He Return of the Discarded Heiress

"Katharina." Preston's voice was a low snap as he caught sight of Ainsley descending.

Everyone looked up.

The first thing anyone noticed was the face. Striking. Unapologetic. She wore a simple pale blue t-shirt under an unbuttoned red-and-white striped shirt, the tails tied carelessly at her waist above denim shorts that showed off legs long and pale.

The Thomases all had fair skin. Ainsley's was paler still, almost translucent. It made her eyes-dark, depthless, unreadable-seem even more stark. Every time Preston looked at her, he felt an unbridgeable distance.

Never truly one of us, he thought.

"Ainsley." He pressed his lips together, looked away. His tone was gentler than the rest of the family's. After all, they'd raised her for over a decade. "You packed?"

She reached the bottom of the stairs, the single, light bag a stark contrast to the piles of luggage that usually accompanied their family trips. "Yeah."

Katharina finally saw her. The malicious curiosity vanished, replaced by a mask of wide-eyed, innocent concern. "Oh! Ainsley. I didn't see you there."

Ainsley didn't even grant her a glance. She stepped straight past her.

Ignored publicly. Katharina's lips pressed together in practiced resentment, her long lashes falling as she put on a wounded expression. Her pale face looked even more bloodless, fragile as a white flower swaying in the wind.

Meredith's scowl was immediate. Eleanor's cane slammed against the floor. "Katharina is speaking to you. Are you deaf?"

Katharina instantly looped her arm through her grandmother's, lifting her head to shake it weakly, biting her lip as if defending Ainsley. "Grandmother, please. It's fine. Sister's just upset. It doesn't bother me."

The performance was flawless.

Eleanor's gaze, when it landed on Ainsley, was pure venom. Every line of the old woman's face spelled contempt. "Just as I thought. No Thomas by blood. Raised her for over sixteen years, and she still can't shake that low, petty nature."

"Mother." Preston's voice was a weary plea.

He stepped before Ainsley and pulled out a bank card with practiced magnanimity. "There's a couple thousand on here."

He sighed and pressed it into her hand. The gesture of a man who wanted to believe he was being generous. "Take it. For when you get to your new home. Buy yourself some things. Clothes. Maybe for school."

Preston was always cautious. The Thomases had just secured a major government development project. A critical moment. He wanted no trouble, no loose ends.

Ainsley was a senior. Sent off to some small town now, she would never get into a decent university.

Her life, as far as he was concerned, was effectively over.