SIGNED TO HIS DARKNESS

CHAPTER 5

The words hung in the air like smoke.
“We’ll see if the honor is mutual, Miss Morgan.”

Tracy’s polite smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, but in this house—a house of marble, glass, and silent judgments—she knew even the smallest c***k could be fatal. She straightened her spine, forcing her voice steady.

“I hope I can earn it,” she replied softly.

Eleanor Knight’s lips curved in what might have passed for approval, but the glint in her eyes suggested otherwise. She released Tracy’s hand with a graceful flick, already turning toward the grand staircase. “Dinner is served. I trust you’ll both join us.”

Her heels clicked against the marble, each step echoing like a warning.

Tracy exhaled only when the woman was out of sight. She turned to Alex, her voice low and urgent. “She hates me.”

Alex’s expression didn’t change. “She doesn’t know you.”

“Then what was that?”

“A test.” His gaze sharpened. “One of many. Don’t fail them.”

He offered his arm, and though Tracy wanted to resist, she looped her hand through his. The gesture wasn’t just for her comfort—it was strategy. Together, they projected unity, power, and inevitability.

The dining hall awaited them like a scene from a period drama. A massive table stretched across the room, set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses. Chandeliers rained golden light down on the polished surface, while oil paintings of stern-faced ancestors watched from the walls.

At the head of the table sat Eleanor Knight, regal and commanding. Beside her was a man Tracy recognized from magazine spreads: Charles Knight, Alex’s father. His presence was quieter, but no less imposing—a man who had built empires and crushed rivals with the same calm efficiency.

To their right sat a woman who looked strikingly like Alex—dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that missed nothing. His sister, perhaps.

“Come,” Eleanor said smoothly, gesturing to the two empty seats opposite her. “Join us.”

Tracy’s pulse thundered as she slid into her chair. The china clinked faintly under her nervous hands. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every detail: the precise placement of her fork, the straightness of her posture, the way her napkin rested across her lap.

Dinner began with silence, broken only by the soft clatter of silverware. The food was exquisite—roast duck with cherry glaze, delicately seasoned vegetables, a wine that smelled older than she was. But the flavors barely registered past the knot in her stomach.

Eleanor’s eyes flicked up from her plate. “So, Miss Morgan. Tell us—what exactly do you do?”

The question was asked casually, almost sweetly, but Tracy heard the challenge beneath it.

“I’m a journalist,” Tracy said, steady but cautious. “I cover social and cultural events for The Herald.”

“Ah.” Eleanor dabbed her lips with her napkin. “So you write about other people’s lives.”

Tracy’s jaw tightened. “In a way. I tell their stories.”

“How noble.” The faintest arch of Eleanor’s brow told Tracy she meant the opposite.

Alex’s fork stilled. His gaze slid toward his mother, sharp and cold. “Tracy is one of the best in her field. She’s respected.”

The defense surprised her. He had spoken without hesitation, his voice carrying a weight that silenced even Eleanor for a moment. Tracy’s chest tightened, though she refused to let it show.

The woman who resembled Alex leaned forward, curiosity glinting in her eyes. “So how did you and my brother meet?”

Tracy froze. This was the landmine she had dreaded. The story they’d rehearsed suddenly felt flimsy, brittle under the scrutiny of family.

Alex’s hand brushed against hers beneath the table, a barely-there touch that sent a jolt through her. His voice was calm, smooth as glass.

“At a charity gala,” he said. “She was covering the event, and I—noticed her.”

Tracy forced a blush, lowering her gaze just enough to sell the story. “It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, but… he was persistent.”

The sister’s lips twitched, amusement dancing at the edges. Eleanor, however, remained stone-faced.

The meal continued, each question sharper than the last. What were her intentions? Did she understand the responsibilities of being a Knight? Could she really belong in this world of power and wealth?

Through it all, Tracy held her ground. Her voice didn’t shake, her smile didn’t falter. But every time she thought she might crumble, she felt Alex’s presence beside her—solid, unyielding. His hand brushing hers again, his eyes meeting hers when no one was looking.

And slowly, an unsettling realization dawned.

This wasn’t just an act anymore.

Something real was threading between them, dangerous and undeniable.

By the time dessert arrived—delicate slices of lemon tart—Tracy’s pulse had steadied. She had survived. Barely.

But just as she let herself exhale, Eleanor leaned back in her chair, her voice slicing through the air.

“Well,” she said, her eyes fixed on Tracy. “If you are to be part of this family, there’s one thing we must make absolutely clear.”

The room stilled. Even Alex’s jaw tightened.

“You will never embarrass us. Not once. Not ever. Do you understand?”

Tracy swallowed, her heart hammering. The weight of the Knight legacy pressed down on her like iron chains. She opened her mouth to answer—

But Alex spoke first.

“She won’t,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. His hand tightened over hers beneath the table, his grip both possessive and protective.

For the first time that evening, Eleanor’s composure cracked—just slightly. Her eyes flicked to her son, a silent battle waged across the polished table.

And Tracy realized something chilling.

She wasn’t just fighting for her place. She was caught in the middle of a war between Alex and his mother.