Chapter 2

Anastasia Grey P.O.V

I immediately know something is wrong. Typically, Christian and Taylor pick Sawyer and I up from work at 6. But tonight, I only see Taylor. I half expect Christian to be in the backseat waiting for me, possibly too engrossed in a phone call to get out of the car and greet me. But I am sadly mistaken. My stomach is immediately filled with worry and I freeze while getting into the car.

Taylor senses my hesitation. "Er, Mr. Grey is waiting for you back at Escala in his office. He has something he wishes to discuss with you," he explains, eyeing my warily.

I immediately begin to panic. Something terrible must have happened. That is the only explanation for why my husband –

"Don't worry, Mrs. Grey. Everyone is fine. Something came up at work today and Mr. Grey just needed a little bit of time to cool down," Taylor says hesitantly.

I nod my head and get into the car. The ride back seems to take twice as long. I know it must be my nerves taking over, but I'm ready to scream at Taylor for driving so cautiously. After what seems like forever, we finally pull into the parking garage. My adrenaline has kicked in and I open the door before Taylor can even get out of the car.

"Please, Ana. Everything is ok," he says, starring me down. "There is no need to worry."

But I know that whatever he is saying is wrong. While the situation may be okay, I know Christian well enough to know that he is not okay. He has felt the need to retreat and withdraw from whatever is going on, which means it is one of the few things that he doesn't know how to control.

After the elevator finally finishes taking it's sweet time up to our apartment, my nerves are completely shot. I barely acknowledge Gail as I take the steps two at a time and race to Christian's door. But when I finally get there, I have no idea what to do. This man is my husband. It is my job to comfort him and be there for him, but I have absolutely no idea how to do that. I take a deep breath in and knock lightly on the door.

"Christian?" I call out, opening the door ever so slightly.

He doesn't move when I open the door. His head is in his hands, and it almost looks like he's been crying.

"Christian," I gasp, as I race to his side. I kneel down in front of him and pull his hands from his face. "What happened? What's wrong? Is someone hurt?" I know I'm asking a lot at once, but I can't fathom what possibly could have happened that would cause my husband to be in this state.

"I found out about dear old dad," he says, his voice completely emotionless. The look in his eyes breaks my heart.

"Carrick? What about him? Is he alright?" I ask, probably overdoing it with all of my questions. But I'm just so confused.

"No. My birth father. He was a heroin addict from Detroit. He's probably the one who got the crack whore addicted in the first place. He overdosed four days ago," he says this so coldly that I actually feel myself shiver.

"Christian," I sigh, throwing myself into his lap. I hug him tightly and he finally reciprocates.

"How do you know? I mean, why did they contact you about this?" I ask him. As far as I was concerned, he had absolutely not interest in ever having a relationship with his birth father, or even finding out who he is.

"Child protective services showed up at my office today. That's actually what I need to speak to you about. Please don't be upset with me," he begins, and I have absolutely no idea where he is going with this.

"What happened?" I ask, and I can hear the nerves in my own voice.

"Baby, you know how much I love you right?" he asks me, searching for something in my eyes.

"Christian, you're scaring me…please, just say it," I nearly plead with him.

"It turns out my father had a daughter. So I guess she's technically my half-sister, or some shit like that. I don't know, the whole thing is ridiculous. But this man showed up and started talking about group homes, and how she needs a place to stay for a little while and how she's been through a lot. And baby, I just kept thinking about the crack-whore and our shitty apartment and, I'm so sorry but I said she could stay with us for a little while. Just until they find another home for her," he pours out, never breaking eye contact with me.

I am in shock. To think that there is someone out there that shares blood with Christian…well it's just shocking.

"Christian, this is your sister. Of course she can stay with us. It shouldn't be temporary a thing. This could be really good for you," I say, trying to reason with him. I'm almost hurt that he thinks I wouldn't be ok with this. It's his sister, a child.

"No, I won't do this to us so soon in our marriage. It's just for a few days until they find another home for her," he insists, but I almost know that won't be the case.

We sit there in silence for a while, just holding eachother. I know anything that involves his early childhood is hard for him to think about.

"How old is she?" I finally ask, breaking the silence.

He looks at me for a second before smirking. "Sixteen."

Emily Freedman P.O.V.

Everything's happening so fast. I feel like one minute I'm going to wake up and realize that this is all just a horrible nightmare. The thing is, it's not like I should miss The Asshole. He hasn't done anything to help me in years and he has certainly hurt me more times than I can keep track of.

But there were these times that he actually seemed like my father. I mean, never really to me. But if you were to see us walking and laughing in the park with our ice cream cones in hand, you might think we were just a normal father and daughter. You would never know that my father had a horrible drug and alcohol problem. You would never know that he's left bruises across my arms and chest, and that he used to starve me before I was old enough to fend for myself. You would never know that he would invite his…despicable friends over. Because my father was an okay person when he was clean and sober. He was just almost never either of those things.

Every year or so, he would have a near death experience. He would drink too much or take a few too many drugs, and it would almost kill him. I had to call an ambulance for him on five of those occasions. After a brief rehab stint, he would promise me that he would be clean. And for about a week or so, he would be. We would go to the diner at three in the morning and eat cheese fries. We would take walks in the park, and get ice cream sundaes from our favorite stand. But it was always too good to be true. We could have an absolutely perfect night and then I would come home from school the next day, and it would be like someone flipped a switch.

My father would quickly become The Asshole and I would retreat to my room and wait for him to pass out. This has literally happened for as long as I can remember. So I know I should be glad that he's gone. It means I can keep my paycheck from being a cashier Morton's Food Mart to myself. It means I can change the locks on the doors to keep out his idiot friends. It means that I can finally clean the apartment and have it stop smelling like a stale bar.

Except I can't do any of these things. I can't keep my job at Morton's because I can't stay in Detroit. I can't change the locks on the apartment because it is no longer my apartment to keep. I finally have the freedom to do what I want, and I don't even get to stay to enjoy it.

After my father was confirmed dead at the hospital, I was forced to meet with Child Protective Services. Of course, this isn't the first time I've met with them over the years. My dad is The Asshole and I basically live in the projects…what do you expect? I even have my own agent from CPS. Her name is Rhonda, and she has auburn hair like me. Except her's is big and curly, and she's about 35 years older than I am.

"Do you have any other family, Emily? Anyone else you want us to call?" she asks me, flipping through my folder. For some reason, her tone of voice makes this seem like a condescending jab.

"You haven't called anyone," I mutter, more to myself than to her.

"Hmm?" she asks, confused by my statement. She stops shuffling through my file and gives me her 'I'm here to help you through this smile.'

"You asked if you should call anyone else. I was just saying that we haven't called anyone else at all. And I…no. I have no one else to call. Neil is my only family. You know this," I explain, refusing to make eye contact with her. It's like this woman has no idea that she's about to uproot my already fucked up life.

"Your dad had a son before you, didn't he? With a girlfriend before your mother, it says he was given up for adoption after she passed away," Rhonda states, as if she already knows everything about the situation. If the information is right in front of her, I don't understand why she needs to ask about it.

"You probably know more about it than I do. The Asshole didn't like to talk about it. I don't even know his first name or what year he was born," I say, rolling my eyes at her. Rhonda and I have never gotten along. She thinks I'm cynical.

"Well we've already been able to locate him, isn't that just fabulous? He's agreed to take you in for a few days!" Rhonda suddenly squeals, like this is the most fantastic thing in the world.

My throat tightens at her words. I found out years ago about my father's son before me. But he was always like a figment of my imagination. I never planned on meeting him. He was lucky enough to escape The Asshole and his first crack-whore, why would he ever come back?

"W-what?" I stutter. I don't even know what else to say.

"Yes! He's 28 and he lives in Seattle with his new wife. And get this! You know that dreamy billionaire named Christian Grey? Well that's your brother! Lucky you!" she gushes, and I have to resist the urge to slap her.

Nothing about this situation is lucky.

"My father's dead. I have a brother who has never had any interest in being part of my life who suddenly is willing to take me in and I'm being forced to leave a city that I have never ever stepped foot out of. Please explain to me my good fortune," I snap, ready to rip out Rhonda's curls. I have no patience for stupidity. Or Child Protective Services and everything they haven't done for me through out the years.

"Please Emily, be thankful that someone was willing to take you in. Try not to be too much of a burden," Rhonda says solemnly. Apparently she's upset that I didn't partake in her glee. Whatever. She stands and walks to the door.

"He'll be here tonight. Someone will accompany you to your apartment so you can grab a few things. I suggest you say your goodbyes," and with that, Rhonda is out the door.

Sorry it's still getting started. I promise Emily and Christian will meet in the next chapter!

-Jen