Page 130 of Jett

“They’re the same as you, by the way,” he says, nonplussed. “You’re a half-Knight yourself, given that your family name and bloodline come through me.”

This cunning son of a bitch is trying to rile me up. “At least you were married to my mother, even though you were a terrible husband,” I throw back.

My father’s face hardens, giving me extreme satisfaction that I’ve hit him hard. “Which is probably why you think an arranged marriage can work. You think I can marry someone for their wealth and it will be fine.”

My father’s face darkens, but he says nothing. The silence is heavy, charged with the reminder of the fractured family he’s built. “I’m disappointed in you, Jett.” His tone makes him sound almost bored. But his words don’t sting like they used to.

“I’ve been disappointed in you my entire life,” I fire back, managing not to raise my voice. No need to escalate this further.

“We have a legacy.” It’s like he’s talking to himself, saying the same old mantra that he’s repeated a thousand times. “A name. Our reputation precedes us. We have a brand and an identity to protect.”

“Spare me the speech.” I stand, buttoning my jacket with deliberate calm. “If that’s all, I have actual business to attend to.”

His eyes follow me as I turn to leave, and I can feel his disapproval like a shadow stretching after me. But I don’t care. I’ve spent my whole life living under it, and it’s done nothing but push me closer to the edge of rebellion.

Let him stew in his disappointment. I have no intention of becoming the pawn he so desperately needs.

I storm past Cari’s office, my mood as dark as a brewing storm.

I knew this was coming—the conversation about the Brazilian heiress and my father’s ridiculous idea of an arranged marriage. The whole thing is a travesty. I’m not interested. I can’t be. My heart is already spoken for, and it belongs to Cari.

I barely sit down in my office, trying to regain some semblance of control, when there’s a knock at the door. Before I can respond, Cari walks in, shutting the door softly behind her.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is filled with genuine concern.

“I am now that you’re here.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I push back my chair and cross the room in a few strides, my hands finding her waist as if they’ve always belonged there.

She leans into me, her hands sliding up my chest and clasping behind my neck. Her touch steadies me, grounds me. “I miss you,” I murmur, tracing her face with my hands. Her skin feels like the softest silk beneath my fingertips and her lips curve into a small smile, her eyes searching mine. “I miss you too.”

“Brooke misses you,” I add, my gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Those lips—I’ve kissed them a hundred times, and every time I see her it’s like falling for her all over again. The freckles dusting her cheeks, her perfect nose, her eyes that always seem to see right through me—everything about her draws me in deeper.

“I miss Brooke.” Her voice softens, her lips parting slightly. “I miss you. I miss everything.” Her words are a mirror to my own longing. “I keep replaying moments from Bermuda, over and over. It feels like I didn’t get my fill. I want more and I feel robbed.”

Hearing her words, and the passion in them, seeing her up close, holding her in my arms, I’m done for. I tilt her face up and press my mouth to hers, a quick kiss that quickly ignites into something far more consuming. Her lips are soft, warm, inviting, and I lose myself in her. My hands slide up her back, pulling her closer, her scent taking me back to Bermuda and all the intimate moments we shared.

Her mouth opens to mine, and the kiss deepens. It’s all hunger and fire, a desperate claiming. The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she melts into me—it’s everything I missed, everything I’m not ready to give up. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and I let out a low growl, pouring everything I can’t say into this kiss.

A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.

We spring apart, both of us breathing heavily, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips giving us away. The door swings open, and Dex strides in, his gaze bouncing between us. He stops short, taking in the scene—the tension, the way we look like we’ve just been caught doing exactly what we were.

Dex rakes a hand through his hair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he drawls, his voice heavy with implication.

“I was just grabbing a file.” Cari moves quickly, her voice impossibly smooth as she snatches a folder from my desk. How does she always stay so composed under pressure?

Meanwhile, I just stand there, caught red-handed. My brain scrambling for something—anything—to say. But nothing comes.

Dex chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “Right. A file. Got it.” His smirk deepens as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So, how was Bermuda?”

Cari glances at me, her expression unreadable, but I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. Dex knows. He doesn’t have to say it outright—the look on his face says it all.

“I’ll tell you later,” I snap, hating that he walked in on us.

“Sure.” Dex pushes off the doorframe. “I’ll leave you to … yourfiles.” With a wink, he turns and saunters out, shutting the door behind him.

The silence that follows is heavily charged. Cari grips the folder in her hands like it’s a lifeline, her eyes fixed anywhere but on me.

“We should—” she starts, her voice unsteady.

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