I find myself once again in the Knight mansion, surrounded by an air of tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I’m sitting next to Erica on one of the many ornate couches. Erica is currently in a heated argunt with her mother about sothing i never considered could be confusing.
Vivian’s brow furrows, her eyes flashing with irritation. “Erica, When did you beco so ignorant? Italians can most certainly be Jewish!”
‘Why the fuck is everyone here? They were so cagey on the phone.’
Erica’s grip on tightens, her fingers digging into my thigh possessively. I can feel the heat radiating from her body as she leans forward, her blue eyes blazing with defiance. She’s using like an armrest, casually draping herself over as if I’m just another piece of furniture in this opulent room.
“Na one Jewish Italian.” Erica challenges, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch.
Vivian stares at her daughter, her perfect eyebrows knitting together in frustration. The silence stretches out, becoming almost palpable. I can hear the antique grandfather clock in the corner ticking away the seconds. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Ten seconds pass. Then twenty. The air grows heavy with unspoken words and simring frustrations. I shift uncomfortably under Erica’s grip, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes locked on her mother in silent challenge.
A full minute crawls by, feeling like an eternity. The ornate chandelier above us casts dancing shadows across the room, adding to the surreal atmosphere. Finally, Vivian breaks the silence, her voice strained.
“That’s not the point.” she says, exasperation evident in every syllable. “There’s nothing inherently stopping Italians from being Jewish.”
‘Is Erica accidentally right about this?’ I sit and wonder as I too cannot na a single Italian Jewish person.
Erica scoffs, her fingers flexing against my skin. I suppress a wince. “If you’re right then isn’t it weird that the room is full of family, and no one is piping up with a na.” She says, gesturing around with her free hand.
I follow her gaze, taking in the assembled group. Mom is perched on the edge of her seat, her casual clothes extrely neat. Brooke is curled up in an armchair, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Rachel…. Just sitting there, Racheling.
‘Still kinda mad at Rachel, to be honest.’
Mom furrows her brow, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. She turns to Vivian, uncertainty written across her face. “She’s wrong, right?” she asks, her voice hesitant. “I an, she feels wrong, but I can’t dispute her words.” Mom spoke as if she were in the presence of Socrates, and she realized her worldview was re shadow puppetry on the walls of a cave.
‘I hate that i agree with her take a little though.’
Brooke suddenly barks out a laugh, sharp and incredulous. “You cannot fucking be serious!” she yells, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stares at Mom. “How could you possibly be buying into this shit?”
She whirls on Erica, her face flushed with anger. “Stop poisoning my Mom’s mind with your bullshit! Just because you don’t know any Jewish Italians doesn’t an they don’t exist!”
Vivian nods emphatically, her perfectly kempt hair barely moving as she does. “Brooke’s right,” she says, her voice laced with exasperation. “Erica, darling, I’m beginning to think you and Emily shouldn’t be left to your own devices anymore. This level of... let’s call it ‘selective knowledge’ is concerning.”
Erica looks to be seething now. Her grip on my thigh tightens painfully, her nails digging into my skin through the fabric of my jeans. It’s kind of a turn-on.
“This is fucked up!” Erica suddenly explodes, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. The crystal chandelier above us trembles slightly as if cowering from her wrath. “You’re all ganging up on like I’m so kind of moron!”
In a swift motion that leaves reeling, Erica’s arm shoots out, her perfect finger pointing accusingly at . “He’s the one who told there were no Jewish Italians!” she declares, her voice dripping with righteous indignation.
I blink, utterly lost. ‘What the fuck is she talking about? I would literally never talk about that. I never bring up Jewish people.’
Mom leans forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Well,” she says slowly. “if Jason said it, it’s probably true. He’s always been such a clever boy.”
“What? No. Hold on.” I speak in a panic. “When did I say that?” I finally ask Erica.
Erica turns to , her eyes wide with a mix of triumph and sothing else... desperation, maybe? “Christmas Eve night.” she says, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “You kept whispering it into my ear in bed. Over and over again. ‘There are no Jewish Italians, Erica. Isn’t that weird? What does it an, Erica.’”
I stare at Erica, and I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the mansion’s gilded walls. “Erica, I was so drunk that night!” I exclaim, wiping tears from my eyes. “I’m sure I was just joking around.”
Erica’s triumphant grin falters slightly, but she keeps her arm draped possessively over my shoulders.
Brooke’s face falls, disappointnt etched in every line. “Drunk words are sober thoughts, Jason.” she says, her voice heavy with disapproval. “You should know better.”
‘I make you a millionaire and this is how I am repaid? Judas move sis.’
Sothing inside snaps. The insanity of the situation, the tension in the room, it all cos crashing down on at once. The audacity to challenge when I’m just sitting here of all things.’
I react. “Yeah, Brooke?” I challenge, my voice rising. “If you’re so sure, then na one Jewish Italian. Just one! Go ahead, I’ll wait.” I take the strat right out Erica’s earlier playbook, and reuse it against Brooke.
Brooke’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Her brow furrows in concentration, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an answer hidden in the ornate wallpaper. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks away again.
Finally, Brooke’s shoulders slump in defeat, mirroring Vivian’s earlier defeat. “Fuck you, Jason.” she mutters, crossing her arms and sinking deeper into her chair.
Erica’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Ha! I knew it! We’re the winning side, babe!” She wraps her arms around , planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
Suddenly, a delicate cough cuts through the chaos. We all freeze, turning as one to see Alia, one of the Knight family’s longti maids, standing in the doorway. Her crisp black and white uniform is a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings, and her face is a careful mask of polite indifference.
“Pardon the interruption.” Alia says, her voice soft but clear. “But the... guest has arrived.”
The word ‘guest’ hangs in the air, and it is heavy with implications. I feel Erica stiffen beside , her arm tightening around my shoulders. The playful atmosphere evaporates instantly, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension.
Vivian’s eyes go wide, a look of horror spreading across her perfectly made-up face. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she explodes, her composed facade cracking. “This was supposed to be a serious family eting, and we’ve already gone completely off the deep end!”
The room falls into an uneasy silence as Alia’s words hang in the air. I feel my heart rate quicken, a cold sweat breaking out on my palms. Who could this mysterious guest be? My mind races through possibilities, each more unlikely than the last.
Before I can even open my mouth to ask, another maid appears in the doorway. And right behind her, looking perfectly poised in her crisp butler uniform, is Lyra fucking Bennece.
My stomach drops as if I’ve just plumted off a cliff. Lyra glides into the room, her single visible eye sweeping over us all before settling on . A small, secretive smile plays at the corners of her mouth.
Without invitation, she perches delicately on the chair closest to , crossing her legs primly at the ankle.
“What. The. Fuck.” The words escape , my anger evident.
Beside , Erica has gone completely rigid. Her face is a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, her blue eyes blazing with murderous intent. Her grip on my shoulder tightens to the point of pain, her nails digging into my skin through my shirt. I can practically feel the fury radiating off her in waves.
Mom looks incredibly anxious as she speaks to Erica and . “Let’s all just calm down and listen to Lyra for a mont.”
I whip my head around to stare at her, utterly dumbfounded. Has the whole world gone insane? How can she possibly suggest we listen to anything this monster has to say? This is the woman who kidnapped , who raped for two full weeks.
“Are you fucking kidding ?” I choke out, my voice cracking embarrassingly. “How... how could you let her anywhere near ? After everything she did?”
Mom at least has the decency to look ashad, her eyes dropping to the floor. But it’s Vivian who speaks up, her voice gentle.
“Jason.” she says, leaning forward in her seat, “If this wasn’t of dire importance, I wouldn’t have organized this eting. Lyra has so... information that concerns you directly. We felt it was best for you to hear it firsthand.”
Erica’s grip on suddenly turns fierce, her arms wrapping around like steel cables. She pulls tight against her body as if trying to shield from Lyra’s very presence. I can feel her heart hamring in her chest, her breath coming in short, angry bursts against my ear.
Her eyes, usually so full of mischief and warmth, have turned to chips of blue ice as she glares at Lyra. The murderous intent radiating from her is palpable, filling the air with an almost electric charge. If looks could kill, Lyra would be a smoking pile of ash.
“Jason.” Lyra purrs my na. Her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I have the most wonderful news.” She pauses, clearly savoring the mont, drinking in the tension that has the entire room wound tighter than a spring.
“I’m pregnant,” she announces, her smile widening into a Cheshire cat grin. “With your baby.”
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Beside , Erica gasps, her arms going slack around . The sudden absence of her fierce grip leaves feeling exposed and vulnerable.
My mind races, and panic sets in. ‘What if Erica thinks this is sohow my fault and she snaps and kills ? Wait fuck, it could be even worse, what if she breaks up with over this. She might consider getting soone pregnant cheating.’ My rationality is gone as shatter into pieces.
“I never cheated.” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. “I never cheated. I never cheated.” The words tumble out faster and more frantic with each repetition. The fear that leaked from was palpable.’
My hand shoots to my pocket, fingers closing around the cool tal of my pen. It’s a reflexive action born of desperation and fear.
Lyra’s brow furrows, her head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Why do you need a pen right now, Jason?” she asks genuine bewildernt in her voice.
Before I can respond, Brooke’s scream cuts through the tension like a knife. “Soone get that pen away from him!” she shrieks, her voice high and panicked.
My fingers tremble as I grip the pen, popping the fake top off of it quickly to reveal the hidden blade within. The polished tal glints in the dim light of the Knight mansion, a stark contrast to the ornate surroundings.
“This is your fault.” I choke out, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “You made do this.”
‘It’s the only way I can prove to Erica that I am hers and hers alone.’
With a desperate lunge, I aim the blade at Lyra’s belly. Ti seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity. In my mind, I see Erica’s face, her fierce blue eyes filled with love and possessiveness. This is for her, I tell myself. To secure her heart. To show my loyalty beyond even a shadow of a doubt.
But suddenly, a blur of blonde hair and fierce determination rockets past . Erica’s hand shoots out, grabbing the blade re inches from Lyra’s stomach. Blood imdiately wells up, dripping onto the polished marble floor.
“Jason.” Erica spoke softly. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around the blade, crimson streaming between them.
I stare in horror, my mind reeling. How did she move so fast? How is she still holding on despite the pain?
“E-Erica,” I stamr, watching as more blood seeps from her clenched fist. “I... I was just trying to...”
We both let go. The knife clatters to the floor, the sound echoing through the cavernous room. My legs give out, and I crumple, overwheld by the enormity of what I’ve done.
‘I hurt her? I hurt Erica.’
“I’m sorry, Erica.” I mumble, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I thought... I didn’t an to...” The words tumble out, a jumbled ss of regret.
Erica’s expression lts into a deeper concern. She kneels beside , her bloodied hand leaving crimson streaks on the marble.
“Shh, it’s okay.” she whispers, pulling into a tight embrace. The tallic scent of blood mingles with her familiar scent of cigarettes. “I’ve got you, Jason.”
I bury my face in her shoulder, shaking. “But I hurt you. I was trying to... to...”
“To protect what we have?” Erica finishes, her voice gentle. She runs her uninjured hand through my hair. “I know. I know that’s why you did it.”
I pull back, searching her face. “But Lyra... the baby...”
Erica cups my face, her blood staining my skin. Her blue eyes shimring with unshed tears. “Jason. My beautiful boy.” She whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “That baby... it’s a piece of you. I can’t stomach the thought of a piece of you dying.”
Her gaze is filled with such tender adoration that it takes my breath away. The room around us seems to fade, the ornate furnishings and shocked faces of our family mbers blurring into insignificance. At this mont, there is only Erica, her love for radiating like a physical force.
“But... but Lyra...” I stamr, confusion and guilt warring within .
Erica shakes her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “What she did was monstrous, unforgivable. But this child... it’s innocent. It’s you Jason. A part of you growing inside her.”
‘No but Erica’s reaction doesn’t make sense does it? Did i underestimate her empathy? Are children this dire for society? I don’t understand.’ Everything I think I know is breaking down around .
Her bloodied hand finds mine, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of her blood is a stark reminder of what just transpired, yet her touch is gentle and grounding.
“I love every part of you.” Erica continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even the parts born from pain and trauma. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”
I nod mutely, overwheld by the depth of her love and understanding.
A choked sob breaks the mont. We both turn to see Lyra, her face ashen, stumbling to her feet. Her single visible eye is wide with horror, her usual poise shattered.
“I... I had no idea.” Lyra mumbles, her voice trembling. “I knew I’d hurt you, but this... I never imagined...” She presses a hand to her mouth. looking as if she might be sick. “I’ve underestimated how deeply I broke you, Jason. God, what have I done?”
She takes a shaky step backward, her gaze darting between Erica and . “If you could react like that... could you ever even love this child? Could you ever look at it and see anything but a reminder of what I did to you?”
Lyra’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. She stumbles towards the door, her movents jerky and uncoordinated. “I need... I need to think.” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. “I can’t... I can’t do this...”
As Lyra disappears from view, I turn back to Erica, burying my face in her shoulder. Her arms wrap around , strong and protective, as the full weight of what just happened crashes over .
Suddenly, reality cos crashing back like a tidal wave. The ornate living room of the Knight mansion snaps into sharp focus, the gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers seeming to mock the chaos unfolding beneath them.
Mom pulls away from Erica in an instant. Vivian is at Erica’s side, her perfectly manicured hands gently but firmly prying Erica’s bloodied fingers open. “Let see, darling.” she murmurs, her voice strained with worry. The deep gash across Erica’s palm glistens red, blood still oozing from the wound. Vivian’s face pales, but she maintains her composure, barking orders at a wide-eyed maid hovering nearby. “First aid kit, now!”
Mom’s grip on my shoulders is bruising, her fingers digging in so hard I’ll probably have marks later. Her face looms close to mine, eyes wild with a mix of fury and terror I’ve never seen before. “Where the fuck did you get that knife, Jason?”
I blink rapidly, struggling to process her words through the fog of adrenaline and confusion clouding my mind.
“I... I don’t...” I stamr, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy in my mouth.
“It was !” Brooke’s voice cuts through the chaos, high-pitched and trembling. She steps forward, wringing her hands nervously. “I got him the knife pen for Christmas. To... to stop kidnappers.”
Mom’s head whips around to face Brooke, her eyes narrowing dangerously. For a mont, I think she might explode at my sister, but instead, she just clicks her tongue, a sound of weary resignation. “Of course you did!” Her words almost cast bla onto Brooke, like an angry father unable to reason at the mont.
In the corner, Rachel sits frozen, her face a mask of abject terror. Her eyes dart between , the discarded knife on the floor, and the blood still dripping from Erica’s hand. She looks like she wants to disappear into the plush armchair she’s perched on, her knuckles white as she grips the armrests.
The maid returns with the first aid kit, and Vivian sets to work cleaning and bandaging Erica’s hand with practiced efficiency. The sharp scent of antiseptic cuts through the tallic tang of blood hanging in the air.
“Jason.” Erica’s voice is soft but steady, drawing my attention back to her. Despite the pain she must be in, her eyes are clear and focused on . “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
*****
[Erica’s POV]
I lay with Jason on , his naked body a comforting weight against my chest. His breathing is deep, and even his face is peaceful in sleep. My bandaged hands rest protectively on his back, a dull ache throbbing beneath the gauze. But the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming love and possessiveness surging through as I gaze down at him.
The events of the day replay in my mind a whirlwind of chaos that sohow led to this perfect mont. I can still see the wild desperation in Jason’s eyes as he lunged at Lyra, the glint of the blade as it arced through the air. The mory sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
To think, my sweet Jason was willing to kill his own unborn child just to prove his devotion to . The thought makes my heart race, a heady mix of triumph and possessive joy flooding my veins. I’ve never felt more alive, more certain of anything in my life.
My fingers trace lazy patterns on Jason’s back, reveling in the warmth of his skin. He shifts slightly in his sleep, burrowing closer to with a contented sigh. I press a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
Everything played out better than I could have ever imagined. Lyra fled in horror, the shocked faces of our families, Jason turned to for comfort and reassurance. It’s as if the universe itself conspired to bind him to even tighter.
I chuckle softly, careful not to wake Jason. Lyra’s face flashes in my mind that look of utter shock and horror when Jason lunged at her. God, what a fucking idiot. Did she really think she could waltz in here, drop that bombshell, and not expect consequences? The mont those words left her perfectly painted lips, I knew exactly what Jason would do. My sweet, devoted Jason, so wonderfully, laughably predictable in his love for .
It’s almost poetic, really. Lyra thought she was so clever, using that baby as a way to worm back into Jason’s life. But she grossly underestimated the depth of his loyalty to . The second she announced her pregnancy, I was already moving, knowing Jason would reach for that knife, he thought he had kept secret from . I could practically hear the gears turning in his beautiful, broken mind. ‘Eliminate the threat to the relationship.’
My fingers rub over the bandage on my palm, a badge of honor from stopping Jason’s blade. The dull throb of pain is a constant reminder of my victory. Lyra’s plan backfired spectacularly, driving Jason even further into my arms. Now, he clings to like a lifeline, guilt, and gratitude mingling in those captivating eyes of his.
Of course, I lied to him about wanting the baby to live. The very thought of Lyra’s spawn, a product of violating Jason’s, makes my skin crawl. But Jason doesn’t need to know that. As far as he should be concerned, the only truth in his life is . Nothing else matters.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake Jason, and my gaze falls on the ornate mirror across the room. In its silvery surface, I see our reflection - two bodies intertwined, inseparable. The sight fills with a fierce joy, a possessive pride that burns white-hot in my chest. This is how it should be. Just us, together, against the world.
As I watch our reflection, my thoughts drift to Lyra. I imagine her alone in an apartnt, pacing nervously, jumping at every shadow. Does she realize the danger she’s in? Does she sense the sword of Damocles hanging over her head? The thought sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
I know I should be out there right now, ending this threat once and for all. But that will have to wait. Jason needs now. Needs my strength and comfort as he processes the day’s events. In a few days, when he’s calr, I’ll make my move. I’ll stage a suicide, make it look like the guilt and horror of what she’d done finally caught up with her.
The thought of taking a life should terrify , but instead, it fills with an electric thrill. I rember watching the video of Jason killing Lindsey, the raw power and intensity in his movents. It awakened sothing primal within , a hunger I didn’t know I possessed. Now, I understand. I can do this. I want to do this. I need to do this.
To eliminate soone who dares to threaten our happiness, our future it’s not just a necessity, it’s a sacred duty. My fingers twitch with anticipation, already imagining the feel of Lyra’s fragile life slipping away beneath them. I simply cannot wait.
Spoiler
Jon Favreau
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