The Knight's Undoing

Chapter 5

Zoey

I blinked. My eyes flickered on and off—an embarrassing habit I picked up whenever nerves hijacked my body. I’d trained myself to stop it during job interviews, but now, under the crushing weight of Alexander Knight’s eyes, it came back with a vengeance.

Did I hear him right?

He still wanted me to serve him?

I studied his face, desperate for a clue. Nothing. His expression was carved from stone—blank, controlled, unreadable and calm. Not a trace of irritation, amusement, or even basic humanity. Just those icy gray eyes, steady as a blade pressed against my throat.

My stomach churned. I stepped forward, carefully this time, forcing my legs to obey me. Each step echoed in my ears, my sneakers squeaking softly against the polished marble.

“Alex.” I heard someone called, voice sharp, hint in annoyance.

Then I noticed her.

The woman sitting beside him.

Emerald silk clung to her body like the fabric had been stitched onto her skin. A dress made for magazine covers, glittering under the chandeliers. Diamonds winked from her ears, her wrist, her finger—each one worth more than my annual rent. Her chestnut hair was swept into loose waves, perfectly styled to look effortless, and her lipstick was the same shade as spilled wine—dangerous, staining, permanent.

I have seen her face.She was the model. Yeah.

Kiara Lawson. I know her from one of the beauty channels Kate was obsessed with.

Her eyes, however, were the most dangerous thing about her.

They were sharp, calculating, and fixed entirely on me.

I knew that look. I’d seen it before in the eyes of rich customers who believed the universe had granted them ownership of the air we breathed. It was the look of someone who had already decided I wasn’t worth the dirt beneath her designer heels.

Her lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like the ghost of one. A cruel kind of curve.

My chest tightened, but I didn’t look away. Pride was all I had left to armor myself with. I lifted my chin a fraction, tightening my grip on the tray until my knuckles screamed white.

“Of course, sir,” I murmured, my voice scraping against my throat, surprisingly came out audible.

Lizzy’s glare drilled into me from the corner of the VIP curtain. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her platinum bun quivering with rage, like even her hair wanted to scream at me.

I could read her thoughts clearly as a headline: You’re finished, Zoey. Dead. Buried. Six feet under.

But even Lizzy didn’t dare contradict Alexander Knight. He had spoken.

And so, against every prayer I’d whispered on my way here, I stepped into the lion’s den.

I wasn't used to working here. There were some special kinds of waitresses that attended the VIP section. We called them A-class. I know Lizzy picked me here as a sort of punishment.

“ God, just don't let me mess this up more than I already have.” I exhaled.

The VIP section was a bubble of wealth separated from the chaos of the main dining room. Thick velvet curtains muffled the noise, letting only faint laughter and clinking cutlery filter through. A grand chandelier spilled golden light over the table, where polished silverware gleamed and wine glasses sparkled like captured stars.

It was beautiful.

And suffocating.

I set the tray down on the side stand with hands that shook just enough to betray me. The glasses rattled softly, my every movement louder in the quiet than a gunshot.

“Water for the table,” I announced, my voice too small.

I poured, the liquid shimmering as it filled the crystal goblet. My hands trembled, but I willed myself not to spill. Not again. I swallowed and poured carefully, every nerve in my body screaming. Not a drop spilled. I placed the glass in front of her, bowing my head slightly, like a servant offering tribute to a queen.

Then,I turned to her first. Emerald Silk.

“What will you like, ma’am?”Taking their order was worse.

She rattled off her meal in perfect French, words flowing off her tongue like music. I fumbled with my notepad, pretending I understood half of it. My scribbles looked more like the scratchings of a drunk pigeon than legible handwriting.

“But only if you can manage not to pour l them on me.” she added when done, lips parted in a sinister smile.

Heat surged into my cheeks.

Alexander’s gaze flicked to her, then back to me. A single brow arched—whether in irritation or amusement, I couldn’t tell.

“And for you, sir?”

The question left my lips before I could stop it.

Alexander’s eyes locked onto mine. For a terrifying moment, he said nothing. Then:

“Steak. Rare.”

Two words. Sharp. Clean. Commanding.

I nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

I turned to escape, relief rushing through me—

“Zoey.” He called, calmly and barely audible.My name slid off his tongue like a sentence. I froze. My lungs refused to fill. Slowly, I turned back.

“Yes, sir?” I turned back to face him, making sure I maintained a professional look.

His posture was relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of his chair, but his gaze never softened. “Be careful this time.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, before nearly bolting out through the curtain.

Lizzy was waiting.

Her nails clamped around my arm, sharp enough to dig into skin. She yanked me close, her perfume cloying, sweet with rot.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she spat, her voice low but venomous.

“Doing my job,” I hissed back, yanking my arm free. I can't have customers on my neck, shitting the hell out of me, my Professor doing like an assigned devil to deal with and still a nagging boss.

She laughed, the sound brittle, ugly. “Job? You embarrassed us in front of Alexander Knight. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you’ve caused? Do you even know what it means??”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, leaning in so close I could count the veins in her eyes. “If you mess this up again, Zoey, I’ll personally see to it that you never work in this city again. You’ll be flipping burgers in Jersey, begging for pennies.”

Her words wrapped around me like chains.

I nodded, my throat burning. “Yes, Lizzy.”

She smirked, satisfied. “Good girl. Now go. Don't keep them waiting.”

The next hour blurred into hell.

Each time I pushed through that velvet curtain, I entered a silent battlefield. Kiara Lawson watched me like a hawk, her eyes brimming with disdain. She made little comments, all poisoned sugar.

“ Can you pour me the wine?” Kiara gestured towards the sealed wine bottle. I took up the bottle, lifting it with care, before pouring it. I stepped back to give them privacy, but enough to step in when they needed me.

Alex said little, his attention shifting between his meal, his glass, and his date.

Their conversations were in hush. Hardly did I hear anything except the occasional “Kiara” Mr Knight called.

And his eyes—God, those eyes.

He didn’t look at me the way other men did. Not with hunger. Not with pity. With something colder. Analytical. Like I was a puzzle he had every intention of solving.

At one point, I reached for a plate, my sleeve brushing against a wine glass. It wobbled. My heart stopped—

But his hand shot out, steadying it.

The glass stilled.

I froze, my breath caught, staring at his long fingers around the stem.

“Careful,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine.

Heat surged across my skin, shame burning my ears. “Sorry,” I whispered.

His lips twitched—not a smile. A ghost of something. Then he let go, as if the moment had never happened.

But my chest throbbed long after.

---

Dessert arrived. I placed it carefully, step by deliberate step. My legs trembled, but nothing spilled, nothing broke.

Finally—finally—they finished.

Kiara dabbed at her lips with her napkin, her gaze slicing me apart. “Mediocre service,” she announced, loud enough for Lizzy, for everyone, to hear. “But I suppose it’ll do.”

My throat burned. My fists curled at my sides. But I said nothing.

Alexander stood, sliding his chair back with practiced grace. Lizzy nearly tripped over herself to reach him, showering apologies, begging for another chance.

He silenced her with one look.

Then, as he passed me, he paused.

His gaze caught mine—steady, unreadable.

And then, softly, like a blade slipping between my ribs:

“We’ll see if you last.”

And he was gone.

I stood rooted, my pulse racing, my palms slick with sweat. Lizzy’s glare burned like acid. I couldn't pay her any attention.

All I heard was his voice.

We’ll see if you last.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if that was a warning… or a promise.