuckles. “How was your day?”

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Elena’s eyes are like flint. Cold. Hard. She’s in my face. Angry. I was the best thing that ever happened

to you. Look at you now. One of the richest, most successful entrepreneurs in the United States.

Controlled, driven, you need nothing. You are master of your universe. Now she’s on her knees. In front

of me. Bowed. Naked. Her forehead pressed to the basement floor. Her hair a shining coronet of

lightning against the dark wooden boards. Her hand is stretched out. Splayed. Tipped with scarlet nails.

She’s begging. Keep your head on the floor. My voice echoes off the concrete walls. She wants me to

stop. She’s had enough. My grip tightens on the crop. Enough, Grey. I wrap my fingers around my

cock, hard from her mouth, covered in crimson smears from her lipstick. My palm moves up and down.

Faster. Faster. Faster. Yes. I come and come. With a loud guttural cry. Painting her back with my cum. I

stand over her. Panting. Heady. Sated. There’s a crash. The door flies open. His frame fills the

doorway. He roars, and the blood-curdling sound fills the room. No. Elena screams. Fuck. No. No. No.

He’s here. He knows. Elena stands between me and him. No, she cries, and he hits her so hard she

falls to the floor. She screams. And screams. Leave him. Leave him. I’m in shock. And he hits me. A

right hook to my chin. I fall. And fall. My head spins. I’m faint. No. Stop the screaming. Stop. It goes on.

And on. I’m under the kitchen table. My hands on my ears. But they don’t shut out the noise. He’s here.

I hear his boots. Big boots. With buckles. She’s screaming. And screaming. What did he do? Where is

she? I smell his stench before I see him and he peers under the table, a lit cigarette in his hand. There

you are, you little shit.

I wake instantly, gasping for air and doused in a sheen of sweat with fear streaking through my veins.

Where am I?

My eyes adjust to the light. I’m at home. Escala. The coming dawn casts a faint rosy glow over Ana’s

sleeping form, and relief rushes through me like a cool autumn breeze.

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