Yes, Mr Knight. Book 4: Part Two

Name: Yes, Mr Knight. Book 4: Part Two
Author: Natalie Roche

Author

Natalie Roche

Reads

53.8K

Chapters

Author

Natalie Roche

Reads

53.8K

Chapters

😱 Thriller 💰 Billionaires 💪🏻 Protector 🎭 Drama 🏙️ Contemporary 🤑 Billionaires

The end has arrived, and the stakes have never been higher.

In the final instalment of the Knight series, Mason makes a hard choice to keep Jamie safe, distancing himself to lure Eoin into a trap. But when a sudden accident leaves Jamie suspended between life and death, she is forced to choose between fighting for her world or leaving it behind forever.

As the group fractures, a traitor from within threatens to destroy everything Mason has fought to protect. While Carmen weighs whether to tell Jason the truth about his brother, Ethan struggles to keep his addiction from spiraling out of control. With the clock ticking and trust running thin, they must find a way to survive the fallout before the past destroys them all.

Chapter 1: The Bait

JAMIE

The drive from New York had only taken a few hours, but it felt like we had traveled to another planet. We had stopped a few times for greasy fast food and quick bathroom breaks, but mostly we just drove in silence.

By the time the car finally stopped, the sun was long gone. We were far from the city now. The house sat far back from the main road, hidden and alone. Looking out the windows, I couldn’t see a single neighbor or even a streetlamp. It was just us and the dark woods.

Penelope was already fast asleep. The long day had drained her, and she was tucked away in her new bedroom. As I walked through the house, I realized again how much Mason thought of everything. He was a man of total competence.

The house wasn’t just empty rooms; it was completely ready for us. There were soft, fuzzy blankets on the sofa and fresh, clean sheets on the beds. He had even made sure there were tall vases filled with fresh lilies in the hallway. He knew that lilies were my favorite and that they always made me feel calm.

He must have worked so hard to set this up. He probably hired a team of people to make sure this strange house felt like a home for us. But as I looked around at the perfect furniture and the quiet rooms, I knew the truth. This wasn’t a home. It was just a beautiful, temporary cage in the middle of nowhere.

A soft knock at the bedroom door broke my thoughts. Eric stepped inside, carrying the last heavy bag. “That’s the last of it, Mrs. Knight,” he said quietly. He set the suitcase down gently at the foot of my bed.

I had been standing by the large window, staring into the pitch-black woods outside. All I could see in the glass was the reflection of the room behind me. I turned to him and tried to smile, though I felt hollow. “Thank you, Eric. It’s very dark out there. Maybe we can get some outside lights installed tomorrow?”

Eric gave a short nod. “I’ll call someone first thing in the morning.”

He walked out, his boots silent on the heavy carpet. He left the door cracked open just an inch. He knew I hated closed doors at night; I always needed to be able to hear Penelope if she had a nightmare or called out for me.

I walked over to the pile of suitcases on the floor and kneeled down. The carpet was thick and soft under my knees. I looked at the bags and felt a wave of sadness. My whole life had been packed into these few pieces of luggage. “I fucking hate this,” I whispered. My voice was thick with frustration. I felt defeated, like I was running away instead of living my life.

I reached for the small black backpack Mason had handed me during our goodbye. I remembered him saying it was just a few things I might need.

I pulled the zipper open. The first thing I pulled out was the untraceable phone—a small, cold piece of plastic that represented my only link to the world. Then I pulled out thick stacks of cash, held together with rubber bands.

Under the money was a set of keys with a small plastic tag. A tiny piece of paper was taped to it with Mason’s neat, sharp handwriting. It said: Storage Unit, 247.

I reached deeper into the bag, and my fingers brushed against something familiar. It was cold, heavy, and made of metal.

I pulled it out. It was a gun.

The sight of the weapon didn’t shock me. I knew how to use it, and in this world, I was definitely safer having it nearby. Mason always thinks ten steps ahead. He prepares for every single “just in case” problem before it even happens. To him, this gun was just another tool to keep me safe while he wasn’t there to do it himself.

I put the cash, the keys, and the strange phone back into the backpack, hiding them in the small pockets. But I kept the gun out. I needed to find a place for it—somewhere very safe where Penelope would never, ever find it.

I was the best at hide-and-seek when I was a little girl, and I hadn’t lost that skill. I found a spot that was perfect, a place no one would ever think to look.

I finally climbed into bed, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind was full of Mason, the move, and the danger we were hiding from. I knew the next day would be nothing short of chaotic.

Our first big task was a massive grocery run. Ethan came with us, but halfway through the store, I started to regret my decision. I watched him walk through the aisles, and I felt a knot of worry in my stomach, hoping the temptation of seeing shelf after shelf lined with alcohol wouldn’t be too much for him.

When we finally got back to the quiet house, the real work started. We had a mountain of things to unpack—bags of food, piles of clothes, and all our basic supplies. I struggled to fit everything into my bedroom closet. It was so small that I couldn’t even find a place for the few pairs of boots I had brought with me.

By that evening, Penelope was completely worn out. She had asked for a movie night, and Ethan and I made it happen. We had plenty of popcorn and chocolate ready to go. But the sugar didn’t keep her awake for long.

Only fifteen minutes into Hocus Pocus, she was already leaning against me. She pulled a thick, soft blanket up to her chin and fell asleep almost instantly. I could tell the move and the long car ride the day before had finally caught up with her.

Ethan walked into the living room and handed me a mug of hot chamomile tea. The heat from the cup felt amazing against my tired hands. “Thank you,” I whispered, watching him sit down in the armchair right next to the couch. He had a mug of his own too.

“What are you drinking?” I asked, curious.

He looked at me and a quick, familiar little smile flashed across his face. “Not alcohol,” he said before taking a sip. “It’s not like there’s any in this house anyway.”

“I didn’t think it was,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to sound like I was accusing him of anything. “I just know you don’t usually like tea.”

Ethan shrugged, wrapping both of his hands around his mug to stay warm. “I figured it might help me relax. My head is spinning a bit. It’s been a long day.”

I nodded. I knew he was under a lot of pressure, and I knew I needed to be patient while he figured things out. “How do you feel about being out here?” I asked softly. “Is being so far away from everyone as bad as you thought it would be?”

Ethan took a long, slow sip of his tea. He placed the mug carefully on the arm of the chair but kept his fingers wrapped around the handle. “It’s definitely not New York,” he admitted. “Here you have to drive twenty minutes just to see another human being or get a loaf of bread. But that’s probably a good thing for me right now. I don’t need to be anywhere near temptation.”

“You’re doing great, Ethan,” I said, trying to give him some honest encouragement. “I’m proud of you.”

He ran a tired hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. “I don’t know about that,” he muttered. “I’ve messed up so much lately. My relationship is over, and things with Carmen are a disaster. I can’t take back the things I said to her.”

“Carmen knows what you’re going through,” I told him. “You’re here now, and you’re sober. Focus on that for now. You can fix your relationships when the time is right.”

Ethan nodded slowly. “One day at a time.”

One thing at a time, I thought. I was giving him advice to take it slow, but I was the one who really needed to hear it. Every day in this house was going to feel like a month. I couldn’t stop thinking about Mason back in New York, dealing with everything by himself. Being forced to stay away from him was becoming much harder than I ever expected.

I was in bed by eleven, but sleep was impossible. I lay there for what felt like hours, tossing and turning. I tried to get comfortable, but the mattress felt too firm, the pillows were too flat, and the space beside me was empty. It just wasn’t my bed.

It felt wrong to sleep without Mason. I missed the steady heat of his body next to mine and the comfort of his arm resting across my waist. I almost wanted to get out of bed, pick Penelope up from her room, and bring her into my bed just so I wouldn’t feel so alone.

But I knew I shouldn’t. She would be awake all night and cranky in the morning. I had to keep things normal for her, even here.

I turned onto my back and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

My eyes drifted to the large painting on the wall at the end of my bed. Even in the dark, it gave me the creeps. It was a famous, scary picture with a bright red sky that looked like it was bleeding into the dark blue water below.

In the front was a pale, skeletal person standing on a bridge. Their mouth was wide open in a silent scream, and their hands were pressed tightly against their cheeks.

That’s so strange, I thought, narrowing my eyes at it. Mason had put my favorite lilies all over the house to make me feel safe and happy. Why would he hang this—this piece of anxiety—in the one room where I was supposed to sleep?

It didn’t make sense. It felt like a mistake, and it ruined all the other nice things he had done to make this place feel like a home.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The figure in the painting felt like it was watching me, screaming at me from the wall.

I pulled back the heavy sheets and slipped out of bed. My feet sank into the soft carpet. I didn’t know why he liked this painting, but I couldn’t sleep with that thing staring at me.

I walked over to the wall and placed my hands on both sides of the heavy frame. I lifted it slowly, easing it up and off the hook. As I pulled the canvas away from the wall, my breath caught in my throat.

Behind the painting, the wall wasn’t empty. Tucked neatly into the wall was a small, dark safe. It was hidden perfectly by the canvas and had a clean panel of number buttons on the front.

I stood there, frozen. A wave of shock washed over me. He put a safe here? Under the one thing he knew I would want to take down? Suddenly, I understood. The painting wasn’t a mistake; it was a map. Mason hadn’t hung The Scream because he was being mean or thoughtless.

He hung it because he knew I’d hate it. He knew I would eventually take it off the wall, and when I did, I would find this.

It was classic Mason. He didn’t just give me a safe; he made sure I was the only one who would think to look for it. Now, I just had to figure out the code.

MASON

The house was quiet. It was too quiet.

I stood in the center of the master bedroom, the silk of my tie feeling like a noose as I adjusted my cufflinks. Usually, this room was a blur of morning energy—Jamie laughing as she hunted for a lost earring, the sound of the shower running, the soft chaos of a life being lived.

The kitchen was the worst part of all, I thought as I walked down the stairs. There was no cheerful humming while Jamie cooked breakfast, and no smell of fresh coffee or bacon sizzling in a pan. The big island countertop in the middle of the room, which was usually covered in Penelope’s bright drawings and crayons, was now just a slab of polished granite.

Now, they were eating breakfast and drawing pictures somewhere else. They were in a house I had picked out, but it was a house I wasn’t allowed to enter.

My jaw tightened until it ached. I looked away from the empty counter, a low, savage whisper escaping my lips: “I fucking hate this.”

It was pure agony. We were only two days into the separation, and I already felt like I was losing my mind. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to grab my keys, get into the car, and drive until I saw their faces.

I just wanted to see them for a second. But I forced the urge down, burying it deep. I knew I couldn’t risk it. Going to them would be the most selfish thing I could do. Their safety depended entirely on me staying here, acting like everything was normal, and keeping the target on my back and away from theirs. I had to live with the silence, even if it suffocated me.

Stick to the plan.

That internal command was the only thing holding me together.

Jason walked into the kitchen, his boots clicking on the tile. He stopped a few feet away, his face professionally blank and his hands clasped in front of him. He was dressed in a dark suit, looking every bit the security detail I had hired him to be.

“Your car is ready, Mr. Knight,” he said quietly.

I nodded, grabbing my briefcase from the counter. “I’ll meet you out front,” I replied. He gave a short nod, turned on his heel, and walked away. He left me alone for one last moment of silence before I had to go out and play the part of the powerful, unfazed CEO.

My day at the office moved at a crawl. I forced myself to look at files and sign papers, but I achieved almost nothing. My concentration was shattered into a thousand pieces. Our board meeting started in the morning and carried straight through lunch.

A new assistant—an older woman in her sixties who didn’t know my personal life—quietly moved around the heavy mahogany table. She delivered lunch orders and fresh coffees with efficient, motherly care.

I went through the motions. I spoke when I had to. I nodded at the right times. But my mind was miles away, wondering if Jamie had found the safe yet, or if Penelope liked the garden in the new house.

“Sometimes they need a little push in the right direction,” Greg said, his voice finally pulling me back into the room.

“Mr. Ferguson was certainly hard to please,” Eoin chimed in from across the table. I watched him. He looked relaxed, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “I had meeting after meeting with him, and he still shut me down. The man is a stubborn old fool.”

Someone at the table made a joke about Ferguson’s ridiculous demands. The room broke into easy laughter and shared frustration. I didn’t laugh. My mind was busy calculating. I watched the faces around the table—calm, professional, and unsuspecting.

I was waiting for the perfect moment to make my move. I needed to say what I had planned, and I needed to say it in front of every person who mattered.

The laughter over Mr. Ferguson finally died down. The room settled, and the board members started shuffling papers and clicking their pens, ready to move to our agenda.

“Before we move on…,” I said.

My voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp enough to cut through the air. Every head snapped up. Every eye turned toward me. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the polished wood of the table. I let the silence stretch out, getting heavier and more uncomfortable with every passing second.

I wanted them to feel the weight of what I was about to say.

“I need to address something that will impact everyone in this room,” I said. My gaze swept across the table, making eye contact with every man there. “For several months now, we have been dealing with a major financial drain. I have been quietly running an internal audit to track a pattern of theft from our company accounts.”

The effect was instant. A collective gasp went around the table. The quiet, professional room was suddenly filled with panicked whispers and pale faces. Men who had been relaxed moments ago were now sitting up straight, looking at each other with suspicion.

“The amount of money stolen is significant,” I confirmed. I leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the problem sink in.

As shocked questions began to rise from the board members, my eyes locked onto Eoin. He was the only one who didn’t lean forward in surprise. Instead, his entire body went suddenly stiff. His shoulders tightened, his neck went rigid, and every bit of color drained from his face.

I let the whispers continue for a few more seconds, then I fixed my stare directly on him. My voice was calm, like the silence before a storm.

“The person responsible for stealing company funds has been found, and this stops right now,” I stated. I left no room for doubt. “Eoin. Effective immediately, your employment with Knight Industries is finished. Jason is waiting to escort you out of the building.”

Eoin forced a laugh. It was a dry, terrible sound that died as soon as it left his throat. “Mason, what are you talking about?” he stammered. His eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for someone to help him. “This is—this is ridiculous. There has clearly been a mistake here.”

“There is no mistake,” I replied. My voice held zero warmth. I didn’t explain myself; I didn’t need to. I had the bank records, and he knew it. I simply glanced toward the heavy mahogany door. “Jason. Take Mr. Newman out of the building.”

The door opened instantly, and Jason stepped in.

Eoin didn’t bother arguing anymore. His eyes, fixed on mine, were no longer panicked. They flared with anger. He slowly put his hands flat on the table, then shoved his chair back with a violent scrape that echoed through the silent room.

As he stood up, Jason was at his side in a second, reaching out a hand toward Eoin’s arm. Eoin violently shrugged off the touch.

“I’m going,” he bit out. His voice was thick with a rage he was trying to hide.

He began to walk toward the exit, but he didn’t head straight for the door. He changed his path so he would walk directly past my seat. Jason followed half a step behind him, ready to move if Eoin tried anything. As Eoin drew even with me, he stopped for a split second. He leaned in close, his lips barely moving. He whispered a chilling promise that only I could hear: “You’ll regret this.”

Then he was gone. Jason followed him out, the door clicking shut behind them. The boardroom was left in a stunned, heavy silence. No one moved. No one spoke.

It’s done, I thought. The tension in my chest eased only a tiny bit.

I watched the empty space where Eoin had stood. The faint scent of his expensive cologne and the smell of his fear still hung in the air. Eoin was out of the business. He was ruined, publicly shamed, and legally exposed. Every bridge he had in this city was now on fire.

But I knew this was just the easy part.

I had no intention of letting the slow legal system handle Eoin. This wasn’t about putting him in prison; this was a deliberate attack to make him move. Firing him in front of the board was the bait in a trap I had been building for weeks. I needed to humiliate him so he would stop hiding and start acting.

His whispered threat—”You’ll regret this”—was exactly what I wanted to hear. It was music to my ears. I knew Eoin’s ego better than anyone. I knew his desperate need to feel like he was the one in control. A man like that wouldn’t just disappear into the night. He was like a cornered animal now: wounded, dangerous, and feeling like he had nothing left to lose.

Let him come, I thought. My heart was steady, and my mind was clear. Every move he made from this moment on was a move I had already prepared for. I had taken away his job, his money, and his pride. Now, I just had to wait for him to come for me.

And when he does, I’ll be ready to finish this for good.