Chapter 8 8

The gold elevator doors slid open with a soft, expensive chime.

Ainsley stepped out onto the top floor. The thick wool carpet completely absorbed the sound of her heels.

Hill kept his fingers laced tightly with hers as they walked down the silent corridor.

He only let go when they stopped directly in front of a massive set of carved mahogany doors.

Ainsley's palms were sweating.

She had faced down bloodthirsty mercenaries on the dark web without blinking, but right now, her heart was hammering against her ribs.

Carmel stepped forward. He grabbed the solid gold door handle and pushed both doors wide open.

The VVIP suite was massive. Priceless Renaissance paintings hung on the walls, screaming the ancient, untouchable wealth of the Benson family.

At the head of the long dining table, an old man with pure white hair slammed his ebony cane into the floor and stood up.

Augustine Benson, the national treasure of the art world, stared at Ainsley. His wrinkled hands shook violently, and his eyes instantly filled with red tears.

Beside him, a man with a gentle face and gold-rimmed glasses slammed his wine glass down and shot out of his chair.

Dr. Julian Benson, a tenured professor at Yale University, stared at his biological daughter.

Julian took three rapid steps forward. He raised his arms to hug her, but his hands froze in mid-air, terrified that he might scare her away.

He looked at Ainsley's face, seeing the exact replica of his dead wife.

"Ainsley," Julian choked out, his voice breaking completely.

The thick, defensive ice around Ainsley's heart finally cracked.

She looked at the man's tear-filled eyes, a mirror of her own, and a wall of ice around her heart cracked just a little. A word she hadn't spoken in years felt foreign on her tongue. "...Father," she finally managed, the sound barely a whisper.

Julian broke down. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, burying his face in her hair as his tears soaked her skin.

Augustine hobbled over on his cane. He placed his large, rough hand on Ainsley's back.

"You're home. You're finally home," Augustine repeated over and over.

The room was thick with heavy, emotional warmth.

Hill stood silently in the shadows by the door. His dark eyes never left Ainsley's face for a single second.

Everyone eventually sat down at the table.

Julian immediately ordered the waiters to bring out the most expensive dishes, terrified that his daughter was starving.

Halfway through the meal, Augustine cleared his throat.

He reached into his jacket and slid a heavy, gold-stamped envelope across the table toward Ainsley.

"I have already arranged your transfer," Augustine announced proudly. "You start at St. Jude's Prep on Monday."

Ainsley stared at the logo of the most elite, snobbish prep school on the East Coast. Her eyebrows pulled together.

She had zero interest in wasting her time dealing with spoiled teenagers.

She opened her mouth to reject the offer.

Before she could speak, Hill picked up his wine glass and leaned forward.

"And I will be taking full responsibility for Ainsley's living arrangements and security here in Washington," Hill stated. His voice was perfectly respectful to the elders, but it carried an absolute, unbreakable command.

The entire room went dead silent.

Julian looked at his father, clearly hesitant to hand his newly found daughter over to another man so quickly.

Augustine stared hard at Hill. The old man was calculating the sheer political power and ambition radiating from the young lion sitting across from him.

Slowly, Augustine nodded his head in agreement.

Ainsley's head snapped toward Hill. Her eyes burned with absolute fury.

She had just escaped one prison, and this man was casually locking her inside another.

Underneath the heavy tablecloth, Hill's large hand suddenly moved. He covered Ainsley's clenched fist, not gripping, but the sheer weight and heat of his palm was an undeniable command. He squeezed gently once, a silent, unyielding warning. His rough thumb began to slowly, rhythmically stroke the sensitive skin on the back of her hand.

He looked her dead in the eyes. The silent warning was clear: Do not fight me on this.

Ainsley tried to violently yank her hand back.

Hill's fingers tightened like iron bands, completely immobilizing her wrist while keeping his face perfectly calm for her family.

Julian didn't notice the war happening under the table. He smiled and raised his glass to toast their reunion.

Ainsley was forced to pick up her juice glass with her free hand.

She stared at the liquid shaking inside the crystal, realizing with a cold dread that her entire life had just been hijacked by Hill Frazier.