Chapter 7

The heavy doors to the quarters swung open. This time, there was no shouting.

Four members of the Presidential Protective Division entered first, fanning out with terrifying precision to secure the four corners of the room.

Then, President Christian Harrison walked in.

He wore a dark navy suit, the American flag pin gleaming on his lapel. His presence sucked the oxygen out of the room. He didn't yell. He didn't rush. He simply walked to the center of the chaos and stopped.

His sharp, predatory eyes scanned the scene: his son soaking wet on the floor, a bleeding staffer, his wife looking like she wanted to commit murder, and the Stanton heiress cowering on the sofa.

Christian slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in a single armchair. He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee.

"Would someone care to explain," Christian said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "why the East Wing currently resembles a dive bar brawl?"

Domenic saw his father and scrambled to his feet, desperate for an ally.

"Dad! It was her!" Domenic pointed a shaking finger at Hester. "She kicked me into the pool! She's trying to frame me!"

Christian frowned. He looked at his pathetic, shivering son, and then his eyes shifted to Hester. He noted the torn silk, the red scrape on her shoulder, and the terrified tears on her face. A dark, calculating light flickered in his eyes.

He ignored Domenic completely. He looked at Elba, his tone laced with mild reprimand.

"Elba, is this the kind of discipline the Stanton family teaches their daughters?"

It was a masterclass in political deflection. He was trying to shift the focus from attempted murder to a teenager's lack of manners.

Elba let out a harsh, bitter laugh. She didn't back down an inch. She picked up the bloody medical photos and slammed them down on the table right in front of Christian.

"Your son," Elba spat, "tried to drown Hester in the South Pool because she refused to break the engagement so he could sleep with a staffer's niece. Is that the Harrison family's standard of behavior?"

Christian glanced at the photos. His pupils contracted slightly, but his face remained an impenetrable mask. He tapped his index finger against his knee.

He shifted his gaze to Jayleen, who was still bleeding on the floor. For a fraction of a second, a deeply hidden, complex emotion flashed in the President's eyes. Then it was gone.

"Take Ms. Brooks to the infirmary," Christian ordered the agents coldly. "No one speaks to her without my direct authorization."

Two agents hauled Jayleen to her feet. As she was dragged past Christian's chair, she looked down at him. Her eyes were wide, filled with desperate, silent pleading. Christian didn't even blink.

Once the room was cleared of the bleeding staffer, Christian stood up.

He walked over to Domenic. Without a single word of warning, Christian raised his hand and struck his son across the face.

The blow was vicious. It was twice as hard as Elba's.

Domenic collapsed to the floor, a fresh cut opening on his lip. He lay there, completely stunned, too terrified to even breathe.

"You absolute idiot," Christian hissed, looking down at him with pure disgust. "I don't care what happened between you two. You caused a scandal in the White House a year before the election. Do you want to lose everything?"

Hester watched from the shadows of the sofa. She felt a cold knot of disgust in her stomach. The President didn't care that his son had tried to kill her. He only cared that Domenic had been sloppy.

Christian turned away from his son. His face instantly transformed. The cold dictator vanished, replaced by the warm, paternal leader of the free world.

He walked over to Hester and actually bent forward slightly, his voice dripping with synthetic sympathy.

"Hester, I am so sorry," Christian said softly. "The boy has been spoiled. I assure you, he will be severely punished for treating you this way."

Elba cut through the bullshit like a knife.

"The only acceptable punishment is the immediate cancellation of this engagement," Elba stated firmly. "The Stanton family will not subject our daughter to this humiliation."

The words cancellation of this engagement made Christian's jaw tighten. He could not afford to lose the Stanton family's grip on the military. Not now.

His warm mask slipped, revealing the ruthless politician underneath.

"Elba, marriage is not a game," Christian said, his voice hardening. "We are twelve months from an election. Do you have any idea the political earthquake a broken engagement would cause?"

"I care about her life!" Elba fired back. "If he tries to kill her today, he'll sell out the country tomorrow!"

The tension in the room was suffocating. The President and the First Lady were locked in a standoff that could tear the administration apart.

Then, Hester moved.

She slowly stood up from behind Elba. Her legs trembled. She kept her head bowed, her voice weak but incredibly clear.

"Aunt Elba... the President is right."

Elba whipped her head around, staring at her niece in absolute shock.

Hester kept her eyes glued to the floor, playing the role of the broken, dutiful pawn. "We can't let my personal feelings ruin the alliance. The family comes first."

Christian's eyes lit up with predatory satisfaction. He looked at Hester and saw exactly what he wanted to see: a weak, easily manipulated little girl who was too scared to fight back.

But beneath her lowered lashes, Hester's blue eyes were burning with a terrifying, toxic hatred.

She wasn't going to break the engagement. She was going to use the title of "Future Daughter-in-Law" as a shield, and she was going to gut the Harrison family from the inside out.