Page 121 of Jett

Paul’s smile tightens, and he sets Brooke back on her feet. “I had business to attend to, actually.” He strolls over to the table and makes himself at home, ruining our evening. Brooke skips back to the swings, blissfully unaware of the dark cloud descending on us.

Gloom settles over the table like another uninvited guest. I glance at Jett. His face is filled with anger layered with frustration, but something heavy lurks beneath the surface. His shoulders are tense, his hands curled into fists on the table. He looks like a man robbed of the last fragile moments of peace he was clinging to.

“How long are you staying?” Jett asks.

“A couple of days.” Paul casually reaches for the bowl of fruit on the table. He pulls off a cluster of grapes, popping one into his mouth with the air of a man entirely at ease. “No work today?” he asks. His tone is light, but the jab is unmistakable.

My hands are shaking, so I fold them on my lap. My stomach is a jumble of nerves and anxiety, because Paul is like the harbinger of doom. Nothing good ever comes from him being around.

And now he's here. In paradise, throwing a sharpened machete into our dream trip. Our last few days together.

Jett’s jaw ticks and I know he’s even more annoyed by this interruption than I am. “I just came back from Florida. I’m taking time for myself—and for Brooke. We’ve been having fun.”

Paul waves at Brooke again, beckoning her over. She skips to his side, and he hands her a small bunch of grapes. “Have you had fun, sweetheart?”

Brooke beams. “Yes! Daddy and Cari have been so much fun!” She darts back to the swings, giggling.

The mention of my name makes my stomach flip. I hold my breath, praying Brooke doesn’t accidentally let something slip—like walking in on me and Jett in bed. My face burns at the memory.

Paul leans back in his chair, his eyes flicking between me and Jett. “You seem …relaxed.”

“Imagine that.” Jett replies coldly. “Spending time with my daughter does wonders for my mood.”

“And your other responsibilities?” Paul presses. “The family business doesn’t take vacations, Jett.”

“I just spent four days fixing a problem in Florida,” Jett snaps, his voice low and simmering with anger. “I’ve earned a few days off.”

Paul’s expression doesn’t change, but his silence speaks volumes. He’s not impressed. He never is.

I sit perfectly still, trying to disappear into my chair. The tension between them is suffocating, and I’m terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing.

Jett stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone patio. “Cari, why don’t you take Brooke upstairs?”

I nod quickly, grateful for the escape, but I’m worried for Jett. I want to take Brooke out of here, but a part of me wants to stay to offer Jett support. He needs to know that he isn’t alone, that I’m there by his side. I’m so torn.

“Come on, Brooke,” I call. She skips over, and I grab her hand, leading her toward the house. “Let’s go play in your tent.”

I glance back at Jett as we walk away. His back is to me, his shoulders rigid as he faces his father. The peaceful evening we were supposed to have—our plans for the island, the quiet joy of just being alone together—feels like it’s been ripped apart.

Paul Knight has ruined everything. Again.

Chapter 44

JETT

We all turn in early tonight, though sleep feels like an impossible luxury.

Cari drifted off hours ago with Brooke, leaving me alone in the dark with my thoughts. I should go to Brooke’s room to say goodnight, but the thought of running into my father again is enough to keep me rooted here. The man has an uncanny ability to ruin everything.

He knows. I can feel it. He didn’t justhappento stop by. Paul Knight doesn’t operate on coincidence. He thrives on control. The pretense of him passing through on business is laughable.

This is about me. About checking up on me. About me ignoring him. There’s possibly some business-related issue tied to this—maybe about the Brazilian heiress. The old man seems to be in a hurry to get that deal done.

I should have protected this little slice of paradise here in Bermuda, but I made a mistake in canceling our scheduled calls. Pushing him off with vague excuses. Pretending he wouldn’t notice when I stepped back to focus on Brooke and Cari. I should’ve known better. Now he’s here, looming over what should have been our perfect escape—the island getaway. Three perfect days of quiet, of being with Cari and Brooke, away from the world and its relentless demands. Now it’s gone. Crushed by my father’s intrusion.

Cari’s face when Paul arrived—she looked heartbroken. I saw the way she folded into herself, trying to seem smaller. Less visible. And Brooke? She’s thrilled to see her grandfather, as if he’s Santa Claus instead of the man who measures affection in dollars and leverage. She doesn’t know better, and I hate that one day she’ll realize the truth.

Thank God we kept the trip a secret. If Brooke had blurted it out, Paul would’ve pounced, and that would’ve been the end of it. Just like that morning Brooke found us in bed together. Fully clothed, thank God, but still. Too close.

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