5. Damier
T he dry heat hit me the second I stepped off the plane. The Santa Ana winds were in full force, carrying the faint, acrid scent of a brush fire in the distance. LA was on fire, and so was the blood in my family. I pulled the hood of my black jogger set over my head, shielding my face from the gritty wind. My Prada sneakers crunched against the asphalt as I made my way to the waiting Maybach. The air felt heavy, just like my mood.
I didn’t want Kita and Damian on my plane. My temper was too volatile for that. One wrong move from either of them, and I might’ve laid them out midair. That wasn’t the plan. Damian didn’t deserve a quick death—not after everything.
The plan was to strip him of any dignity and to remind him who he betrayed in front of the family. He needed to feel the weight of his choices. He needed to squirm.
As I reached the car, King stepped out of his own vehicle, his expression calm but unreadable as always.
“Damian’s at the location,” he said, his tone steady. “Kita’s with your mama.”
I frowned, the mention of my mother sending a ripple of curiosity through me. “With her?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “What’s her angle?”
King smirked, shrugging slightly. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
I grunted, not in the mood for guessing games. King climbed into his car, and I slid into the back of the Maybach. As the driver pulled onto the road, I leaned back, staring out the tinted windows as we wound our way toward the Hollywood Hills.
$$$$$$
The gates to the Knight estate opened with a quiet hum, and the sprawling mansion loomed ahead, its stark white exterior glowing softly under the evening sun. As I stepped out of the car, a faint sound reached my ears—a baby’s cry drifting down from one of the upstairs rooms.
I paused for a moment, listening, but then shook my head and pushed the sound aside. I didn’t have time to worry about whatever was going on upstairs.
Inside, the house smelled like fresh flowers and polished wood, a familiar scent that had greeted me since I was a kid. My footsteps echoed against the marble floors as I made my way through the hallways, my eyes briefly catching the pictures lining the walls.
My mother’s degrees were framed in gold. Her accomplishments were a testament to her brilliance. Next to them were family photos—my siblings and I as kids, my parents on their wedding day. My gaze lingered on one photo of my father, his strong, proud face staring back at me. He’d been gone ten years, but sometimes it felt like yesterday.
I swallowed hard, forcing the memories away as I reached my mother’s study. The door was cracked open, and I stepped inside, finding her seated at her desk, her iMac glowing softly in the dim room.
When she saw me, her face lit up, and she stood, pulling me into a hug. Her lips pressed to my forehead, a gesture she’d never stopped doing, no matter how old I got.
“My son,” she warmly said, stepping back to look me over. “You look tired.”
“I’m ready to handle Damian,” I said, cutting straight to the point. “The sooner he’s dealt with, the sooner I can move on with my life.”
She nodded but held up a hand. “You will, but first, we need to talk.”
The change in her tone made me tense. “What is it?”
She took a deep breath, her expression softening in a way that made my stomach tighten. “There was a baby left at Dream’s job when you left. She called me because there was paperwork showing… it’s yours, Damier.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?”
“The baby’s birth certificate was in the car seat,” she continued, pulling a folded document from her desk. “The mother isn’t listed, which is weird. I called the hospital, and they had no record of the baby. We still need a DNA test to confirm.”
She handed me the paper, and I stared at it, my mind racing. I looked at the baby’s name: Donshay Knight.
“Where’s the baby now?” I asked, my voice low.
“With a nanny I hired.”
She stood and walked to the door, calling for the nanny on a baby monitor. Moments later, a woman stepped in, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. My mother took the baby from her and dismissed the nanny, turning back to me with the infant in her arms.
“Here,” she said softly, holding the baby out to me.
I hesitated for a moment before taking the child. The baby couldn’t have been more than a month old. It’s tiny features scrunched up as it slept.
“Cute kid,” I muttered, my voice flat. “But I need DNA, and the mother needs to be found. I know who I’ve been with in the last year. I’ll figure it out.”
She nodded, her expression unreadable as I handed the baby back to her. But as I let go, a strange feeling settled in my chest. Something about holding the child felt… right. I pushed the thought aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on it. She called the nanny back into the room.
“What about Dream?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “How did she take everything?”
My mother’s face softened. “I had a talk with her. She said she’s standing by you no matter what.”
I exhaled, relief washing over me.
“She’s a strong woman,” my mother continued. “I invited her to brunch with the wives I mentor. I’ve grown fond of her, Damier. She’s not like the others.”
I nodded, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I can’t wait to get back to her. Haven’t thought about her much since I left for Canada. Had to stay focused.”
She smiled knowingly, handing the baby back to the nanny and dismissing her again. Once the door closed, her expression hardened, and I knew the conversation was shifting.
“Now,” she said, her tone all business, “let’s talk about Kita.”
I frowned. “What’s your angle with her? I was ready to hang her and rip that baby out of her.”
“We can’t do that yet ,” my mother bluntly said. “That baby will carry Knight blood, and I refuse to let her poison it. She’ll stay here until the child is born. After that, you can take her head off. That baby will be all I have left of Damian. Maybe I can give that baby a better life.”
I clenched my jaw, my fists tightening. I hated the idea of Kita still breathing, but I understood my mother’s stance. Blood was everything to her.
“Just keep her away from me, or that baby won’t make it,” I finally said.
She nodded, satisfied, and stepped closer, placing a hand on my cheek. “Now, focus on starving Damian. I can’t believe I have to watch one of my sons be tortured, but he made his choice.”
Her words were like ice, and I could see the pain in her eyes even as she said them. We both hated this, but it had to be done.
As we walked out of the study together, I glanced back at the room, my mind swirling with thoughts. The baby, Damian, Dream—it was all tangled together, a web I needed to unravel.
By the time we reached the Maybach, one question lingered in my mind: Who’s the mother of the baby?
I climbed into the car, ready to finish what I’d started.