A towel draped over her shoulders, its weight both unfamiliar and oddly comforting. She stiffened, her breath catching. The scent curled around her—musky, rich. Familiar. A spark of hope ignited in her chest. Just like in the movies, he was back.
She exhaled sharply.
He regretted it.
With how soft his hold was on her, she concluded it was his way of showing remorse.
"You shouldn't be outside dripping wet."
Her brows knotted together, and her lips parted slightly, as if forming a question she wasn't sure she wanted to ask.
This isn't Jamal. That wasn't his voice.
Erica pulled the hand away from her shoulders, her jaw dropping at the figure in front of her.
"Mr. Knight?" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to hold back the rest of her words.
It was true. The rumors were true. Jamal had a stepbrother. His pictures had once been leaked to the public, and the Jackson family denied the hell out of it.
"I guess you're the new bride, huh?" he asked, his voice thick and deep.
Erica nodded, scared that she might piss him off. He looked just like Jamal. The only difference was the tattoos covering his arms and the blonde waves in his hair.
Tattoos, waves?
Her mind went hazy as she tried to remember where she had seen them before. She rubbed her temples as the visions came in blurry.
It was last night, after the wedding. The tattoo had...
"Is something wrong?" Knight asked, his gaze intent on her as he pulled down the arm of his sleeve, noticing her staring.
"No... no, it's just that... um... is this our first time meeting?"
Knight was taken aback but wasted no time in nodding.
"Of course. Unless you dreamt about me," he added casually, catching her gaze on his sleeve where the tattoo was.
"Uh, okay. I guess I was mistaken." She chuckled, and he smiled.
"Welcome," he said. Taking her hand softly, he brought it to his lips and planted a soft kiss. Erica was lost in his blue eyes—it was like the world had stopped for a moment.
"Name?" he asked, exposing a set of white teeth.
"Erica," she whispered politely, and he smiled.
"Pretty name."
The door opened, and Jamal walked out, looking flawless as hell. His plain black shirt and pants fit him like they were tailored just for him. He hadn't packed or styled his hair; it fell loosely over his shoulders, with droplets of water slipping from the strands.
The sight of him stole her breath. His shirt clung to his broad frame, his damp hair falling over his forehead. Then his gaze dropped—to her hand in Knight's. His jaw clenched. The air grew heavy. Heart pounding, Erica yanked her hand away like she had touched fire, but he didn't see it with how fast he turned and left.
Knight smirked, leaning closer. "You look like a wife caught cheating."
Erica managed to chuckle, not sure if she was allowed to.
"Don't worry, that's how he is to everyone. You'll get used to it. But for now, you need to loosen up, especially around me."
Erica nodded again, unsure of how to respond. With how she gripped the towel, he knew she was freezing.
"Vanessa!" Knight's voice boomed through the hallway, making her flinch.
Vanessa appeared, dressed in a short pleated skirt, barely enough to cover her ass. Her cropped top had a V-neck, low enough to expose her cleavage and part of her nipples. Pretending to be in a hurry, she jogged just enough for her boobs to bounce. Without Erica noticing, Knight licked his lips.
"Yes, Master," she purred, stopping beside them and completely ignoring Erica.
"Take her to her room," Knight said, and Vanessa stifled a laugh.
"Does Mr. Jamal not want her in there?" she asked, gesturing to Jamal's room. Knight's stern look froze her in place.
"We don't have a room for her, sir. We'll have to ask Madame."
Knight nodded.
"Fine. Go to my room and get her something to wear. Something free."
Vanessa flashed him a questioning look, and he nodded before she left.
"Wouldn't that be a problem?" Erica asked, and he shook his head in disapproval.
"You see Vanessa?" he asked, and Erica nodded. "Jamal makes her dress like that. If you ask me, he'll want you to dress the same way. So there's no need. I know you wouldn't want that."
Erica masked her shock and instead nodded, mumbling a thank you as she stared down at her feet.
"I'll catch you downstairs," he whispered, very close to her ear before leaving. A bead of sweat formed on her face.
"Help me, God," she whispered, and before she could open her eyes, Vanessa threw a stack of clothes at her.
"Change in the kitchen, gold-digger," she hissed before leaving.
Erica, left with no choice, took the clothes and headed to the kitchen. She wasn't sure where she was going, but luck shone on her, and she found her way straight to the kitchen.
In less than five minutes, she was out, looking buried in the clothes. The sleeves were too long, and the trousers even worse. She had no option but to fold them. Satisfied with her look, she went downstairs.
The parlor design was mouthwatering, screaming luxury. From the massive chandelier casting a warm glow—despite how unwelcoming the inhabitants were—to the velvet-upholstered furniture surrounding a hidden fireplace.
It looked different from how it had been the first day she came.
Erica wasn't done admiring the beauty when she noticed ten eyes bulging at her. She gulped nothing and dragged the joggers up before sitting in the empty chair between Jamal and Knight.
"Took you more than thirty minutes," Mrs. Selena sneered, and Erica bent her head low in silent apology. Luckily, Selena only rolled her eyes afterward.
"Has she signed it off?" a frail voice echoed from the head of the table, and Jamal nodded.
"When are we getting started? We've waited long enough. A resort shouldn't be that hard. We have companies all over the world."
Resort.
It echoed in Erica's ears. Her father had once talked about it—he came home depressed that day.
Her eyes shot upward, searching for the voice. It belonged to someone she knew well—Pa, Jamal's grandfather. The owner of the Jackson Empire.
Before their gazes could meet, she looked away, staring at her empty plate instead. Her tears fell, a slow drop landing on the plate. Thankfully, no one noticed.
"Father was right," she thought, gripping her fork tighter. The whole family was eating—except her. Mr. Michael, Jamal's father, stole glances at her, while Jamal could only tighten his grip on his fork, holding back his anger.
"Is there—"
"Meet me upstairs," Jamal bellowed.
Erica gulped hard and watched as he stood and walked up the stairs. With one last look at Knight, she followed.