The Fingerprint Lock

The tears were still wet on Chloe's face, but Declan's patience had evaporated. The sight of her weeping did not stir a single ounce of pity in his cold heart. Instead, her crying only fueled the burning rage in his chest.

He lunged forward. His large hands grabbed her by the fabric of her torn clothes. With a rough, merciless heave, he dragged her off the leather sofa. Chloe stumbled, her bare feet scrambling for purchase against the slick hardwood floor, but she was no match for his brute force. He tossed her underneath the heavy oak desk like a discarded ragdoll.

Before she could orient herself, Declan knelt beside her. His fingers worked with practiced speed. He ripped the expensive azure silk tie from around his neck, leaving his collar hanging open. He grabbed her wrists, hauling her arms forward, and bound them tight to the thick wooden table leg. The luxurious silk cut deep into her fragile skin, forming an inescapable knot.

He reached up, snatched a dry cloth rag off the desk, and forcefully stuffed it into her mouth. The rough fabric scraped against her teeth, successfully muffling her frantic, hysterical cries.

Lying trapped on the cold floor, Chloe lashed out. Her survival instincts took over. She kicked her two free legs wildly in his direction, aiming for his knees, his shins, anywhere she could strike. Her heels thumped against the floorboards, but her desperate, thrashing struggles were futile against his overwhelming physical dominance.

Declan looked down at her chaotic attempts to fight back. A dark, mocking smile curved his lips. He casually sidestepped her flailing limbs. Measuring his distance, he drew his foot back and delivered a ruthless, calculated kick to her legs.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through Chloe's calves. She gasped against the rag in her mouth, her body curling inward on instinct. The kick left her temporarily paralyzed, forcing her bruised legs to fall still.

Satisfied that his prey was finally immobilized, Declan straightened his posture. He casually slid his hand into his tailored trousers and pulled out his cell phone. Without sparing her another glance, he dialed his son's number.

Trapped and aching beneath the heavy desk, Chloe glared up at him. Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothes ruined, and her snow-white skin was marked with angry red bruises. Indignation burned in her chest. A string of furious, muffled curses vibrated raw in her throat. In her mind, she was screaming obscenities at him, praying he would get hit by a speeding truck on the highway, swallowed by a massive ocean tsunami, or sucked into a raging tornado.

Her mental curses were abruptly cut short. A composed, eerily calm child's voice resonated clearly from the phone's speaker in the quiet room.

"Daddy!"

Hearing that single, defining word, Chloe instantly fell dead silent. Her bloodshot eyes widened to the size of saucers. She locked her intense gaze directly onto the glowing device in Declan's hand.

Declan noticed the sudden shift in her demeanor. He glanced down, misinterpreting her intense, wide-eyed stare. His shirt collar hung loose after removing his tie, baring the smooth, muscular lines of his neck and collarbone. He assumed she was staring inappropriately at his exposed skin.

His handsome face soured in an instant. Disgust flashed in his dark eyes as he was plunged back into the horrific memories of that fateful night five years ago—the night this very woman had undressed him and pumped him full of drugs. Repulsed, he forced his gaze away from her and returned his full attention to the phone.

Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds.

"If it's nothing important, don’t disturb me. I’m busy," Lachlan's cool, detached voice broke through the silence. The young boy’s tone dripped with an arrogance that perfectly mirrored his father’s.

Declan knew his son's rigid habits too well. He knew the boy was likely engrossed in some complex puzzle or book. Keeping his voice casual, Declan issued a simple order. "Make your own lunch today.”

An immediate, sharp bark came from the speaker. "No way!"

This was followed instantly by a crisp beep, signaling the abrupt end of the call.

Declan stood frozen in place. He stared down at the dark screen of his cell phone, his incredibly handsome face turning dark with frustration. The veins in his forehead throbbed.

In the entire world, only his fiercely arrogant, five-year-old son dared to hang up on him so disrespectfully. Nobody else would survive such insolence. Yet, Declan was powerless against the boy. For the past five years, the noble, all-powerful CEO of the Lancaster empire was practically forced to abandon his corporate duties and rush home punctually every single day just to cook lunch.

This ridiculous, grueling routine existed simply because his prodigy of a son—who suffered from severe OCD and autism—categorically refused to eat anyone else's cooking. Lachlan claimed, stubbornly, that only his father's meals contained the taste of his father's love. Other people's food was deemed tasteless trash. Declan had even tried teaching the genius boy to cook, but Lachlan’s culinary attempts were disastrous, resulting in food so foul that even Lachlan refused to eat it. It took countless arguments for the boy to grudgingly accept meals cooked by his grandparents.

Shoving the cell phone deep into his pocket, Declan stared down at the woman securely tied to the table leg. His resentment boiled anew. She was the root cause of all these daily, exhausting hardships. If she hadn't dumped the boy on him and vanished, his life would not be this chaotic.

He took a deliberate step forward and squatted down right beside her face. He reached out and forcefully yanked the gag from her mouth. His dark eyes were filled with pure malevolence.

"You're in luck," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm going to leave for a while, so you better pray that your Little Lover will hurry up and save your sorry ass. If you’re still here when I return, you can look forward to a horrendous death!”

Chloe’s lungs heaved as she sucked in a desperate breath of air. "You fuc—" she yelled, ready to spit the worst curse imaginable at his face.

Her defiance was ruthlessly cut short. Declan shoved the dirty rag straight back into her mouth, blocking her airway for a brief second.

He stood up, snatched his shiny car keys off the polished pearwood desk, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.

The heavy oak door swung open. Out in the hallway, Chloe could hear his cold voice echoing as he addressed his massive security detail.

"Leave your posts. You can all go downstairs," Declan instructed strictly. "No one on earth can bypass the copper fingerprint lock anyway."

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster," the bodyguards replied in unison.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut. The automated locking mechanism engaged with a heavy, metallic thud.

Left alone in the deafeningly silent room, Chloe's mind raced frantically. She stared at the thick panels of the door. Declan’s arrogant words echoed in her ears. *Fingerprint lock.*

A sudden, brilliant thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her panicked heartbeat steadied as her scientific mind took over. *Are the fingerprints of identical twins exactly the same? If Lachlan's genes are carbon copies of Benji's, could their fingerprints be a match? Could Benji open that door?*

Meanwhile, miles away from the quiet executive lounge, the bustling entrance of Apex Global Hospital was packed with midday traffic. A tiny Didi car pulled up to the curb, its tires squeaking against the hot pavement.

The rear door opened. A small, sharply dressed figure hopped out onto the pavement. He wore a crisp white T-shirt with a bold armor print on the chest, tailored black track pants, and a large black non-woven mask that covered half of his delicate face. In his small hands, he clutched a sleek blue kick scooter.

It was Baby Benji.

Lifting his small wrist, Benji tapped the glowing screen of his high-tech blue smartwatch. He accessed the hidden GPS tracking system he had secretly installed on his mother's phone weeks ago. The screen loaded a detailed satellite map.

The little boy gulped deeply in relief upon seeing the blinking red marked location. The signal was strong. It pinpointed a location right nearby, deep within the colossal building towering in front of him.

He accidentally licked the oversized non-woven mask on his face. The fuzzy fabric scraped his tongue, and his eyes immediately crinkled in disgust.

Gripping the rubber handles of his scooter, Benji pushed off the pavement and began navigating the majestic, luxurious marble corridors of the hospital outpatient hall. The place looked more like a royal palace than a medical facility.

As his small sneakers squeaked against the polished stone, he pondered deeply over the situation. His bright mind raced with questions. Who was the incredibly wealthy and powerful jerk who had dared to kidnap his mommy? Was it a rich kidnapper holding her for ransom? Whoever owned this hospital must be loaded.

Riding his scooter smoothly through the massive glass revolving doors, Benji passed lines of well-dressed patients and busy nurses. He kept his head down, blending into the crowd until he reached the main elevator bank at the center of the lobby.

He hit the brakes on his scooter and stopped. He tilted his head back, staring way up at a towering, intricately gold-painted floor guide fixed to the central marble wall.

The directory was overwhelmingly detailed. Row after row of shiny golden text listed the building's layout. It detailed everything from the standard patient wards on the lower levels, the logistics and service rooms spanning the sixth to eighth floors, all the way up to the supreme VIP lounge near the penthouse on the ninth floor. There were even more departments listed higher up.

Benji read the endless list of text. His small shoulders slumped.

"This place is huge! How am I supposed to find my way around?” the little guy groaned aloud in pure frustration.

He planted his feet on the floor, his tiny brow furrowing in deep concentration as he meticulously scanned the complex, golden map, desperate to figure out his exact target destination.