A Daddy for Christmas

Darren Knight

THE soft chime of the doorbell echoed through Jasmine’s high-end jewelry store as the private investigator, Mr. Bradley, stepped inside. Dressed in a sharp, dark suit with an air of quiet authority, he adjusted his hat and scanned the elegant showroom. A young employee, wide-eyed and eager to help, immediately approached him.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Stone. It is a personal matter,” he said in a low voice, handing the employee his card.

The employee glanced at the card, then nodded.

“Follow me, please.”

They wove through the shimmering displays of diamonds and gemstones until they reached a discrete door labeled **Private Office**. The employee knocked gently before stepping back.

“Mrs. Jasmine, there is someone here to see you. Mr. Bradley.”

A smooth but firm voice responded, “Send him in.”

Mr. Bradley entered the office, finding Jasmine seated behind an immaculate mahogany desk. Her tailored beige suit, subtle gold accessories, and poised demeanor spoke of elegance and control. She gestured to the chair across from her.

“Mr. Bradley,” she began, her voice calm yet commanding. “I trust you have news for me.”

He sat down, placing a leather folder on the desk between them.

“I do, Mrs. Stone. And it is... substantial.”

Jasmine’s expression remained unchanged, but her fingers tightened ever so slightly around her pen.

“Go on.”

Bradley opened the folder, revealing photographs, documents, and timestamps.

“As you suspected, your husband, Mr. Collins, has been unfaithful. Danielle isn’t the only one. Over the past three weeks, I have confirmed his involvement with three other women. Their names are in this report.”

He slid a set of photos across the desk. Each image captured Collins in compromising situations: entering hotels, sharing intimate dinners, or embracing women Jasmine had never seen before.

Jasmine picked up the photos and studied them with the same analytical eye she reserved for appraising rare jewels. Her face betrayed no emotion.

“I see,” she said coolly, setting the photos down.

Bradley hesitated.

“Mrs. Stone, there is more. I discovered financial transactions, gifts, trips, and large sums of money transferred to these women. He has been siphoning funds from accounts linked to your joint assets.”

At this, Jasmine’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smirk.

“How predictable.”

“You... you are not surprised?” Bradley asked, momentarily taken aback.

“I have known Collins for years, Mr. Bradley,” Jasmine said, leaning back in her chair. “He is a man of predictable appetites. Danielle was simply the tip of the iceberg. I hired you to confirm what I already knew.”

Crane nodded slowly.

“Then you must have a plan.”

Jasmine’s eyes gleamed like the diamonds she so expertly crafted into masterpieces.

“Oh, I do. This will be the last time Collins underestimates me.”

She stood, signaling the end of their meeting.

“Thank you for your thorough work, Mr. Bradley. I will take it from here.”

Bradley gathered his belongings, standing as well.

“If you need anything further, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“I won’t,” she replied smoothly, her tone decisive.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Jasmine allowed herself a moment to exhale. Her heart was heavy, not with pain, but with determination. Collins had betrayed her trust, her loyalty, and her intelligence. He thought he could outmaneuver her, but he would soon learn the cost of underestimating Jasmine.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she reached a name she hadn’t called in years. A sly smile graced her lips as she tapped the number.

“Hello, Dominic? It is Jasmine. We need to talk.”

***

The air outside the sprawling Knight estate was sharp with winter's chill, but the atmosphere inside the mansion was far colder. Darren Knight, the enigmatic billionaire whose face was as much a mystery as his emotions, sat in the back of his custom-made black Rolls-Royce, his face unreadable beneath the tailored brim of his hat. The vehicle slowed as the massive wrought-iron gates swung open, revealing the grandeur of the estate he once called home.

A convoy of luxury cars followed, flanked by black-suited guards with earpieces and sharp gazes. The grand arrival turned heads, from the mansion's kitchen staff to the butlers lined up in the marble foyer. The Knight family's signature crest gleamed on the massive fountain centerpiece in the driveway, spraying arcs of water illuminated by soft golden lights.

As the Rolls-Royce came to a halt, a butler rushed to open the door. Darren emerged, towering and impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit with a cashmere overcoat draped over his shoulders. His mere presence demanded attention, but there was a weariness in his sharp eyes that even his guards couldn't miss.

“Welcome home, sir,” the butler murmured with a bow.

Darren offered a nod but said nothing. His polished shoes clicked against the marble steps as he strode into the mansion. The warmth of the grand chandelier's glow did little to melt the icy tension he anticipated. The estate was all the opulence his family's legacy could buy, gold accents, towering windows, and sprawling rooms, but none of it felt like home to Darren anymore.

In the main sitting room, his parents waited. Howard and Genevieve Knight, both well into their seventies, sat regally on antique armchairs, dressed as if a royal guest were expected. They stood as Darren approached, his father gesturing for the guards to step back.

“Darren,” Genevieve began, her voice laced with polite warmth, though her piercing gaze betrayed her expectations. “We didn’t think you would arrive this late. Dinner is nearly over.”

“Good evening, Mother. Father,” Darren said, his tone measured. He removed his hat and handed it to a waiting butler. “Traffic.”

Howard’s gruff laugh cut through the air.

“Traffic? That is an excuse for men who don’t have private jets. You have six.”

Darren’s jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. He knew better than to take the bait, but the weariness from his travels and the familiar sting of his father’s disapproval were a potent combination.

“Let’s sit,” Genevieve offered, gesturing to the luxurious sofa. “We need to discuss a few things before the holiday festivities.”

Darren reluctantly took a seat, his expression stoic as his parents launched into what he suspected would be yet another lecture.

“It has been another year, Darren,” Howard started, leaning forward with an accusatory air. “Baltimore has maintained his position as the country’s top billionaire. Meanwhile, you are still sitting at number three.”

“Baltimore inherited his fortune,” Darren interjected, his voice calm but firm. “I have worked for mine.”

“Excuses,” Howard snapped, slamming a hand on the armrest. “You could be number one if you stopped hiding behind this ‘faceless billionaire’ nonsense. It is time you stepped into the spotlight and proved you are a leader. The Knight name demands it.”

Darren leaned back, crossing his legs as he steeled himself against the onslaught.

“The Knight name is stronger than ever. The company’s profits have doubled under my leadership. Being number three in a country this competitive is no small feat.”

“Still not good enough,” Genevieve added, her tone softer but no less cutting. “We didn’t raise you to settle for third place. You have the resources, the intelligence, and the power to surpass Baltimore if you had just—”

“Enough.” Darren’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over his seated parents. “I have spent my entire life proving myself, and it is never enough for you. I didn’t come here for another lecture.”

Genevieve’s face fell, but Howard scowled.

“Then why did you come?”

“To remind myself why I left,” Darren replied coldly, turning on his heel.