Something that might have been pity flickered in Preston's eyes. He pressed the card into Ainsley's hand anyway. Looking at her pale, expressionless face, his voice softened with practiced concern. "You have everything? You can wear that necklace I bought you for your tenth birthday. It was a gift for you-it's yours. No harm in keeping it."

Eleanor's brows knitted instantly. She shot an annoyed glance at Ainsley, but her pride kept her silent over a necklace that cost maybe a couple hundred bucks.

Katharina stood obediently beside her grandmother, echoing Preston's words with sweet insincerity. "Yeah, sis, Dad gave it to you, so you should wear it. You... you might need it later."

She let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

Ainsley lifted her eyelids slowly. The glance she cast Katharina was cold, untamable-the look a wolf gives a yapping lapdog.

Katharina responded with a haughty smile. That patronizing, superior expression matched every other Thomas in the room perfectly. *Same blood,* Ainsley thought. *Same poison.*

She hoisted her shoulder bag higher. She took the bank card Preston had forced into her palm and set it back on the table. Her voice was flat. Unforgiving.

"That necklace is in the top drawer of my old room. You can check if you don't believe me. Aside from the laptop I bought myself with my own money, I haven't taken a single thing that belongs to the Thomas family."

The words landed like ice water.

The Thomases exchanged glances, visibly embarrassed. Especially Eleanor and Meredith, who had stayed silent out of false dignity moments before-their faces darkened instantly.

This was classic Ainsley. Never knew how to be obedient. Always making them lose face.

Katharina glanced at the backpack on Ainsley's shoulders, her eyes flickering with dismissive contempt. She tilted her head, voice dripping with manufactured concern. "Sis, that's not what Mom, Dad, and Grandma meant. You're being way too sensitive. We've lived together for over a decade. Even if you found your birth parents, you're still my sister. We all want you to be happy."

She paused, letting her gaze drop to the bulging backpack.

"If you don't want the necklace, at least take the money Dad offered. I mean, wherever you're going... it's not exactly D.C. You'll need cash for everything. And that backpack looks pretty full-must be more than just a laptop in there."

The implication was surgical. Delivered with a smile.

Preston snapped back to attention, his expression souring as he forced a nod. "Yeah. Take the money. Don't be stubborn."

Ainsley's phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen, then back at the family arranged before her like a portrait of hypocrisy. She set the card down one final time-a definitive dismissal.

"No need."

She didn't explain. Didn't justify. Just looked at the caller ID, then toward the door. "My ride's here. I'm leaving."

She walked.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Eleanor exhaled through her nose, a sharp, contemptuous sound. "Hmph. An ungrateful stray, through and through. Sixteen years we wasted raising her, and she couldn't even say a proper goodbye."

Katharina's soft voice drifted through the room, honey over venom. "Grandmother, she's just eager to see her birth parents. Can you blame her?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Though... she said she only took her laptop, but that backpack looked pretty stuffed. Weird, right?"

Preston shook his head, playing the magnanimous patriarch. "Forget it. Sixteen years. Let her take whatever she wants-we don't need the petty cash."

Eleanor leaned on her cane, staring at the closed door as if she could still see the girl walking away. Her lip curled. "Good riddance. She was never one of us anyway."

She turned to Katharina, her voice warming with genuine affection. "And you-stop calling her 'sister.' Someone like her doesn't deserve the title."

Outside, the D.C. heat hit like a furnace. Waves of it rose off the pavement, distorting the air. The streets were nearly empty-just a few elderly residents seeking shade, and one thing that didn't belong.

A matte-black Rolls-Royce Wraith sat idling at the curb outside the manor gates.

Carmel glanced down at his watch. The minute hand had crept halfway around the dial, yet no one had emerged from the villa compound.

Impatient, he rolled down the window to peer outside.

Scorching heat rushed in at once, shattering the cold air inside the car. A low, gruff order snapped from the back seat: "Roll it up."

The voice was quiet, laced with a sharp, unyielding edge, and carried an unmistakable air of authority.

Carmel tensed at the sound, twisting around anxiously. He obediently slammed the window back up, but couldn't help muttering under his breath.

"Frazer, if this were your sister, you wouldn't be so calm! I was supposed to be here two days ago, but you made me go pick you up-resulting in us being delayed all the way until today! My dad just gave me a serious dressing-down over the phone and laid down an ultimatum: I've got to bring her home tonight, or else she'll never set foot in this house again. He even said that if I don't get it done, he'll come pick her up himself..."

Hill Frazier hadn't slept in three days. His head throbbed, and Carmel's chattering sounded like a power drill drilling into his skull. He suppressed the cold fury simmering in his eyes, leaned back, and lifted his lids to cast a blank glance at the young man in the front. His voice was hoarse and low.

"She's also my fiancée."

Those four simple words plunged the car into dead silence.

Three generations back, the Carmel family had built a respectable fortune.

But next to the Frazier family, it was nothing but a drop in the ocean. Carmel had grown up with Hill in the same elite compound, yet over the years, he'd come to realize the chasm between them-between himself, and the unstoppable force that was Hill Frazier.

Of this generation, the Fraziers doted on none more than the man in the back seat, a figure whose name struck fear into the heart of every high-society circle.

If his own grandfather hadn't shared a life-or-death bond with the Frazier patriarch-leaving the family owing a debt of honor-this engagement would never have fallen to his little cousin...

Worry flickered in Carmel's eyes.

His little cousin had been lost for over a decade. From what he'd dug up, she was ordinary in every way-hardly a match for a man like Hill Frazier.

"She's out!"

Carmel's worries vanished in an instant. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure slowly walking down the asphalt road leading from the villas.

"That's her. I'll go check."

Carmel called a quick warning to the back, unbuckled his seatbelt, and practically leaped out of the car.

In the bright sunlight, the slender figure drew closer.

The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of legs-slender, pale, perfectly proportioned, and straight.

Unbelievably fair.

Carmel was used to beautiful women-he'd mingled with A-listers and socialites for years-but he still froze, staring dumbfounded.

The girl approaching was barely eighteen. Her skin was so translucent it glowed in the sun, the faint pink of her capillaries visible beneath the surface. She had a porcelain face, pitch-black eyes, and lashes long as a feather duster-three parts cold detachment, three parts pure innocence, and a hint of untamed wildness that slipped out unconsciously.

Even with all the beauties he'd met, Carmel couldn't help thinking: Stunning.

Who doesn't fall for good looks and charm? Carmel stepped forward with a bright smile, offering to take her belongings as he spoke up warmly. "Ainsley, right? I'm Carmel, your cousin. Just call me Carmel."

Ainsley lifted her gaze to him. Carmel was tall and strikingly handsome, with narrow, almond-shaped eyes that curved naturally into a friendly, disarming smile. He carried an air of nobility, yet there was an unmistakable hint of playful irreverence about him.

Huh. She thought she'd seen that face somewhere before.

Ainsley was slightly face-blind; she never bothered remembering people who didn't matter. She sifted through the faces of everyone she knew in her mind, came up empty, and dropped the thought entirely.

"Yeah. Hi, I'm Ainsley," she greeted him politely. She looked docile enough-at least, that was how Carmel saw her.

"Grandpa has trouble walking, so he sent me to pick you up instead. He'll be a little late. Your dad and my dad already booked a restaurant; they're probably there by now. Let's head over first."

Carmel kept smiling as he talked, reaching out to take her bag.

"Ainsley, I've got a friend in the car. He'll join us for dinner-you don't mind, do you?"

Ainsley dodged his hand subtly, keeping a full step behind him the entire time. Her voice was hoarse and casual, but each word was crisp and clear: "I don't mind."

Carmel stared at his empty hand, frozen for a split second. He glanced at the seemingly frail young cousin beside him in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes.

How had she moved that fast? He hadn't even seen her dodge him.

Carmel brushed it off as a fluke and thought nothing more of it. He reached the car and held open the back passenger door.

"It's sweltering out here. Get in the car first."

Ainsley narrowed her eyes at the Rolls-Royce glinting under the sunlight, then looked away.

This was a car even her former adoptive father, Preston Thomas, couldn't afford. Just who were her biological family?

The second she slid into the car, cold air washed over her, chasing away the outdoor heat. Ainsley's gaze locked onto the so-called "friend" waiting inside.

The man leaned lazily against the plush leather seat, his presence seeming to suck all the oxygen out of the vehicle, radiating an oppressive, intimidating aura.

Hill Frazier wore a flawlessly tailored dark custom suit, his long legs crossed at the knee, a confidential corporate file resting on his lap.

He didn't utter a single word. He just stared at her, his gaze sliding slowly from the tip of her hair down to her pale lips.

The weight of that stare was crushing. Ainsley's chest tightened sharply with a surge of danger, and she instinctively shifted her hips, pressing her back firmly against the car door.

Carmel settled into the driver's seat, shifted into gear, and glanced at Ainsley through the rearview mirror. "This is my friend, Hill."

Her mind raced, sifting through every piece of information she had on powerful figures in Washington D.C., trying to match the name "Hill" to a face. She came up with nothing.

Carmel pulled the heavy luxury car onto the main road.

Hill held her gaze for three agonizing seconds.

"You look much thinner than you did in the photos."

Ainsley snapped her head up, every muscle in her body tensing. "What photos?"

Hill leaned forward slightly, invading her personal space, stopping just inches from her face. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with her own.

He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, meant for her ears only: "Your photo. As your fiancé, I should know all information about you."