Chapter 9 Luther and Knight
Afternoon draped itself over the Valmere estate in a haze of gold and shadow. The sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off crystal decanters and polished floors, but the air was still, too still. Somewhere between the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock and the low hum of servants moving down the hall, time seemed to hold its breath.
Knight hadn’t left his office since the meeting. Papers lay untouched on the desk, the faint smell of ink mixing with the cool scent of cologne and silence. His jacket hung over the chair, forgotten. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up. Yet, he hadn’t done a single thing all afternoon.
He sat behind his desk, staring blankly at the half-filled glass of whiskey before him. The amber liquid caught the light, rippling faintly every time he exhaled. He didn’t drink it. He just watched it move, a distraction for a man who couldn’t stop replaying one image in his head.
Deborah's lips on Luther’s.
He leaned back, pressing his palms against his eyes as if the pressure could erase what he’d seen. But it only made it clearer. The sound, the tremor, the silence that followed when she realized he was there, every detail replayed with cruel precision.
A soft knock on the door broke the rhythm of his thoughts.
“Come in,” Knight said, his tone even, measured.
The door opened.
Deborah stepped inside.
She was composed, unnervingly so. Her hair was pinned neatly, her tailored suit immaculate, the faint scent of jasmine following her like a memory he couldn’t outrun. Her face betrayed nothing, yet the air between them shifted instantly, charged with unspoken things.
“Caelum wanted me to deliver the updated brief from the marketing team,” she said quietly, setting a folder on his desk. Her voice didn’t waver, but her hands hesitated for half a second before pulling away.
Knight didn’t look at the folder. He looked at her.
“Thank you,” he said, his tone clipped, polite, the way strangers speak in crowded rooms.
She gave a small nod, her lips curving into a faint, practiced smile. “I won’t take much of your time. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m not,” he admitted.
That made her pause. She looked at him then, really looked, and for a fleeting moment, the mask almost cracked.
He stood, circling the desk slowly until he was standing just a few feet away. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air, faint and familiar. “You don’t have to act like nothing happened,” he said, voice low.
Her expression didn’t change. “Nothing did.”
His jaw tightened. “Deborah—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, cutting him off. “Don’t say my name like that.”
He stopped. The silence that followed was suffocating. The ticking clock filled the space between their words.
“I told you to stop,” Knight said, his voice softer now, more human. “But that doesn’t mean I wanted to see it.”
Her breath caught, just barely. She turned away, her fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. “You said it was over. You made that choice. So don’t punish me for trying to move on.”
His throat constricted. “With him?”
She turned back, eyes flashing. “With anyone who isn’t you.”
The air cracked between them. For a moment, neither moved. The distance felt smaller and sharper all at once.
Then Knight looked away, exhaling through clenched teeth. “You think I don’t regret it?”
Deborah’s voice broke, quiet but clear. “Regret doesn’t change what you said.”
Her words hit harder than she intended. She turned to leave before he could answer, but his hand shot out, stopping just short of her wrist. He didn’t touch her, just hovered there, close enough to feel her warmth.
“Deborah,” he murmured, his voice almost trembling. “Do you love him?”
Her breath hitched, her eyes flickering toward the door. She didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was low, almost fragile.
“I don’t know anymore.”
The words hung heavy between them.
She stepped away, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she walked out. The door shut behind her with a muted thud that echoed longer than it should have.
Knight stood there, unmoving. The silence pressed against his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He turned to the window, staring out into the garden, where the last traces of daylight began to fade.
He should’ve felt angry. Instead, all he felt was the hollow ache of everything left unsaid.
And then, just as he reached for the glass on his desk, his phone buzzed.
A message flashed across the screen.
\[From: Luther\]
\[We need to talk. It’s about Deborah. Don’t let anyone else find out.\]
Knight’s hand froze. The faint hum of the phone filled the air like a warning.
He stared at the message, his pulse quickening, unease crawling slowly down his spine.
Then, quietly, almost to himself, he muttered,
“What the hell did you do, Luther?" And the room fell silent again, heavy with the promise of something neither of them would be able to take back.