The preliminary terms and conditions of this contract are as follows:
- We will be married six weeks from the date of this contract, and you will adhere to all the rules and stipulations listed in section G. In order for this contract to be satisfied in full, we must remain married for a minimum of six months from the date of the wedding.
- Once this contract has been signed, 90% of the ownership of Sunset Cove will be mine with immediate effect, and you will retain 10%. As I will own the ruling shares and ownership rights, I will be able to do as I see fit with the resort without the need to consult you.
- Upon receipt of the signed contract, I will provide your father, William Wright, with all the funds he requires for his business and any debts owed.
- You are required to move into my home by no later than Tuesday the 14th of June. You are also required to attend all functions and social gatherings I request of you.
- Your discretion for our business arrangement is required at all times. Any contact with the press or other streams of media will result in the immediate termination of this contract, along with a recovery of financial gains allocated to you or your father.
- You are required to fulfill ALL the activities I require in your role as my fiancée during our engagement, and my wife following our marriage. Any activities deemed inappropriate, will also result in the immediate termination of this contract. These include but are not limited to fraternizing or engaging in sexual activities with other men.
Blah, blah, blah…
There are ten more terms like that, followed by sections A-G, which list all
sorts of shit to do with my new life and my new normal for the next seven and a half months.
I’ve read the contract several times since it was given to me.
I’m looking at it again now for lack of something better to do as I make my way to Knight’s house. My new home.
I’m sitting in the back of the Maybach Knight sent to collect me at eight a.m. sharp. In front is Ryan, his driver, who I was thankful didn’t try to make small talk with me.
I’m not in the mood. I used my last ounce of energy to tell Madison what happened and all that will be happening. Yesterday, she helped me pack my things and sat with me as I signed the contract. Then she held my hand when I cried after that feeling of helplessness struck my soul.
Madison looked helpless, too, and other than telling me to be strong, there was nothing more she could say. I wouldn’t have known what to tell me either if I were her.
She’ll be coming by to see me at lunchtime. I’ve been counting down the hours since she left yesterday, and honestly, I didn’t want her to leave me. She would have stayed and even gone with me to see Knight if it weren’t her mom’s birthday.
By the time I braved up to see Knight at the Astoria, I was as hollow as a shell.
The only ounce of satisfaction I got was when I slapped him. I don’t care about the repercussions that might come for me down the line. He deserved it.
I had to give myself some compensation for what he did to me at the restaurant.
The way I see it, whatever he stands to gain from getting Sunset Cove is worth him doing all of this—marrying me and paying my father’s debt to save his business.
I’ve been so consumed with everything that I didn’t really think of what Knight would get from Sunset Cove.
Nothing further outside of the information in the contract has been given to me, and I only hope whatever he’s doing won’t interfere with my plans to renovate the place.
We turn down a road I’m familiar with as it leads to Sunset Cove. I was aware Knight lived close by, but I wasn’t sure how close.
I get my answer thirty minutes later when we pull up in front of a black and gold metal gate that is as tall and wide as the one at the White House.
It opens automatically for us, and the car drives through onto a long driveway.
I allow my gaze to slide over the scenery, taking in the tall trees and vast expanse of green, then the sea in the background. A ginormous mansion comes into view. It looks like something you’d imagine in a Jane Austin novel, like Pride and Prejudice, but there’s a gothic edge to the architecture that gives it a darker vibe. Like a lair.
It seems fitting for Knight because I imagine him right at home in the darkest corner of Hell, sitting on his throne with screaming souls all around him.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the house.
We get out and step onto the stone driveway. Ryan begins unloading my suitcases while I continue admiring the scenic grounds. Everything is immaculate and breathtaking. As expected.
The massive wooden front door opens, and a man who reminds me of Lurch from the Adam’s Family steps out. As opposed to the butler’s uniform Lurch is always in, this man is wearing a dark suit with a beige turtleneck jumper beneath.
He has graying sideburns, a stony face, cold gray eyes, and he’s as hench as a Bond villain. I peg him to be in his late fifties or early sixties.
He makes his way down the wide stone steps. When he reaches us, I get an almost smile out of him, and he looks me over with what I’d class as a haughty glare.
What did I expect, though? Definitely not the welcome mat or even a full smile.
I’m guessing from my high, messy bun and the T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing, he can tell I’m nothing like the usual women who probably frequent the place—aka the princess of Monaco or one of Knight’s other groupies.
I’m also sure this man must know the reason I’m here.
“Good morning,” he speaks with a rich English accent. “I’m Claude, Mr. Grayson’s assistant and custodian.”
Assistant and custodian—yes, he definitely knows why I’m here.
“Good morning. I’m Aurora. Pleased to meet you.”
My answer seems to soften his face. “And you. Mr. Grayson won’t be around today, so I’ll be taking care of you.”
“That’s fine.” It’s actually better than okay. At least I’ll have the day away from Knight. It will give me more time to regroup. Being around him is confusing because he had me so fooled at the restaurant.
“Ryan will take care of your luggage while I show you around the house and grounds. Then I’ll take you to your room. The movers should be here by then with the rest of your things.”
“Okay.” Thank God I get a room. That contract was a breath away from telling me I had to share a bed with Knight. Hopefully, this room of mine will be on the furthest side of the house. Somewhere I can wait out the next seven and a half months.
God, every time I think of how long this is all going to take, my insides squeeze as if a vice is wrapping around my internal organs.
I follow Claude when he turns back to walk back up the steps.
He spends the next two hours introducing me to the rest of the staff here and showing me around.
Grayson Manor, as I’ve christened it, has seven bedrooms, three halls you could easily fit a hundred people in, two living rooms, a library that looks like it belongs at Hogwarts, a kitchen suitable for a palace, two garages, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a tennis court, and a sailing yacht docked at the end of the boardwalk.
Oh, and there was a section of the house that Claude referred to as Mr. Grayson’s private quarters. I wasn’t shown that part, but it was between the furthest garage and the swimming pool, and absolutely huge.
I also wasn’t shown the location of Knight’s bedroom.
Of course, being practically told it was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go, made me curious about what Knight could be keeping in his private quarters.
Who would even think to have anything like that in a house this big? There are only three members of staff who live on the grounds—Claude, Denise the head maid, and Belinda the chef.
There are also so many hallways and sections of the house that I’m lost just thinking about it.
I suppose that’s one more mystery to add to Knight Grayson.
Claude finishes the tour by taking me to my room, which is nearly as big as my entire apartment and truly, truly stunning.
The satin wallpaper, wooden furniture, and king-sized bed covered in powder-pink sheets give it the elegance of the presidential suite at some fabulous hotel. But its striking rose gold colors and pewter candlesticks carry the sophistication of something designed for a princess.
Dare I say I love it.
The boxes containing all my belongings are neatly stacked in a corner, as is the luggage I traveled with.
“Denise will prepare some food and come up and get you when your friend arrives,” Claude informs me when I walk over to the long French windows and look at the beautiful balcony. “Do you need anything else?”
I turn back to face him. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”
“If you need anything, you know where to find me, or just dial 0 on the phone. The line will go straight through to me.”
Wow, I’ve never been anywhere where you could do that except in a store or some business office.
“Thanks.”
He leaves, then I’m left alone to my thoughts.
I look around the room once more, and the gravity of everything hits me. I’m out of my depth just for being here, and this—everything about the house and the man I’m supposed to marry is way out of my league.
My father gave me a cushy lifestyle where we traveled to all sorts of fun and fantastic places. But this… this is a whole other sphere of existence where everything screams of not just wealth but power. It’s in everything I see.
Nathan and his family don’t even come close to this. They definitely don’t now.
Feeling like my life is draining again, I lower myself to the bed and take my phone from my purse to check for messages. Sure enough, there’s a message from Madison telling me she’ll be here soon. There’s also one from Dad that came through half an hour ago.
It’s a simple text asking me how I am, but I can almost hear the angst in his words. I message back letting him know I’m okay, so he won’t worry any more than he already is.
I know he feels terrible about what’s happened and has felt so for a long time.
He wouldn’t tell me the extent of his debts and how he continued getting into more debt after Mom died, but I managed to get him to tell me a little more about how it began and what he did to try and save Mom.
He confessed that he literally spent everything. For a man who was already wealthy, that would have been a hell of a lot of money.
Mom had a glioma that the doctors had instantly classified as inoperable due to the high risk of death or serious complications following any attempt at surgery.
With that knowledge, I can just imagine what my father must have done to try and defy fate.
Dad told me that when they’d used up all the options in the States, they traveled to all four corners of the Earth, trying different innovative medical treatments and programs. But nothing worked. The most they got from their attempts was extending Mom’s life by another two years from her diagnosis.
All that time, I thought my parents were off vacationing and living their best lives. But really, Mom was dying, and my parents were both trying to shield me from the truth.
I wish I’d known what was going on. Had I known, I wouldn’t have been so crushed after Mom died when I found out Dad knew all along that she was so sick.
But I’m no stranger to the both of them hiding the truth from me. Mom did it, too.
I didn’t know who my father was until days before my twelfth birthday.
My parents had a summer romance when they were in their late teens.
Back then, Dad was in the Navy. He was serving in the Bahamas, where Mom happened to be vacationing with her sisters. They met and fell in love, but they came from two different worlds. At the end of the summer, Dad sailed off to the Mediterranean, and Mom came back to Florida, not knowing she was pregnant with me.
She raised me by herself, and whenever I asked about my father, she’d make up some story about him living far away. Thank God I was just a child at the time who didn’t question her, but perhaps that was why she made him sound like an angel.
My parents didn’t see each other until eleven years later when my father ran into Mom at the diner she worked in. He was on a business trip and recognized her straight away. I was there eating dinner. I remember him taking one look at me, and I knew he was my father.
It was his eyes. Not just the color but the way he looked at me. Like I belonged to him.
The problem was, at the time, Mom and I lived with Jack, her abusive boyfriend, who would beat the hell out of her and roughed me up every chance he got. Mom wouldn’t leave him because she was scared he would kill us.
On the day of my twelfth birthday, he nearly did. But my father stopped him.
It was like watching a movie where just as the bad guy is about to take his final strike, the hero bursts in and saves the day. That was what my father did.
Jack had beaten my mother senseless with the same baseball bat he used to hit me when I told him not to shout at her. He took out his gun and was just about to shoot us both when my father crashed through the door. That apartment we lived in was so rundown the door flew off its hinges and smashed.
Dad fought Jack and won with a punch that knocked him straight to the ground.
He saved us. Had he been a second later, I wouldn’t be here today.
From that night on, Dad took care of us.
He took us back to New York to live with him, married Mom two days after we landed, and gave us everything we ever wanted, including a new life.
But most of all, he loved us so very much.
And still continues to.
That’s why I’m here, doing this.
It’s my turn to save him.
In the grand scheme of things, giving the next seven and a half months of my life to Knight Grayson is nothing in comparison to all my father has done for me and my mother.
I just hope I survive it and keep my head above water. I’ve never met anyone like Knight before. A beautiful devil with a twisted heart.
People say monsters aren’t born. They’re made.
I wonder…what made him.
