Chapter 28 Harrison
Harrison didn’t rush.
He had learned a long time ago that true authority didn’t need to shout or scramble; it simply needed to be absolute.
As he walked away from the dining room, leaving Kelsey pinned under the weight of his command in that chair, his pulse was a steady, rhythmic thrum of cold focus.
He wasn’t just angry—though the heat of it was certainly there, simmering beneath his ribs—he was disappointed.
And in his world, disappointment was far more dangerous.
He took the stairs two at a time, his designer loafers hitting the treads with a heavy, purposeful cadence.
He had spent the last several days pouring everything he had into her recovery.
He’d softened his edges, quieted his house, and put his own empire on the back burner to ensure she didn’t vibrate herself into a stroke.
He had shown her, with every meal and every hour of held silence, that she was safe to let go.
And the second he had stepped out of the door to protect the very resources that allowed them this life, she had reached for the poison again.
He walked into his closet and reached for the top shelf, his fingers brushing over a leather case he hadn't touched in a long time.
It wasn't about the tool; it was about the message.
Kelsey thought she was a boss. She thought her "life" was a collection of invoices, produce deliveries, and panicked texts from Savannah.
She thought she could negotiate with the peace he had provided for her.
He was going to disabuse her of that notion, and he was going to be thorough about it.
When he walked back down the stairs, he could see her through the archway.
She was sitting exactly where he’d left her, her small frame hunched in his oversized black sweater, her fingers knotted together so tightly her knuckles were white.
She looked like a little girl awaiting a sentence. Good. She should be.
He entered the dining room and didn't say a word. He walked to the table and placed the leather case down right next to the laptop. The click of the metal latch in the quiet room sounded like a gunshot.
"Look at me, Kelsey."
She lifted her head, her eyes rimmed with red, her lower lip trembling. The defiance she’d flashed in the kitchen was gone, smothered by the gravity of his presence.
"Do you know why I took that phone from you on Tuesday?" he asked, his voice low and level.
"Because... because you wanted me to rest," she whispered.
"No," Harrison corrected, stepping into her space until his thighs brushed against her knees.
He didn't touch her, but the sheer force of his proximity made her breath hitch.
"I took it because you were using it as a shield.
You were hiding behind 'busy' so you didn't have to face how broken you were.
I didn't give you a vacation, Kelsey. I gave you a sanctuary.
And you just treated it like a hurdle to get over so you could get back to your real priority. "
"Daddy, I just—Savannah was overwhelmed, I couldn't just—"
"Stop." The word wasn't loud, but it cut through her excuse like a blade. "I told you I was handling it. I told you that your life was in my hands. By opening that laptop, you told me that my word isn't enough for you. You told me that you don't trust me to keep your world from burning down."
He reached down, his hand wrapping around her jaw, his fingers digging in just enough to keep her focus entirely on him.
"You want to be the boss? You want to be the one making the calls?" He leaned down, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Fine. Then you’re going to experience exactly what happens when you fail at the most basic responsibility of a subordinate: obedience."
He let go of her jaw and stepped back, gesturing to the table. "Stand up. Take that sweater off."
Kelsey blanched. "Here? Daddy, please, can we go upstairs?"
"You lost the right to choose the location the moment you decided to hide a laptop under my sofa," Harrison said, his voice devoid of the indulgence he’d shown her lately. "You wanted to handle things on your own terms. Now, you’re going to handle this on mine. Sweater off. Now."
She trembled, her hands shaking as she pulled the soft cashmere over her head. She was bare underneath, her skin pale and goosebumped in the cool air of the dining room. She looked so small against the backdrop of the heavy mahogany furniture—a stark reminder of the reality she had tried to escape.
Harrison reached out and tapped the lid of the laptop sitting in front of her. "Pick it up. Arms straight out in front of you."
She blinked, confused, but she took the device. The weight of it was negligible at first, but with her arms extended, it immediately began to pull at her shoulders.
"You like this machine so much, you can hold onto it while we talk," he said.
He walked behind her, his footsteps slow and deliberate.
"I’m going to go get a glass of water. If that laptop touches the table, or if your arms drop even an inch before I get back, the count starts at fifty. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Daddy," she choked out.
Harrison walked into the kitchen. He didn't get water. He stood by the sink, watching the second hand on the wall clock. He wanted the silence to work on her. He wanted her to feel the weight of the thing she’d prioritized over his instructions.
He wanted the "Owner" in her to realize that in this house, her title carried zero weight.
He waited a full three minutes before he walked back in.
Kelsey was already struggling. Her arms were shaking, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The laptop was dipping, her knuckles white as she gripped the edges.
"Arms up, Kelsey," he said, his voice a sharp crack in the room.
She let out a small sob and jerked her arms back into position. Harrison walked around her, his eyes scanning the lines of her body. He could see the pulse jumping in her inner thighs, the way her spine was tensed.
"You think the restaurant needs you," he murmured, his voice right at her ear. "You think you’re the only thing keeping Seven Stones from collapsing. Do you realize how arrogant that is? Do you realize how much you’re insulting Savannah by assuming she’s incompetent the second you aren't looking over her shoulder? "
"I don't... I don't think she's incompetent," Kelsey gasped, her shoulders burning.
"Then why were you checking the payroll? Why were you drafting social media posts?" He moved in front of her, taking the laptop from her hands and setting it back on the table with a loud thud.
The relief was instantaneous, her arms falling to her sides, but Harrison didn't give her a second to recover. He gripped her waist and hoisted her onto the dining room table, pushing her back until she was lying flat against the cold, polished wood.
"Daddy, no, it's cold—"
"It’s supposed to be uncomfortable," he growled.
He pulled her legs apart, stepping between them, his presence an immovable wall of heat.
He reached into the case and pulled out a long, heavy tawse.
It wasn't the light, stinging paddle he’d used before.
This was thick, split leather, designed for a much deeper message.
He looked down at her, seeing the terror in her eyes, but he also saw the flicker of something else—the desperate need to be anchored.
"You lied to me," he said, the words heavy and dark.
"You sat there with that cold tea and looked me in the eye and told me you didn't know what I was talking about.
Do you have any idea what that tells me?
It tells me you think you can play games with the man keeping you safe.
It tells me I haven't been nearly firm enough with you if you think you can look me in the eye and lie to get what you want. "
Kelsey’s eyes went wide, tears spilling over. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to, Daddy, I just panicked."
"Panic isn't an excuse for a lack of trust, Kelsey. If you lie about a laptop, you’ll lie about your health. You’ll lie about your safety.
And I’m not going to let you go back to the little girl I found shaking in a corner because she thought she had to fix the whole world by herself.
If I have to beat the honesty back into you, I will. "
He raised the tawse, the leather whistling through the air before it landed across her thighs. The sound was a dull thwack, and the sensation was a deep, thudding heat that made Kelsey’s entire body jerk.
"That’s for the work," he said.
Thwack.
"That’s for the lie."
Thwack.
"And that," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "is for thinking for one second that your business is more important than my word."
Kelsey was sobbing now, her hands clutching the edges of the table, her head tossed back. The cold wood beneath her and the fire on her skin were creating a sensory overload.
"The thighs were for the work you did behind my back," he murmured, his voice as smooth and cold as a sheet of ice. "Now, we’re going to address the fact that you thought you could hide it."
Harrison stepped closer, the weight of his presence alone forcing her to still.
He reached down, his large hands certain and strong as they hooked under her hips.
With a smooth, effortless strength, he guided her body into position, urging her torso down until her cheek was resting against the cool, dark wood of the table and her hips were elevated.
"Hands on the edge, little girl," he directed, his voice low and incredibly firm. It wasn't cruel, but it possessed a gravity that left no room for hesitation. "Grip the wood. If you let go, the count starts over."
Kelsey’s fingers scrambled for the carved underside of the table, her breath hitching as she felt the vulnerability of being bared and braced in the center of the room.
She was trembling, the fire in her thighs already beginning to throb, but the weight of Harrison’s hand on the small of her back kept her grounded.