Standing up, I take her hand in mine.
Layla’s eyes turn as wide as saucers. “No, nope. You already used your hug for the week.”
“I need to talk to you.” I lead her to the sofa and sit her so we’re facing each other.
“Damn straight you do. I need deets. Did you throw Johnny’s offer back at his face? What did it look like? Did his arrogant nose commit suicide? Ugh. I wish you’d caught it on camera.”
“I accepted it, Lay.”
“Wait — and I mean this in the most buggered off way — what?”
Yesterday, when I remained silent, Layla assumed we’d go with her plan and flip Jonathan the bird.
“I want to do it. It’s the only peaceful and uncomplicated way to get the ownership back.”
“Mate…” Aurora’s eyes fill with tears. My best friend doesn’t cry. She thinks it’s beneath her ‘street-made’ status. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself like that.”
“I’m not.” I tell her my suspicions about Alicia’s death and how I plan to find out the truth behind it.
After I returned to my building, I asked Paul about the sender of that box in which I found the flash drive, and he said he found it in front of the building during his morning check-ups.
“I get that, I do. And I’m all for bringing your sister justice, but you have to be careful, Aurora. It’s Jonathan King.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do. Sometimes, it seems like you underestimate him because you knew him when you were a kid, but in this world, men like Jonathan King crush and move on. They start wars and end them without being hurt. It’s his world, his territory, and his subjects. Just because he’s playing this game doesn’t mean he’ll take it easy on you. He might choose to destroy you any time he wishes to do so.”
I swallow, her words hitting me at my core. Despite my apprehension about Jonathan, the fact that I was immune to him — and every other man — gave me a false sense of power that crumbled to pieces last night.
“I know you’re taking this risk because of your sister, but I don’t want you to let your guard down in front of a man like Jonathan.”
“What if it’s too late, Lay?”
A line forms between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“He…he brought me to orgasm.”
“What the F?” She holds up a hand like she needs to catch her breath. “He took your first O?”
More like wrenched it out of me, unapologetically and without a sliver of doubt.
“What happened to ‘I never get wet’?” she whispers as if someone is eavesdropping. “Did he use lube?”
I shake my head, shame gnawing at my chest. “But that’s not the worst part, Lay. He brought me to orgasm and I felt empty when he let me go. I need help, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t. Granted, I don’t know what it feels like for someone else to give you an orgasm, but orgasms, in general, are a darn good feeling. You probably just wanted more of that.”
Why do I feel like that’s not the case? But I don’t say that out loud in case Layla starts to think I’m sick in the head or something.
“And, mate, if that man gives you anything to enjoy, don’t hesitate to take it. At least he has that whole hot daddy look going on for him. Just…”
“What?”
“Don’t lose yourself to him. Men like Jonathan King have enough intensity to make you forget about who you are when in their company.”
She’s right.
But it’s not like I’ll ever let Jonathan consume me. I might have had second thoughts, but I’ve never strayed away from my initial goal.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have majored in psychology?” I poke Layla.
“I kind of did. They teach us a lot of psychology in marketing. We have to understand people in order to sell to them.”
I rub her arm. “Thank you for being here for me, Lay. I would’ve gone crazy without you.”
“Anytime. Remember, I don’t care how much Johnny is daddy material. If he bothers you, I’ll kick his arrogant nose.”
We both laugh at the mental image, and for a moment, I pretend everything will be fine.
Six months.
I can survive six months.
After all, I survived sixteen years in the company of a monster.
Problem is, Jonathan is an entirely different monster altogether.
16
Aurora
I arrive early to the King’s mansion.
On purpose.
If I’m going to be stuck here for the next six months, then I might as well rip off the Band-Aid.
However, there’s something else.
With the exception of the clusterfuck that happened around the dining table last night and how I embarrassingly came all over Jonathan’s fingers, there’s another issue that hasn’t left my brain.
The recording of Alicia’s voice. Her death message to me.
Considering Jonathan was her husband, he ought to inherit all that she left.
If he’s had that recording for eleven years, why would he send me that message now? Why in this way?
Granted, he’s lost track of me since Alicia’s death, but could this be another game of his?
The only other people who could have Alicia’s message for me is her lawyer or her son, Aiden.
The lawyer wouldn’t play games, I don’t think. As for Aiden… Well, I don’t know him enough to form any theories yet. What I’m sure of is that he wasn’t even aware I existed or he wouldn’t have called me Mum during our first meeting.
Besides, he’s on his honeymoon right now. There’s no way in hell he has time to plot this.
The prime suspect is inside these walls. Jonathan fucking King.
Once again, the front gate automatically opens. And again, I stare at the angel statue. My wrist, where my watch lies, itches as a sense of foreboding trickles down my spine.
I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, but I’ll bring you justice, Alicia.
When I was young and clueless, she used to hold me on her lap and tell me stories about fairies and castles. She used to read me fantasy novels like Harry Potter. I loved how her voice changed every time there was danger in a scene. My eyes would bug out and I’d wait with bated breath for the following chapters to unfold.
Even though we lived worlds apart, she never made me feel like I was worthless.
We did have so many differences to count. I grew up in Leeds while she lived in London. She was an aristocrat from both parents’ sides while I was an illegitimate commoner. Her noble origins showed in her tiniest gestures. From her smile to her delicate frown.
She was warm and softly spoken. Dying at only thirty was too harsh.
And that’s why she needs justice.
And that’s why I can’t let whatever happened with Jonathan yesterday repeat again. He’s my sister’s husband for fuck’s sake.
As soon as I stop in front of the mansion, I unload my suitcase. I brought necessities and my laptop, and since I kept my flat, most of my stuff is still there.
The door opens and the woman from yesterday greets me. A younger man dressed in an elegant butler suit stands beside her. His skin is so pale that his green veins show through the surface of his hand.