Rising From Hell: The Vengeful Heiress Returns

The Secret Service dragged Tricia's limp, bleeding body out of the room. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving only the core members of the Harrison and Stanton families.

President Christian rubbed his temples, exhaustion and irritation radiating from him. He looked down at Domenic, who was curled on the floor, weeping silently from the physical pain and the crushing betrayal of his "true love."

Christian delivered his verdict with the emotionless precision of a butcher.

"You are stripped of all public appearances for the next three months," Christian ordered. "You will be confined to your suite in the East Wing. Half of your campaign budget is gone, and I am replacing your entire senior staff with my own people."

Domenic's head snapped up. "Dad, you can't-"

"Speak again, and I will pull your candidacy entirely," Christian hissed.

Domenic's mouth snapped shut. He slumped back down, completely broken. He was no longer a candidate; he was a prisoner.

Christian turned away from his son and looked at Elba. He smoothed his tie, his face shifting back into the calculating negotiator.

"Elba," Christian said smoothly. "To compensate the Stanton family for this unacceptable distress, I am prepared to offer your brother the two vacant undersecretary positions at the Department of Defense."

Elba's eyes flickered. Two high-level Pentagon appointments. It was a massive concession, one that would cement the Stanton family's grip on the military for a decade.

But she looked at Hester's bruised shoulder and felt sick. "Is my niece's life only worth two desk jobs, Christian?"

Christian sighed. He walked over to Hester, who was still leaning against Elba. He lowered his voice, making it sound incredibly sincere.

"Hester, if you are strong enough to stand by this family and maintain the engagement through the election, I promise you this: you will be the youngest cabinet member in the history of Washington."

Hester kept her head bowed. She let out a soft, shaky breath, playing the role of a girl overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the power being offered to her.

"I... I don't need a cabinet seat, Mr. President," Hester whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. "I just don't want Domenic to hurt me anymore."

Christian smiled. It was a patronizing, victorious smile. He thought he had her completely figured out-a naive, easily bought child.

"He will never touch you again. You have my word," Christian said. He looked at Elba. "The engagement stands. It is what's best for all of us."

Elba looked at her husband's smug face. She hated him in that moment more than she ever had. But she was a Stanton. She knew how to play the long game.

"I expect those appointments finalized by tomorrow," Elba said coldly.

Christian nodded. He signaled the agents to drag Domenic away, and then he swept out of the room with his detail, leaving Elba and Hester alone.

The silence in the room was heavy.

Elba turned to Hester and pulled her into a fierce hug. "I am so sorry, Hester," Elba whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have protected you. I should have ended it."

Hester rested her chin on Elba's shoulder. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but her voice was steady.

"It's okay, Aunt Elba. I know the family needs the Pentagon seats. I can endure this."

Elba squeezed her tighter, swearing to herself that she would burn the world down before she let Domenic near her niece again.

Hester smiled into the fabric of Elba's blouse. She didn't want to break the engagement. If she left the White House now, she would lose her access. She needed to stay right here, in the belly of the beast.

Elba called for the maids, ordering them to draw a hot bath in Hester's guest suite and posting two Secret Service agents at her door.

Hester allowed the maids to guide her toward the exit. She walked slowly, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

As she reached the doorway, Hester paused. She looked back at the marble pillar. Tricia's blood was still smeared across the white stone.

Hester's eyes were completely devoid of pity. She turned and walked down the hall, ready for the real war to begin.