Dakota walked up the wide marble steps. Her boots made soft, dull sounds against the stone. She didn’t rush. She kept her chin level, her eyes scanning the massive facade of the Su mansion.
A line of maids and footmen stood on either side of the heavy carved doors. As Dakota passed them, she felt the weight of their stares.
The maids looked at her faded denim jacket. They looked at the scuffed toes of her boots. They looked at the cheap canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Several of them exchanged quick, sideways glances. Their lips tightened. Hidden disgust. To them, she was a peasant tracking dirt into a palace.
The massive double doors swung inward.
An older man stood in the grand foyer. He wore a perfectly tailored black tailcoat. His silver hair was slicked back. Ingram Ruiz, the head butler. His face was smooth and unreadable.
Ingram bowed. The angle of his spine was exact, but his eyes remained cold and distant.
“Welcome home, Eighth Miss,” he said. His voice was smooth, professional, and completely devoid of warmth.
Dakota caught the subtle sneer hiding in the corners of his eyes. She didn’t react. She gave him a slow, shallow nod and stepped past him.
The foyer was cavernous. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing fractured light across the polished floors.
Before Dakota could take in the room, frantic footsteps echoed from the grand curving staircase.
A woman in an elegant silk dress ran down the stairs. Francine Su gripped the wooden banister tightly. Her eyes were red and swollen. Tears streamed down her face. She stared at Dakota like she was looking at a ghost.
A tall, broad-shouldered man hurried down behind her. Algot Su radiated the terrifying aura of a corporate titan, but right now his jaw trembled. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
Francine hit the bottom of the stairs and stopped. She gasped for air, her hands hovering in the space between them.
“My daughter,” she sobbed. The sound tore from deep inside her chest.
Francine lunged forward and threw her arms around Dakota, pulling her into a crushing embrace. She buried her face in Dakota’s neck, her tears soaking the collar of the faded jacket.
Dakota’s body went completely rigid. The sudden, overwhelming contact shocked her system. Every instinct screamed at her to pull away. But the woman’s desperate, heartbroken sobs bypassed her defenses. She felt the desperate heat of Francine’s body. The soft scent of iris perfume filled her nose.
Algot stepped up beside them. He reached out with a massive, shaking hand and placed his palm gently on the top of Dakota’s head.
“You’re home,” he said. His deep voice cracked. “You’re finally home.”
Something tight in Dakota’s chest loosened. Her throat ached. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her arms and wrapped them around Francine’s back.
“Mother,” Dakota whispered.
Francine let out a loud wail of pure joy. She squeezed Dakota tighter, her fingers digging into the cheap fabric like she would never let go.
Ingram Ruiz cleared his throat. The sound was sharp in the emotional room.
“Sir, Madam,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps we should move to the sitting room. The young miss must be tired.”
Francine pulled back, wiping her wet face. She grabbed Dakota’s hand and pulled her toward the living area.
Two maids stepped forward to take Dakota’s bag. One reached for the canvas strap. Her nose wrinkled slightly. She pinched the fabric between two fingers, treating it like garbage.
Dakota saw the micro-expression. She twisted her shoulder, pulling the bag out of reach.
“I’ll carry it,” she said flatly.
Algot’s eyes narrowed. He caught the maid’s look of disgust. A terrifying darkness washed over his face. He glared at the two women. They instantly dropped their heads, terrified.
Francine pulled Dakota down onto a plush velvet sofa. Ingram snapped his fingers.
A line of maids hurried in, carrying silver trays loaded with steaming black tea and delicate French pastries.
One maid leaned over to place a teacup on the table. Her hand jerked. A single drop of hot tea splashed onto the floor, landing inches from Dakota’s scuffed boot.
Dakota stared at the dark liquid sinking into the expensive rug. She didn’t say a word. She knew exactly what kind of battlefield she’d just walked into.
