35. Mrs. Knight
T he house was silent in the dead of night, but my mind was anything but still. I sat in my study at my estate, the dim glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows against the walls lined with framed memories and degrees. I had built an empire, raised a dynasty, and ensured that my bloodline remained strong. But tonight, my focus was on unfinished business—Kita and the child she carried.
I swirled the dark liquor in my glass, letting the warmth settle in my chest as I stared out into the night. Everything I had done had been for the sake of this family. Even when my choices were wrong, even when they cost me pieces of my soul, even when I started going to take Damian food and water and then suddenly quit.
And this… this was no different.
I got up and left my office. I then walked down the hidden corridor, the marble floors echoing beneath my Prada heels. The door to the room was guarded, as it had been for months. When I stepped inside, the air was thick with desperation and pain.
Kita was drenched in sweat, her face contorted in agony as she gripped the sheets beneath her. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room. Our family’s midwife kneeled at the end of the bed, calmly instructing her through the labor. The nanny stood by, ready to take the baby as soon as he arrived.
The moment Kita saw me, she gasped through the pain, her eyes wild with terror and pleading.
“Please, Mrs. Knight,” she sobbed. “Let me live. I’ve changed. I’m not the same person. I just want to be a mother. Please.”
I stood by, my posture straight, my expression unreadable. The only sound was the midwife’s steady encouragement and Kita’s heavy breathing. I let her beg. Let her break apart in front of me.
When I finally spoke, my voice was deliberate. “You think because I cared for you while you were pregnant and you’re carrying my blood absolves you of your betrayal? You think I’ve forgotten what you did to my son? You betrayed him in the worst way.”
Tears streamed down her face, but I didn’t move. “I was on drugs, and I wasn’t thinking clearly then. I just want to live for my baby.”
“You’re not begging for your life, Kita,” I said smoothly. “You’re begging for forgiveness. And forgiveness is something I do not give lightly.”
She cried harder, another contraction ripping through her body. She screamed, her hands trembling as she pushed. The midwife worked swiftly, and within moments, a sharp cry pierced the air.
Another baby boy.
After the midwife cut his cord, she held him up, his little arms flailing, his voice strong. But before Kita could reach for him, the nanny stepped forward, wrapping him in a soft white blanket and taking him away so he could get cleaned up and fed. She quickly left the room with the baby.
“No… no, please,” Kita gasped, her body still shaking. “Please let me hold him. Just for a second. Please, Mrs. Knight. He’s mine!”
I took slow steps forward, standing beside the bed, looking down at her with icy detachment.
“He’s not yours,” I said simply. “He’s mine now. You were a vessel, nothing more. You lost the right to be his mother the moment you betrayed this family.”
Kita let out a strangled sob, her entire body racked with grief, but I remained unmoved.
The door opened, and the sound of slow, steady footsteps filled the room. Kita’s breathing hitched.
Damier.
His presence was commanding as he stepped inside, dressed in an all-black sweatsuit with his hoodie over his head, his face unreadable. His eyes flickered to Kita, then to me. I nodded once.
My job here was done.
I turned on my heel and left the room with the midwife, closing the door behind me.
I stood outside in the dimly lit hallway, listening.
Kita’s voice cracked as she pleaded. “Damier, please! I can change! I can be better! Please don’t do this! I want to be a mother!”
No words were spoken from Damier. Two gunshots rang out, loud and final.
Silence followed.
The door opened again, and Damier stepped out, his face blank. He met my gaze and nodded once before walking down the hall that led to the back garage.
I exhaled softly, the weight of it settling into my bones.
I walked back into the room, where the nurse I hired now held the baby, making sure he was healthy. The cries of the child filled the space, but to me, they were a reminder—he was all that remained of Damian.
I stepped closer, reaching out to take my grandson into my arms. He was small but strong. His tiny fingers curled around mine, his dark eyes staring up at me like every other Knight man. They always came out of their mother alert and ready for the world. I traced a gentle finger over his soft cheek.
“You’re all that’s left of your father,” I whispered, my voice softer than it had been all night. “I’ll make sure you grow up wiser, better than he was. You’ll carry your father’s name, but I pray you never carry his darkness.”
The nanny stepped forward. “What should we do now, ma’am?”
I straightened, my cold demeanor returning. “Keep him in his nursery. Make sure he has everything he needs. From this moment on, he is my responsibility. I’ll be back in a few. I need a moment to think.”
I walked down the halls of the estate, back to my study, where my glass of liquor waited. Sitting down, I swirled the amber liquid once more before taking a slow sip.
The weight of the night pressed against me.
Losing Damian. Gaining a grandson. Making brutal choices that kept this family intact.
I had done what needed to be done, and I would continue to do so, even in my retirement.
Rising from my seat forty minutes later, I walked back to the nursery where my grandson lay sleeping peacefully in a blue onesie, beanie, and socks. I stood there for a long time, watching over him.
“I am going to name you Darius Damian Knight. I always said if I had another boy after your father and uncle, I would name him that,” I said lowly.
He was a part of the future boys of the Knight family, and I would be there for them, even after death.