Belinda's POV
I let Jackson lead me back toward the dining room, his touch now constant, a warm, possessive presence that, unnervingly, I found reassuring. He was radiating satisfaction, utterly convinced that my performance had secured his position as the favored son and the devoted lover.
The dining room was vast, dominated by a heavy mahogany table set for six, gleaming with crystal and silver. The air smelled of wood polish and roasting beef—the aroma of old, untroubled wealth.
The family was already seated. Eleanor was arranging flowers, Lyle was pouring water, and the General was at the head of the table.
My eyes scanned the room, not for the people, but for the vulnerabilities. And then they stopped.
On the corner of a nearby antique sideboard, resting on a silver tray next to a crystal decanter of port, was a single, pristine cigar. It was unlike any common cigar…it was long, thin, and had a distinctive, pale yellow band.
It wasn't the cigar itself that froze me, but the detail on the band: a small, intricately stamped wax seal, unmistakable in its design. It was the Knight family crest…a coiled viper guarding a crown…a symbol my father reserved only for documents of the utmost secrecy and, notoriously, for the custom cigars he gifted to the few men he truly considered his equals.
The air rushed out of my lungs. The phantom familiarity of the General's face solidified into a terrifying connection.
Chester Knight didn't hand out these cigars casually. These weren't celebratory. They were reserved for the closing of a deal, or the sealing of a partnership built on bloodshed.
The General had one. In his house. Ready to be smoked.
I immediately dismissed the possibility of coincidence. The General wasn't familiar to me because he was a vague business acquaintance. He was familiar because he was somehow tied to the core of the Knight operation…a link my father had never allowed to surface.
The memory was still locked, but the key had been presented. This wasn't just Jackson's father…this was a silent partner, a man who had done business…dark business with my father. And Jackson had brought me straight into his compound.
I felt Jackson's grip tighten on my arm, sensing the minute pause in my stride.
"Bel?" he murmured, leaning down, concerned. "Something wrong?"
I forced my gaze away from the cigar, my eyes meeting his for a split second. My mind was racing, calculating the risk of revealing this knowledge now. If Jackson knew I recognized the cigar, he would know I had a dangerous level of insight into my father's operations…insight I'd pretended to lack. It would compromise my cover entirely.
I can handle this myself.
I shifted my focus to the General's large, impressive hunting trophies mounted on the wall. "No," I said, injecting a slight, manufactured disgust into my tone. "I just hate taxidermy. Especially that elk. Let's sit before I say something deeply inappropriate."
The deception was flawless. Jackson, relieved that the pause wasn't about him, squeezed my arm and guided me to my chair. "Right. Sit. No elk comments."
I settled into my seat, smiling broadly at Eleanor as she gestured toward the soup. My heart was pounding, but my exterior was calm. I had a target, and it wasn't the General. It was the General's connection to my father.
This wasn't just a friendly birthday lunch. This was a meeting between two families, and the cigar was the sign-in sheet. I had to determine if the General was aware of Chester's "Dolomites location" , or if he was simply a disgruntled partner waiting for a call he'd never receive.
The Audition was over. The investigation had begun.