Chapter 145 Feel like home

Chapter 145 Feel like home
Knox,

Does it call nostalgia?

I didn’t know.

The moment I walked into the house, a familiar scent hit my nostrils, warm wood, faint chlorine drifting in from the pool, something citrusy layered with old paper and detergent. It wrapped around me before I could react. I paused just inside the doorway, fingers curling slightly at my sides, my chest tightening for reasons I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was worse than that. It was quiet. Persistent. Like a memory knocking from the inside without permission to enter.

The house was small compared to the penthouse. But it felt right. The floor didn’t echo under my steps. The air didn’t feel cold or staged. It felt like a place where people argued, laughed, slept badly, and woke up better.

“ You used to live here.”

Violet’s voice had been calm, almost gentle. She stood near the hallway, one hand resting against the wall as if grounding herself.

“ In one of those rooms,” she added, nodding down the corridor. “ We were best friends back then.”

Best friends.

She said it without hesitation, without searching my face for a reaction. As if it were a simple fact. And for some reason, my body accepted it faster than my brain did. My shoulders loosened. My breathing evened out. I didn’t remember her, but something in me remembered belonging here—with her.

Now I stood by the poolside, hands shoved into my pockets, watching Violet and Mirah organize the space like they’d done this a hundred times before. Violet had rolled up her sleeves, her movements efficient but relaxed, hair tied loosely at the back of her head.

“ No, that table should go closer to the shade,” Violet told one of the housekeepers. “ If it stays there, the drinks will get warm. Also you know our little rascal. He will definitely climb on it if we bring it in the center.”

“ Yes, ma’am,” the woman replied quickly.

Mirah stood beside Violet, tablet in hand, glasses sliding slightly down her nose as she scanned the area.

“ We’ll need extra towels by the pool,” Mirah said without looking up. “ And make sure the floor mats are replaced. We have guests. Add more toiletries.”

One of the housekeepers nodded and hurried away.

Violet laughed softly at something the other woman said. It was brief—almost careless—but it landed somewhere uncomfortable in my chest. My gaze lingered longer than it should have. I shifted my weight, jaw tightening.

Don’t.

Just a few days ago, I’d fantasized about her being my woman. The thought still lingered, unwanted and intrusive. Now she was my wife. Mine in a way that felt too big, too serious. Another part of me, new, unfamiliar, but loud, kept warning me not to act like the scumbag I was seconds away from being. She didn't like this version of me. The one who loved blood over anything. And unlike me who liked to rebel against everything in this world, suddenly found myself to care about her likings more.

“ Feeling bored?”

Mark’s voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to see him walking out of the house, two cans of soda in hand. He tossed one toward me. I caught it without thinking and dropped onto the couch by the pool.

“ Sort of,” I said, cracking the can open. “ I would’ve been underground or in bars with girls already.”

Mark snorted and sat beside me, stretching his arms along the backrest. “ Do you regret coming here?”

I stared at the soda, watching condensation drip down onto my fingers. “ I don’t know yet. Things have been happening too fast to think about regret.”

“ You know you have to start from scratch,” he said. “ Business-wise.”

“ Yeah.” I took a slow sip. “ I can’t be dependent on my wife forever, can I?”

The word wife felt strange leaving my mouth. Mark glanced at me sideways.

“ I have savings,” he said carefully. “ If you need investment and—”

“ Stop.” I lifted my hand. “ Don’t. I don’t need it. Everything feels like bullshit right now, but I have my money.”

“ That’s fair.” He nodded once. “ Also, Violet’s lawyer called me last night. Authorities might freeze some assets. Others could go under supervision.”

“ I know.”

“ But the Will of Fontana.” He leaned forward, suddenly serious. “ I think you can claim it.”

“ What do you mean?”

“ Your mother is alive. She can file a report against Bianca Rose Alfredo for impersonation and manipulation. Your grandparents aren’t alive to clarify the will. That gives us leverage.”

I leaned back, staring at the water rippling in the pool. My reflection warped with each movement.

“ I see.”

I still wasn’t used to the fact that I was a Fontana by blood. But one thing was clear. I can’t let that woman get away with ruining our lives. Especially Erica’s.

“ Do whatever you can,” I added. “ I barely have information. I need your help again.”

Mark scoffed. “ Like it’s not my job.”

The sound of the door sliding behind us, got both of our attention.

Mirah stepped outside, tablet tucked against her chest. Her eyes flicked to Mark for a split second. He noticed immediately, posture straightening like a caught teenager. She turned to me.

“ Knox,” she said, pushing her glasses up. “ The medical team will meet you tomorrow morning. You and Mark will undergo another inspection until we find a way to restore your memories.”

I nodded slowly, once, the movement stiff. My jaw tightened on instinct, as if agreeing aloud might make it more real.

“ After that, therapy,” she continued. “ Individually and together. Dates will be set after the primary assessment. And during recovery, no discussions involving starting new businesses at home.”

Her gaze sharpened as it landed on us, not accusing, but unmistakably warning. Mark’s shoulders stiffened beside me. I heard him swallow, the sound louder than it should’ve been in the quiet.

“ However,” she added, her tone shifting just a fraction, “ you may share business ideas with Boss. She prefers being included.”

So Violet heard us.

My grip on the soda can tightened unconsciously. Not enough to crush it, but enough to feel the thin aluminum give slightly under my fingers.

“ And Mark,” Mirah said, eyes narrowing just a touch as she turned to him, “ you’ll be moving in here for the time being.”

“ What?” Mark yelped, half-rising from the couch. “ What about you? Are you moving in too?”

“ I already live here,” she replied flatly. “ Permanently.”

The word permanently landed like a dropped weight. Mark froze mid-motion, mouth still slightly open, whatever follow-up he had planned dying before it could form.

“ You’re not planning to move out?” he asked weakly, the confidence draining from his voice.

Mirah didn’t even sigh. She rolled her eyes, shut the tablet with a sharp tap, and turned away. “ This conversation is over. The takeout will arrive soon. Be responsible and fetch it.”

Without waiting for a response, she walked back inside. The sliding door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow felt final.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Mark collapsed onto the couch dramatically, one arm flung over his eyes like he’d survived something tragic. “ She’s adorable,” he said, voice muffled. “ I almost lost my mind.”

I kicked his leg lightly with my foot. “ You sound like a pervert.”

“ Shut up,” he muttered, lowering his arm. His earlobes had turned a noticeable shade of red. “ Did you see her? The eye roll. The glare. I swear, I almost lost it.”

I snorted. “ All I saw was disgust.”

“ Get lost,” he shot back, grabbing a cushion and hurling it at my face without warning.

I caught it mid-air on reflex, barely looking. Obviously.

I held it up between us, unimpressed. “ You throw like you’re still scared of her.”

He groaned and leaned his head back against the couch. “ Worth it.”