“Yes, sir.”

“Did Harris confirm?”

“Yes, the flight is scheduled upon your arrival.”

“Whoa. Hold on.” I stare between Moses’s bald head and Jonathan. “What flight? Where are we going?”

“Away from here,” Jonathan says simply.

“Away, where?”

He runs his knuckles over my cheek, and I resist the urge to close my eyes and lean into his touch. He always gets to me when he does that. “A place where they can’t find you.”

“T-they?”

“My resources tell me the prosecutor will issue a warrant to bring you in for questioning, and there might be a travel ban.”

“They can find me?”

“If Maxim’s lawyer can, so can they. Besides, he’s the one who revealed your new identity.”

“Won’t I, you know, be considered a fugitive if I leave the country?”

“There’s no travel ban at the moment. This is completely legal, but even if it isn’t, who fucking cares? I won’t let them have you under custody until the trial — that’s out of the question. Besides, you need to clear your head.” His hand grabs both of mine before he lifts them and kisses my knuckles. “You haven’t stopped shaking.”

I’m breathless, caught in a trance by the way his lips glide over the back of my hands. He’s not only kissing them, but in his own way, he’s also comforting me.

Who knew there would be a day where Jonathan King comforts me?

“There. That’s much better.” He cradles my hands, which have stopped trembling, on his lap.

It takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around him in a hug. He’s offering me an attentiveness that I never thought anyone, let alone he of all people, would show me.

“Then what?” I murmur now that I’m in a calmer state.

His thumb traces the back of my hand, eliciting small bursts of comfort. “I’ll figure it out, but for now, we need to stay away from the media turmoil. When they find out you’re no longer here, Maxim’s lawyer will play a media game and fully expose your new identity. We’re not only talking about where you’re living and your company, but everything he already knows will be discussed by the entire country.”

“Holy shit,” I breathe out in a low murmur. The scenarios he’s painting in my head form like a black doom.

“I know it's a difficult time, Aurora, but we need to get ready for all possibilities.”

“Oh my God! What about H&H and Layla?”

“Harris is on it. I currently own H&H, so Layla should be fine, but I can’t guarantee they won’t harass her or her family. They should go stay someplace else. I have Harris arranging a safe hotel for them. Can you ask her to go with him?”

“Uh…yeah.” I pull my phone and wince when I find about ten missed calls from Jonathan and five from her.

Jonathan’s hawk-like attention doesn’t miss what’s on my screen and his tone hardens. “And next time, answer my fucking calls, Aurora.”

“I’m sorry. I…wasn’t thinking.” I’m still not — not straight, anyway.

“You were with Ethan.”

“I’m thankful he was there.”

Jonathan’s grip tightens around my wrist, but he says nothing. He also recognises that I shouldn’t have been alone in the midst of people who most likely would’ve gotten my head on a stick.

I dial Layla and she answers after the first ring. “What the F, mate! Don’t ghost me. That stuff gives me PTSD now.”

“Sorry, Lay. Something came up.”

“No kidding. Harris is at our house, saying we need to go, or something.”

“Yeah, Lay, please go with him. I…I’m so sorry I got you, Kenza, and Hamza involved in this. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?”

The whole case is public now, and she’ll see it eventually. However, I don’t want her to hear about it from strangers. “Maxim Griffin, the one who’s currently all over the news?”

“What about that psycho?”

“H-he’s my father, Lay.”

There’s no answer from the other side. It’s the first time Layla’s been speechless, and it’s not the good type.

“A-are you going to say something?”

“Wait up. So you’re, like, the daughter who reported him?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I’m s-so sorry, Lay. I know I should’ve told you before and I’m sorry you guys will be implicated in this when my new identity is revealed, so just tell them you didn’t know. Say I played you, lied to you.”

“Bollocks. Where are you?”

“I’m leaving for a bit. Please follow Harris. It’s for your own safety. Please.”

“We’ll go to our relatives in Birmingham. Don’t worry about us. You just take care of you, okay?” Her voice turns brittle at the end and she pauses before saying, “Remember, you’re my ride or die, mate. I’ve got you.”

“Lay…” I choke on my tears, gripping the phone hard.

By the time I end the call, I’m too emotional to talk. The fact that Layla is on my side without even hearing the full story squeezes my heart. I didn’t know I needed her support until now.

Jonathan takes the phone from between my fingers and powers it off.

“Why are you taking it away?”

“Journalists will start bugging you.”

The rest of the way is spent in silence as Jonathan holds my hand in his lap, still stroking my skin.

If it weren’t for my loud thoughts that don’t seem like they’ll be cooling down anytime soon, I would’ve fallen asleep on his lap like I usually do when we’re in a long car ride.

We arrive at a secluded landing area of an airport and a plane waits for us. When we come out, Jonathan places a hand on the small of my back and leads me to it. Moses carries bags, which I didn’t know were already packed and loaded, from the car.

The flight attendant, a redhead with a blinding smile, welcomes us in. Jonathan doesn’t release me until we’re inside, and that’s only because the entryway doesn’t fit two people at the same time.

The luxury is clear in the furnishings, from the dark ceiling and flooring to the light caramel plush seats that appear custom-made.

The only flights I’ve ever taken were from Leeds to Glasgow, then from Glasgow to London. And those were the lowest classes available. I have no idea what first-class looks like, but something tells me this is a step further.

It isn’t until we’re completely inside that I notice no one but us is here.

“Did you book the entire flight?” I ask Jonathan.

“Didn’t need to. This is my private jet.”

Right. Not that it should be a surprise that Jonathan has his own jet. He travels around the world a lot. Or that’s what he did before I came along, as Harris likes to remind me in his snobbish tone.

He lets me sit by the window as if he remembers when I told him that I’d never left the UK. I’ve never had the chance to look out from a window seat and have always wondered what it would feel like.