Page 98 of Under Southern Stars
We drive for several more minutes down the private road—still on McKenzie land, I realize with growing unease. Eventually, the main house comes into view, and my breath catches.
House is not the right word. It is a sprawling mansion of stone and glass, perched on a rise that commands views of the entire valley. Modern but timeless, with multiple wings and expansive terraces. Landscaped gardens surround it, and I can see a pool glittering in the distance.
Madison stirs in the backseat, pulling off her headphones. “Are we—” Her words cut off as she spots the house. “Holyshit.”
For once, I don’t correct her language.
Jack pulls up to a circular driveway where several luxury vehicles are parked. A group of people has assembled on the front steps—a welcoming committee. I recognize Jack’s sisters from the photos he’d shown me, along with an elegant older couple who have to be his parents.
“Jack,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What exactly did you not tell me?”
He turns to me, his blue eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite name—fear, maybe, or resignation.
“Everything,” he whispers back. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
Before I can respond, the front door opens, and his family starts moving toward our car.
It is too late for explanations. The moment of truth has arrived, and I am completely unprepared.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JACK
The drive to the estate feels like a slow-motion car crash I can see coming but can’t prevent. Every kilometer brings us closer to the inevitable collision of my two worlds, and I am powerless to stop it.
I have rehearsed what to say a dozen times during the night, lying awake beside Sophia while she sleeps peacefully, unaware of what is coming. But when morning arrives, the words have evaporated, leaving only a hollow dread in the pit of my stomach.
Now we are here, and it is too late.
My family has assembled on the front steps like a welcoming party for visiting dignitaries—Dad in his casual but unmistakably expensive weekend attire, Mum in one of her designer dresses that she probably considers “simple,” my sisters arranged in what looks like a carefully choreographed tableau.
“Jack?” Sophia’s voice is unnaturally steady. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me before we get out of this car and meet your family?”
I turn to her, wanting to explain everything, knowing there isn’t time, knowing it is already too late.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, I just—”
“Mr. McKenzie!” Mrs. Petersen, our longtime housekeeper, appears at my window, beaming. “Welcome home! Everyone’s been so excited. And these must be your special guests!”
I see Sophia flinch at the “Mr. McKenzie.” I’d always just been “Jack” to her, to everyone at Metro General. The formality is the first crack in the façade.
“Mrs. Petersen,” I nod, forcing a smile. “Yes, this is Sophia Mitchell and her daughter, Madison.”
Madison has already scrambled out of the car, her eyes wide as she takes in the estate.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, turning in a slow circle. “This is like a movie set.”
I watch as Sophia composes herself, squaring her shoulders in that way she does before dealing with difficult situations at the hospital. The charge nurse armor, I call it—her ability to project calm confidence regardless of her inner turmoil. But I’d never been on the receiving end of it before, and it feels like a knife in my gut.
“Sophia,” I begin.
“We should greet your family,” she interrupts, her voice professionally pleasant. “They’re waiting.”
She is right. My family has started moving toward us, my mother in the lead, her arms already outstretched in welcome.
“Jackson!” she calls, using my full name as always. “Finally! We were about to send out a search party!”
I see Sophia register the “Jackson” with a slight tightening around her eyes. Another revelation. My mother reaches us, enveloping me in a perfumed embrace before turning to Sophia.
