Chapter 5 5

Ainsley's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Her spine snapped perfectly straight, her body going rigid like a cat cornered by a wolf. She stared directly into Hill's face.

She quickly replayed in her mind the fragmented words from her biological father's phone call, yet she had never heard even a single word about an engagement.

Ainsley let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She refused to back away from his suffocating proximity.

"I don't need a corporate watchdog," Ainsley sneered. "I can walk to my own family just fine."

Hill didn't get angry at the insult.

Instead, a low, dark chuckle vibrated deep in his chest. The physical rumble transferred through the narrow space between them.

He slowly sat back against the leather seat, casually rebuilding the physical distance while maintaining his absolute, dominant control of the space.

"This protection arrangement was secured by your grandfather, Augustine Benson, and my family," Hill stated, his tone flat and factual. "It carries absolute binding authority. You are not walking anywhere alone."

The name Augustine Benson hit Ainsley's ears with a heavy weight.

Her eyebrows pulled together. She knew exactly who that was. He was the most revered artistic titan on the entire East Coast, and apparently, a man who liked to pull strings from the shadows.

Carmel spun the steering wheel from the front seat.

"It's real," Carmel chimed in. "I actually tried to steal the escort detail for myself, but the old men wouldn't let me anywhere near the Benson heir."

Ainsley turned her head sharply and stared out the rain-streaked window.

She locked her jaw, using the cold glass to mask the violent churning in her chest. She refused to acknowledge the absurd contract.

The Rolls-Royce glided smoothly into the absolute center of Washington D.C.

The scenery outside shifted rapidly from standard city blocks to the imposing, heavily guarded architecture of federal buildings.

Ainsley's eyes narrowed. She recognized the streets.

This wasn't a residential route.

She turned her head and glared at the back of Carmel's seat. "Where exactly are you taking me?"

Carmel glanced at the rearview mirror, waiting for Hill's silent nod of approval before answering.

"The Capital Club. The family is waiting for you inside."

Ainsley's stomach dropped like a stone.

The Capital Club was the most exclusive, heavily guarded three-star Michelin private club in Washington D.C. The membership requirements were brutally strict.

She looked down at her own body.

She was wearing a faded, stretched-out T-shirt and cheap jeans stained with muddy street water.

Walking into a place like that looking like this was social suicide. It was handing the elite a knife to cut her down.

Hill watched her eyes drop to her clothes. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

He reached over and pressed a hidden silver button on the center console.

A motorized panel in the back of the seat silently slid open.

Inside the compartment sat a pristine Hermes Birkin bag and a heavy garment bag bearing a high-end couture logo.

Hill tilted his chin toward the compartment. His voice was an absolute command.

"Take off those wet clothes. I will not have you ruining the leather on my seats."

The excuse was incredibly arrogant, yet it provided the perfect, undeniable reason for her to change without feeling like a charity case.

Ainsley gritted her teeth. She couldn't argue with the logic.

She reached up and grabbed the handle of the soundproof privacy partition that separated the front and back seats.

She yanked it up. The thick black panel locked into place, turning the back seat into an absolute, isolated vault.

The air in the back instantly felt heavier. The scent of Hill's cedar cologne became overwhelmingly thick.

Ainsley glared at Hill. Her eyes screamed a silent warning.

"Turn your head," she ordered.

Hill complied smoothly, turning his face toward the dark window.

But the faint, mirrored reflection on the tinted glass still outlined the sharp, dark profile of his face.

Ainsley moved with rapid, military precision.

She stripped off the freezing, wet T-shirt and pulled the black silk slip dress from the garment bag.

The second the expensive fabric slid over her skin, her breath hitched.

The dress fit her body with terrifying, millimeter-perfect precision. A brief click of the intercom sounded, and Carmel's voice drifted back. "Don't be so surprised it fits," he noted lazily. "Hill has access to the data from every high-end tailor your foster family ever used for you." She glared at the speaker, realizing just how deep this man's surveillance went.

She threw the matching cashmere shawl over her bare shoulders and slammed the button to lower the privacy partition.

"Thank you," Ainsley said, her voice dripping with ice.

Hill turned his head back.

His dark eyes hit her new appearance. A violent flash of raw heat sparked in his pupils, but he buried it instantly.

"It's passable," Hill lied smoothly.

But his long fingers began to slowly tap against his knee, betraying the sudden spike in his heart rate.

The Rolls-Royce slowed down, turning onto a heavily guarded, private cobblestone driveway.

Directly ahead, the massive, gold-plated revolving doors of The Capital Club gleamed in the night.