Page 139 of Jett

Zach chuckles, raising his glass. “She looks pretty good to me.” Paul ignores them, his focus razor-sharp as he turns to me. “I trust you’ll be making the right decision, Jett.”

I grip my glass tighter, my jaw clenching. “Oh, trust me, I will.”

CARI

I step out of the taxi and my breath catches.

Paul Knight lives here. I know because I saw a photo of him in a magazine on Jett’s desk. He had a smug smile and this building in the background.

Towering above me is a shimmering, glass monolith that seems to touch the sky. Its sleek, reflective facade gleams under the city lights, projecting opulence, exclusivity, and everything that screams obscene wealth. It’s the pinnacle of luxury, and home to billionaires and titans of industry. It’s no surprise Paul Knight would live here. He’s the kind of man who wouldn’t settle for less than the best—or, more accurately, what he deems the best.

Tonight is a Knight family dinner. The other assistants mentioned it and when Jett handed me the address, my stomach churned. It’s no coincidence that I’m here. Jett asked me to trust him, and I do. With all my heart, but still, the knot in my stomach tightens as I approach the entrance.

What has he got up his sleeve?

I know what these dinners are like. I’ve never come here, but some of the other assistants have been called in on occasion to take notes. I’ve heard that these family dinners are already a minefield on a good day, and after everything that’s happened, my insides fill with dread. I’m so tempted to run, but I can’t. I won’t. For Jett’s sake.

The concierge greets me with a sharp nod as I approach the revolving doors. He’s impeccably dressed, every button of his uniform polished to perfection.

“I’m here for the penthouse,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I clutch my bag tighter.

His polite smile barely shifts. “Of course. Penthouse residents only.” He presses a button, summoning a private elevator. As I step inside, the gold paneling gleams and plush carpet swallows me up. My anxiety coils tighter with every floor we ascend.

The elevator doors open directly into the penthouse and the space before me takes my breath away.

Marble floors stretch out like a canvas, shimmering under the glow of a massive chandelier dripping with crystals. The windows offer an unobstructed view of the city, the lights below twinkling like stars. Every detail screams wealth, from the grand piano in the corner to the sleek, contemporary furniture perfectly arranged for an artful, yet lived-in feel.

A woman steps into view, dressed in a fitted black dress, her hair swept into a sleek bun. She’s regal, poised. For a moment, I wonder if she’s one of Paul Knight’s girlfriends, but her practiced smile and deferential tone give her away.

“This way, madam,” she says, gesturing with a graceful wave of her arm. I follow her, my heels clicking against the marble. This feels like walking into a trap. Blindfolded. I don’t know what lies before me, but my anxiety is off the charts. My heart beating as if I’ve run ten miles, the blood coursing through my veins, my mouth dry. We turn the corner, and what looks like a dining room comes into view. There is a buzz of low voices. It feels like I’m walking into the Colosseum in Rome, only I don’t feel like a gladiator. I’m more like a mouse.

Sleek lilies in expensive-looking vases sit atop a long table. It’s dressed in white linen, and resting on it are long-stemmed glasses, silverware, and what’s likely the best fine China money can buy. One of the largest chandeliers I’ve ever seen—obscenely oversized and shimmering like flawless diamonds—is suspended above. The chairs look plush, a mixture of velvet and wood.

Seated around the table are the Knight men.

Jett is on one side, flanked by Dex and Zach. Across from them sit the three Italian Knights—handsome, dark-haired, olive-skinned, with sharp suits and sharper eyes. They look at me like I’m a runway model they’re deciding how to approach.

At the head of the table is Paul Knight, his expression unreadable, though the faint tightening of his jaw suggests he wasn’t expecting me.

Every head turns toward me, the room falls into an expectant silence. Jett rises immediately. He crosses the room in quick strides and offers me his hand, and I take it like the lifeline that it is. His touch grounds me in the storm.

“Cari,” he says, his voice steady but loud enough to carry across the room. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“What is this?” Paul Knight’s voice cuts through the room, cold and sharp.

Jett ignores him, standing beside me as he takes my hand. “This,” he says, his voice steady and commanding, “is me taking control of my life. Of my future.”

“You’re making a mistake,” his father growls, his voice full of venom.

Jett squeezes my hand reassuringly. “The mistake would be letting you dictate who I can and can’t love. The mistake would be walking away from the one person who understands me better than anyone else in this room.”

The silence is deafening.

His father’s gaze hardens, his fury barely contained. “This is not how we do things.”

“It’s how I do things,” Jett counters. “And if that means throwing your plans into disarray, so be it.”

He offers me his hand. “You don’t belong in my world, Cari. Youaremy world.” He looks at his father, before turning back to me. “This is the woman I love.”

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