Bought By Santa (Seasonal Obsessions #1)

Chapter 1

The Santa

I sit, fingers interlocked, elbows resting on the mahogany table that’s seen more silent threats than a courtroom. Across from me, sits my dad—silver-haired and eyes like steel traps—and at his side, Arthur Hatt. The former’s arrival from York, England, isn’t a social call; it’s a testament to the severity of this dinner we’re having.

Arthur watches me with piercing blue eyes, assessing, calculating. They don’t miss the way my jaw tenses. I can’t help but wonder if he enjoys this meeting.

The Hatt family, the original bloodline, command from their throne in old England, reigning supreme. They’ve been peddling flesh long before our ancestors set foot on American soil. The Knight family is the American extension, a power in its own right.

After all, every king needs knights to defend his kingdom.

The servers glide around us, replacing our dishes with an array of rich food that only muffle the tension at the table. Lobster bisque, truffle-infused mashed potatoes, and asparagus so vibrant it seems out of place in this world of muted threats. I take a sip of the Cabernet, its boldness a much needed contrast to the forced civility between myself, Dad, and Arthur.

“I hear your dad passed the reins over to you last year,” Arthur says, shattering the blessed silence just as I bring the wineglass to my lips, ready to empty it. “Congratulations, cousin.”

The mention of our familial status is ridiculous and has never meant a damn thing. “Thank you,” I retort. “Your journey over the Atlantic is not taken lightly, cousin.”

“I should hope not,” he responds, the corners of his lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. “One does not simply traverse an ocean for trivial matters.”

Dad looks between us, but instead of looking pleased the dinner is going well, he frowns. “Nicklas, you know why I passed the reins over to you last year,” Dad says, his voice cutting through the clink of silverware. “Ruby’s out of the picture, married off to that… what’s his name again? Michael, that’s it.” His fork clinks against fine china as he cuts into his food.

I resist the urge to point out that Dad is the one who, ten years ago, sold my sister to her much older husband who doesn’t fucking deserve her.

“She has her uses, of course. But she can’t carry on the family. She’s not even a Knight anymore, she’s a goddamn Simmons,” he shouts, slamming his fist into the table, making the surrounding stuff rattle.

If my sister’s married name is that offensive, he should have said no when her husband demanded she change her last name.

“And Jack… well, we all know about him and his penchant for gambling.” Dad shakes his head, emphasizing the disappointment and distaste of my brother.

I feel the weight of his gaze on me, heavy with unsaid expectations. The muscles in my jaw tighten as I resist the urge to challenge him right there. I want to scream that it’s not just about running the family business; it’s about being shackled to it.

“Jack’s not unreliable, he’s just…” My defense falls flat even as I speak it, the truth bitter on my tongue. Jack, with his easy grin and careless shrugs, is too much like quicksilver, impossible to pin down.

“Unpredictable,” Dad finishes for me, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your brother’s antics won’t be tolerated much longer, you know. It’s a stain on our family.”

A server refills my glass, and I nod in thanks, trying not to think of Jack, whose easygoing nature has always been a foil to my own intensity. I can almost hear his laughter, see the green glint in his eyes—a mirror of Ruby’s, but without the shadow of submission to another’s will.

Ruby, with her sharp tongue and even sharper mind, relegated to arm candy for some old money mogul. She could have been a force to be reckoned with, our secret weapon. Instead, she’s another piece on the family chessboard, sacrificed for strategy.

“An empire needs a firm hand,” Dad continues, his gaze locked on mine. “You’ve got that grip, Nicklas. Don’t let it weaken.”

The weight of his expectations feels like a yoke around my neck, heavy and unyielding. But I don’t bow down. “Never,” I say, my voice low and steady. A promise or a threat, it’s hard to tell—even for me. The taste of power is complex, layered with both the sweetness of victory and the bitter tang of isolation.

“Good.” Dad nods, satisfied, yet his eyes remain cold, calculating.

Arthur nods and makes a sound of approval at Dad’s harsh words and even harsher assessment of my siblings. “So, I guess it all comes down to you, Nicklas,” Arthur cuts in. “You need to secure the continuation of the Knight empire.”

My fingers grip the edge of the table until my knuckles whiten. Secure the empire. A polite way of saying breed, produce an heir, or watch everything we’ve built crumble to dust. A legacy forged in shadows and whispered fears, demanding a continuation of its dark lineage.

As we sit among the grandeur of the dining room, the air heavy with the scent of truffle oil and the underlying iron tang of blood ties, I feel the weight of centuries bearing down on me. It’s not enough to lead; I must also breed, weave new threads into this tapestry of corruption and power.

“Rest assured, the legacy of the Knights will forge ahead.” There’s a promise in my words, one coated in ice and fire—because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that power respects only more power.

“Good.” Arthur leans back in his chair, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Because if you do not uphold this tradition, there are others who will,” he pauses, letting the threat hang in the air like mist over a battlefield. “And the Knight name could very well fade into obscurity.”

The idea scrapes against my insides like a blade. Fade into obscurity? Never. I may despise the shackles they’ve placed upon me, but I will not be the one to break centuries of dominion. The Knight name will not wither under my watch.

“Then I’ll do what’s necessary,” I say, my voice a low growl of commitment. The heat of the wine in my veins is nothing compared to the fire of determination that burns within me. I will secure an heir. I will cement our reign.

“See that you do,” Arthur’s tone is final. “Before Christmas would be preferable. I’m in the country until then, and I’d like to know it’s happening before I return to England.”

The dinner continues, but every mouthful is now laced with the acrid flavor of duty. The opulence of the meal, the perfection of the presentation, it all seems grotesque when juxtaposed with the stark reality of my purpose.

I clench my jaw, a muscle twitching in my cheek as I fix my gaze on Arthur. The air around us is thick with the delicious food on our plates, but it’s the stench of expectation that chokes me. I lean back in my chair; the leather creaking under my weight, and try to find the words that won’t betray my seething reluctance.

Taking a measured breath, I feel the constraints of destiny tightening around me. This isn’t just about continuing the bloodline; this is about power, control, the unyielding grip we have over, not just New York’s shadowy corners, but all of America.

“You’ll get your heir before Christmas,” I finally say, the words heavy like lead on my tongue.

Around me, the conversation carries on; they’re talking about the death of Arthur’s dad, Uther, due to poisoning almost three years ago. As I consider how to continue the lineage, their words become nothing more than background noise.

It’s mid-November already, so I don’t have long to find someone to impregnate. It would all be a lot easier if I was actually in a relationship, which I’m not. It’s not that I have trouble finding women to spread their legs for me, but not one has lasted more than one night—two at most.

But now I’m supposed to find someone I can stand having around for at least nine months…

Well, fuck me!