Genesis stared down at Kieran, who was kneeling between her legs, his hand resting lightly on her bare thighs. She had the urge to reach down, thread her fingers through his hair, hold him close, letting him know that she could never truly stay angry at him. He was good to her—he always had been even when he didn't have to and that's the truth.
But she didn't want to let him off that easily.
Not yet.
She wanted him to feel bad. Not about what he had done exactly—because she knew he wouldn't. In his mind, what he'd done was necessary, part of his role. But she wanted him to understand that she didn't want things like that.
Forgiving him too quickly wouldn't help her get that across. So she didn't reach for him. Instead, she stared out the window in silence.
"Princess," Kieran said gently, his hand squeezing her inner thigh—not painful though but enough to remind her that he was there.
But she didn't look at him.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him begin to reach up, likely to turn her face to his. But then the car swerved sharply, jolting her out of her stillness. She gasped and turned just as Kieran shifted up from the floor.
"What the fuck just happened?" he growled.
The driver and Damon—seated up front in the passenger seat—both turned to glance back at them.
"Boss, a car just—"
The driver didn't finish before Damon cut in, voice sharp and smooth as he slipped into Italian.
"È la macchina nera. Si è staccata dal gruppo e ci ha tagliato la strada. Penso che ci stiano seguendo."
(It's the black car. It broke from the convoy and cut us off. I think they're tailing us.)
Genesis blinked, confused by the sudden language switch. But she wasn't stupid—she knew tension when she saw it.
Kieran was already at the window, yanking back the privacy screen and scowling at the road behind them. A sleek black car had pushed between the two vehicles in their convoy. It wasn't subtle—whoever it was wanted to be seen.
He cursed under his breath, then tapped a comms button near the door.
"Stay on them," he ordered the trailing car. "Don't let them drop out of sight."
Genesis sat up straighter, her legs tensing unconsciously. She still didn't know what Damon had said, but Kieran's sharpened gaze and Damon's hand drifting toward his coat said enough.
Still, she stayed quiet.
Kieran turned to her. His expression softened just a bit when he saw her wide eyes.
"Princess," he murmured, crouching again so his face was level with hers. "It's nothing. Just traffic."
Genesis stared back like he'd just told her the moon was made of cotton candy. She didn't buy it. Not even a little.
But she didn't call him out either. Her fingers curled into the leather seat beside her instead of reaching for him.
Let him squirm a little longer.
Kieran's jaw flexed—not in anger, but restraint. He could feel it. She was hurt. And she wasn't going to make it easy.
Behind them, Damon murmured something else in Italian to the driver. The car sped up.
Later…
Knight's eyes followed Genesis as she stormed up the stone steps and into the house. She wasn't stomping for drama—she was pissed. And he knew it.
He turned to Damon. "It's Takeshi. He's having me followed. Triple the security on the house—especially around my queen."
His eyes lingered on the door a beat longer before returning to Damon.
"She's still upset?" Damon asked like it was obvious.
"Yeah, she is," Knight muttered. Then, shooting a warning glare at Damon, he added, "And don't you dare say I told you so."
Damon smirked. "Wasn't gonna. But if only…"
The glare Knight shot him was enough to shut that down.
"I'll handle security. But when are we dealing with him?"
Knight flipped a knife into the air and caught it without looking. "It's time I saw Takeshi face to face. He's half the reason I am who I am."
He grinned—but there was no warmth in it.
Damon shook his head. "And look how you turned out. A real nutcase. Still, I don't think this is a good idea. We know he's with Monica, and we don't know what they're planning."
Knight flipped the knife again, casually. "Why would we want to know? What's the fun in that?" He shot Damon a feral grin. "You know me, Fang—I like surprises."
Damon sighed. "Yeah, I know you too well. And I regret that daily."
Knight laughed, but the amusement didn't last. His smile dropped.
"Also—make sure that reporter keeps her mouth shut."
Then he paused.
"Actually, put Leonardo on her. I want everything—background, contacts, all of it."
Damon frowned. "Why? She won't talk."
"She's not what she seems," Knight said, eyes darkening. "Just do it."
Damon nodded. "Fine. And the conference? You think it went well?"
Knight was silent for a beat, staring at the house.
Then he looked at Damon. "Yeah. With a few well-played cards from our charmer Kieran… it'll all fade into nothing."
"Well, let's just say Kieran is internet famous," Knight said with a lazy grin. "So I'll use that to my advantage. A few posts, a little spin—it'll all blow over."
Damon frowned, clearly not convinced. "I don't know, man. Your posts mostly make you look like a jerk—no offense. Heartless playboy, arrogant ass, that whole vibe. I still don't get how you've got millions of followers on TikTok, Insta, or whatever. If you start posting now, you'll look like an even bigger asshole. And let's not forget—you're married."
Knight gave him a look like he'd just said the sky was green. "And when did I say I was going to do it alone?"
He didn't wait for a response. With a smug smile, he turned and strolled into the building, leaving Damon standing there with a heavy sense of dread curling in his gut.
But before he could dwell on it, something caught his eye.
A familiar little kitten—bold, cocky, trouble wrapped in soft curves and attitude—walked past, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
Damon smirked.
Warning bells gone. Completely forgotten.