Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Isla
The city rushes past in a blur of color and sound.
Streetlights flash like strobes against the dark, streaking across my visor until everything becomes light and motion.
Wind claws at my body, cold and relentless, stealing my breath every time I try to take one.
All I can feel is the vibration of the engine and him—the solid strength of Knox’s hard body beneath my fingers. Solid muscles flex with every shift of the gears, every surge forward.
The city lights whip past in streaks of gold and white, melting into the night until they become a single, endless ribbon behind us.
The skyline fades. The glass and concrete towers give way to low buildings, then to dark stretches of road lined with trees and the occasional gas station glowing like an oasis in the dark.
The constant roar of traffic softens until it’s only us.
Somewhere past midnight, the air changes, becoming saltier and colder, edged with the faint scent of the sea.
The roads widen and the darkness softens, then a sign flashes by: Welcome to the Hamptons.
We must have been on the road for two hours, maybe more.
Now we’re here.
My body aches, my fingers stiff from gripping Knox too tightly, my legs trembling from the vibration of the ride.
The motorcycle slows as the highway narrows, the engine softening to a low growl. The sudden silence feels unnatural, like the world has been holding its breath.
We turn off the main road, and the scenery gives way to glimpses of sprawling properties with houses so big they look like they belong in movies.
My stomach knots tighter with every mile.
Another turn, and a tall, black gate looms ahead, guarded by stone pillars and a discreet security camera that flashes once as we pull up. The gates swing open without Knox lifting a finger.
I realize this is his place. My new home.
We ride through the gates and follow a long, winding driveway framed by whispering trees and hedges trimmed with surgical precision. The driveway curves through the darkness, leading toward a pale shape in the distance—his house.
It’s a sprawling estate of glass and stone, modern and impossible, rising out of the dark like it doesn’t belong to the same world as mine.
When the bike finally stops, the world tilts around me. My legs feel boneless, my body still humming from the speed of the motorcycle.
I’m dazed from the bike ride, but I glance around, trying to get my bearings in this impossibly grand space.
The house in front of us looks nothing like the world we left behind. I wish I could act like I wasn’t impressed, but I can’t even try. I feel like I just stepped into a dream.
“This is where you live?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He pulls off his shades, places them back in his pocket, then looks at me. “Yes. This is home. You like it?”
I don’t want to like anything, so I say, “It’s nice.”
With a deep chuckle, he gets off the bike and helps me off, but the moment my feet touch the ground, it sways beneath me.
Knox steadies me before I stumble, one hand curling around my waist. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m fine.” I swat his hands away, but he still lingers, steadying me before finally letting go.
With a roll of his eyes, he turns back toward the house. “Follow me.”
I take a shaky step after him, my shoes crunching over the gravel path.
The house looms larger with every stride, its walls of glass reflecting the moonlight.
Everything about this place screams control. His control.
We walk up a set of wide stone steps that lead to an oversized door of dark wood and glass. The brass handles gleam under the porch lights, polished to perfection.
He opens the door, and it swings wide.
I follow him inside, where I’m further impressed by the décor.
White marble floors gleam beneath a chandelier, twin staircases curve up to a balcony lined with gold railings, and the walls are lined with paintings.
For a moment, my mind freezes, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to awe. Especially when I take in the paintings of vibrant landscapes. They’re similar to the ones I love to create. Only my version skews darker. More gothic. More… me.
“This way.” Knox glances back at me over his shoulder when my steps slow.
He motions toward the stairs. We take them up to a landing, a wide, open space that looks more like something out of a grand hotel than a private home. It feels surreal to be walking through all this perfection.
Knox moves ahead of me down a long hallway lined with identical doors. The marble floors gleam under soft light, and the air is so still it almost hums.
The sound of our footsteps echoes, steady and controlled. At the end of the corridor, Knox stops and opens a door carved with deep grooves that catch the light. He holds it for me, stepping aside in that effortless way that somehow feels more like command than courtesy.
I glance up at him once before I step inside the room.
That scent of cedar hits me immediately. It fills the room, familiar and overwhelming all at once.
Like everything I’ve seen so far, the bedroom is styled to perfection in deep navy and warm beige. It’s elegant, masculine, and unmistakably Knox.
A king-size bed dominates the center of the room, framed by walnut furniture polished to a soft sheen.
To the left, an archway opens onto glass doors that lead to a balcony, the kind you’d expect in a presidential suite at the Hilton.
The comparison hits me again. Everything about this place feels more like a luxury hotel than a home.
To my right, shelves of old leather-bound books break up the smooth flow of the silk wallpaper. I almost get lost in the symmetry of it all, until a soft click behind me snaps me back to reality.
I whirl around. Knox stands by the closed door, the sound of the latch still echoing in my ears.
He moves toward the nightstand without looking at me and taps away at the buttons on the phone, checking for messages
I raise a brow, glaring at him, because surely, he can see what’s wrong with this picture.
This is clearly his room. It looks like him, smells like him, is him. And he’s acting like it’s perfectly fine for us to be in here together.
“Knox.”
He ignores me.
“This is your room.” Heat crawls up my throat at the implication.
“For the next six months, it will be our room.” He sounds as calm as if we’re discussing the weather.
Meanwhile, my stomach drops straight through the floor and keeps going. Right into hell. “No way. No fucking way.”
He finally looks up, staring at me with narrowed eyes as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “Yes way.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
I throw my hands up, pacing a few steps across the pristine floor. “There are at least ten other rooms in this house, and you expect me to sleep here? With you?”
His lips quirk into a menacing grin. “You’ll survive.”
“Survive?” My voice pitches higher. “You think this is some kind of joke?”
He studies me quietly with that cool, unreadable expression only he can pull off. “If it helps, you can take the left side of the bed.”
Jesus, the audacity of him and that calm, infuriating confidence make me want to throw something at him.
“That’s it. I’m not doing this. No way in hell.”
This whole night has been one goddamn fever dream. I spin on my heel and march toward the door, every step fueled by disbelief and anger. I grab the handle and twist, but Knox moves faster than I can blink. He stops the door from opening, bracing his arm across the frame and caging me in.
“Move,” I snap.
“No.”
My pulse pounds in my throat. “You asshole. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Yes, you did, love.” He leans in, his body a wall of heat and lethal dominance.
“Page eight, clause thirty-two, section two point four—Residential Cohabitation. The contracted party agrees to reside primarily at the principal’s designated residence for the duration of the contractual term…
including shared quarters as reasonably determined by the principal. ”
I blink at him, stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He’s not. Not even a little. But surely, he can’t actually expect me to crawl into that bed with him and act like that’s normal.
“This is way beyond reasonable.” I fold my arms, trying to anchor myself to something sane.
“We’re getting married. Married people share a bed.”
“We’re not married yet.” My voice spikes, thin with disbelief, the words tripping over the panic building in my chest.
“A mere technicality.” His mouth curves, not quite a smile, something darker. “You’re going to be my wife. Start getting used to the role.”
Heat simmers up my neck, every nerve sparking with fury. “You are unbelievable.”
He gives a small shrug. “Call it a trial run. My new staff already talk too much. If they see us in separate rooms, it’ll start rumors I don’t have time to deal with.”
“But it’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to share a bed with you. I’m not one of your women.”
“You’re not supposed to be.” His expression hardens, menace flickering across his face. “This is about what works. So, that’s what we’re doing.”
“But—”
He cuts me off by pressing a finger to my lips. The look he gives me is firm and searing, enough to drain the fight right out of me. In that moment, I remember exactly who holds the power here and how easily I could lose everything if I don’t shut the hell up.
Knox studies me for a long moment, his finger still lingering just enough to make my pulse stumble. Then he lowers his hand, exhaling slowly through his nose.
“I need less of this.” His voice is low but sharp enough to cut. “This talking back thing you do. It won’t work with me. Especially when I’m tired and pissed as fuck I had to drive two hours out of my way to pick you up.”
The words land heavier than they should. Maybe it’s the exhaustion in his voice or the way he says pick you up, like I’m a problem he had to solve. Either way, I swallow the retort forming on my tongue.
“It’s almost two in the morning,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We need to go to bed. Now.”
His gaze never wavers as he steps back, giving me just enough space to breathe but not enough to escape. Then he motions toward the bed.
For a long moment, I just stare at him. My throat tightens, words sitting on the edge of my tongue that I don’t dare say. Because I know what’s at stake. So, I swallow them down and walk toward the bed, hating myself for how helpless I feel.
Behind me, Knox exhales, deep and measured, like he’s forcing himself to stay patient.
I move to the left side of the bed; he goes to the right.
When he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a sculpted, muscular torso, a flock of swallows inked along his hip and a dark happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants, I look away.
But not before my treacherous brain registers — against my will — that for all his arrogance, Knox Vale is insanely gorgeous. Unfairly beautiful. And somehow that makes this entire situation worse.
Heat floods my face before I can stop it, my pulse kicking hard against my ribs.
While he strips down to his boxers, unveiling even more of what Mia called his ex-linebacker muscles, I take off my shoes, his jacket, and my yoga pants.
I keep my shirt on and try to wriggle out of my bra beneath it, fumbling like an idiot.
I usually sleep naked, but this is the closest I’ll get to that tonight.
He climbs into bed and fixes his gaze on me. When I glance up, he doesn’t bother to look away. The nerve of him.
My hands go still, the back of my neck prickling with heat.
I grab the nearest blanket just to have something between us, pretending I don’t feel the weight of his eyes tracking every move.
“Think the blanket can protect you from me?” There’s a smile in his voice.
“You will not touch me. Not even a little bit.” Finally, I look at him, and he holds up his hands.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a boy scout.”
He grins. “I’m saying it all the same.”
With a roll of my eyes, I climb onto the bed as carefully as if it might explode.
The sheets are cool against my skin, soft in a way that screams money and comfort.
It’s been years since I felt anything close to comfort.
My old bed had springs popping out of the side of the mattress and was so old it squeaked.
I lie rigidly on my side, facing away from him, every muscle locked tight.
The mattress dips behind me as Knox shifts closer. The heat of his breath grazes my skin. “See? You survived.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Not yet, love. Not yet.”
Those words linger in the dark, curling through the silence like smoke. I try to breathe evenly, to pretend he isn’t there, but every nerve in my body is acutely aware of him. His presence, his warmth, his power.
I tell myself that if I stay perfectly still, maybe I’ll forget he’s here.
But the truth hums beneath my skin: Knox Vale is impossible to forget. And this is only the beginning.