Prologue

Arthur Knight was sitting in the living room, idly twirling a glass of brandy in his right hand while absently listening to his parents, Avery and Abigail, chatting with his youngest brother, Adrian. They were all waiting expectantly for Aaron, the second-born of the three siblings, to arrive from the airport.

Aaron had recently completed his business degree at NYU and chosen to spend the last four months traipsing across Europe with his best friend, Victor. He claims that this trip would be his last attempt at savouring his freedom before being shackled to the desk. He wanted to be bathed in history and culture, Aaron had claimed before he left New York.

Arthur suspected that it would be mostly likely for Aaron to be bathed in women and liqueur rather than history and culture. His brother had a penchant for the shiny things in life, and that included beautiful women and expensive wine.

Before boarding the flight to New York from Charles de Gaulle International Airport, Paris, Aaron had informed them that both he and Victor would not need a ride home from the airport. Citing jet lag and time difference, Aaron insisted that both he and Victor would not be good company. It would be to the best interest of everyone if the two of them take a taxi home. 

Arthur found it to be very unlike Aaron to insist on taking a taxi home.

The Knights were used to the trappings of luxury and to them, taking a taxi or any public transportation for that matter, would only be limited to emergencies. Hell, Arthur couldn't even remember the last time he took a cab. 

Most of the time, they were ferried around by drivers or if they so desire it, they could easily drive on their own. An array of expensive cars parked in the garage are left at their disposal.  

Indeed, in Arthur's opinion, there was no need for Aaron to take a taxi at all.

For himself, Arthur had chosen to have Gerald, his personal driver to drive him from point A to point B. Gerald has been in his service for the past four years, and to him is a lifesaver. Traffic in New York is an absolute nightmare and finding parking would be a near impossible feat.

Sinking his back deeper into the plush, dark-brown leather sofa, his eyes roamed lazily to the living room's tall windows, partially covered by soft, semi-transparent nude curtains. Outside, the sun was shining brightly against white fluffy clouds, slowly making its descent into the horizon. The rain had just stopped pouring, leaving in its wake damp earth, with beads of water clinging precariously to the leaves and grass everywhere and cleaning the air from pollution and smoke.

Glancing carelessly at the diamond encrusted leather watch which was strapped on his left wrist, he noted that Aaron's flight should have landed hours ago. According to Arthur's estimation, Aaron would be home any minute now.

Sure enough, a cheerful yellow cab pulled up in the driveway, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. And within minutes, there was a loud and desperate pounding on the front door, violently straining the door against its hinges.

The housekeeper ran hastily to open the white double doors and in flew Aaron, running desperately for his life, as if he was chased by a pack of wild dogs. His long muscled legs were pacing furiously into the house, his dark hair was disheveled and his white polo shirt appear to be half tucked into the waistband of his pants. He was also curiously missing one shoe.

One can safely conclude that the dashing and often immaculately dressed Aaron is not at his best today.

He is in an unfortunate state of disarray.

A flash of someone garbed in yellow followed dangerously close at his heel. 

An angry feminine growl was coming from the person, whose eyes were focused only on Aaron and seemingly oblivious to others who were in the room. She was furiously running behind Aaron, her slim legs were trying desperately to match his pace. Her slender arms were flailing, wisps of brown hair flying wildly, irretrievably doing her best in trying to catch him.

An irritated and loud huff came out from the person in yellow, reverberating throughout the living room.

She had narrowed the gap between them and Aaron was only inches away from her grasp.

Try as he might, Arthur couldn't make out the features of this person clearly. Both she and Aaron were circling the room frantically and trying to avoid knocking themselves at the furniture to the best of their abilities.

Quietly observing the chaotic scene that was unfolding in front of him, Arthur is very certain that he's never met someone quite as spirited as she is.

"You BRUTE!" she exclaimed loudly.

Her slim fists were pumping angrily into the air, causing her brown hair to ripple violently as she moved her slender arms.

"It is NOT my birthday! There is NO NEED for you to throw eggs at me! You've ruined my brand new outfit! What is WRONG with you?!"

She was shouting in exasperation as she continued to run behind Aaron.

Just like a movie being replayed in slow motion, a few seconds later, the lady in yellow finally caught up with Aaron, pulling him back by the ends of his navy blue jacket while simultaneously throwing herself precariously forward.

This caused Aaron to lose his footing and tumble towards the floor. The lady followed suit, falling on her bottom and landing on top of Aaron's torso.

"Omph," Aaron cried out as the lady accidentally sat on him.

Despite the lady's furious expression, Aaron appear to be laughing in stitches, clearly unaffected by the anger that was reverberating in waves from the lady's stiff posture.

The lady groaned frustratingly and her slim hands started punching Aaron's muscled chest and wide shoulders, totally unamused by his reaction. 

By now, Arthur could clearly see streaks of orange and yellow goo, presumably egg yolk, dribbling on the lady's brown hair and some on her yellow jacket as well. Egg shells were spattered on her head and some were stuck to the front of her outfit.

Despite her messy and somewhat dishevelled appearance, the lady appeared to be dressed in a designer outfit, one that had graced the fashion runway at the most recent Spring/ Summer New York Fashion Week. That would explain her anger at Aaron, her new outfit must have caused a fortune.

Wanting them to stop before they actually killed each other and politely trying to inform the both of them that there are others in the room, their father, Avery Knight loudly cleared his throat.

Aaron and the lady looked up in surprise from where they were, both still entangled on the floor. Aaron had a goofy grin plastered on his face, unfazed that their antics were on full display. These are his parents and brothers, after all.

The lady turned her face, her green eyes slowly traveling upwards and sweeping across the room, her tiny forehead scrunched in confusion. As realization dawned on her that there were others in the room observing their childish antics, her cheeks rapidly turned pink, eyes wide in embarassment and her mouth rounded in shock. 

Gingerly, she stood up and turned to face a very amused Avery and Abigail Knight. Beside them sat Adrian, the youngest of the three brothers. He was covering his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking with mirth and trying his best not to laugh out loud.

Sounding absolutely mortified, with her eyes gazing shamefully to the floor, she reluctantly said, "I am terribly sorry Mr. and Mrs. Knight for my behaviour. When we came out of the taxi, Aaron thought it would be funny to egg me. Honestly, I do not know how and when did he get those eggs but he threw FIVE eggs at me. For the love of God, I don't even know why I am friends with this imbecile." 

She turned to glare angrily at Aaron who was already on his feet, wide shoulders still shaking with mirth. His blue eyes were twinkling with merriment, clearly enjoying himself at her expense.

Avery Knight's light grey eyes crinkled with amusement, a light smile appearing on his thin pink lips. His second son is finally home from his trip to Europe and he was hoping that soon Aaron will settle down, preferably with Victory Sinclair, his best friend of eight years. They have known her for years and she has been a permanent fixture in Aaron's life and their household. 

He and Abigail wants nothing but to see their three sons happily married and producing grandchildren for them to play with.

"It's okay, Victory," Avery said with a chuckle. "By now, we are used to you and Aaron's antics. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised that at the supposedly mature age of twenty-four, both of you still manage to act like four-year olds." 

With utmost care, Victory Sinclair slowly palmed her right hand on top of her head, carefully grabbing a handful of yellow goo and egg shells that were stuck precariously to her hair.

Without warning, she slapped her dirty hand onto Aaron's head and proceeded to wipe that hand slowly and deliberately from the crown of his head down to his chest. 

"Gotcha!" She cried out, laughing with glee. Her face was gloating in satisfaction. 

"Hey!" Aaron exclaimed, arms opening wide in surprise before playfully smacking his hand behind her shoulders.

"Well, you started it!" Victory pouted her lips, her oval face was scrunched up adorably and her button nose wrinkling in irritation. Her index finger was pointing accusingly towards Aaron.

She no longer appeared angry, instead she cheekily poked out her pink tongue at Aaron.

Looking at her with affection, Aaron smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, causing a wave of thick dark hair to fall onto his forehead.

"Sorry, Vic. I couldn't help myself. You looked so proud of this yellow outfit. I must say, if this was Thanksgiving, you would definitely outshine Mom's delicious roast turkey. We'd probably be confused whether to eat you or the turkey." Aaron snickered, mischief glinting from his pale blue eyes.

Not wanting to cause further embarrassment to the poor girl, Abigail quickly chimed, "Victory, why don't you freshen up and get changed. Aaron will show you the guest room and we will get someone to bring up a fresh pair of clothes for you to change into." 

"It's okay Mrs. Knight," Victory retorted with a warm smile. "I know the way. First floor, first bedroom on the left. I've been here so often, I could practically find the room with my eyes closed."

With a nonchalant flip of her hair, egg goo dripping from her clothes, she sashayed out of the living room and up the curvy stairs to where the bedrooms were. 

Arthur turned to his mom and then to Aaron, confusion clearly etched on his face.

"Mom?" Arthur asked gingerly.

"Isn't that my bedroom? Last I checked, my bedroom is the first on the left. Why is this lady changing her clothes in my bedroom and not the guest room?"