Reign of a King: Chapter 11

The fact that I’m cornered doesn’t mean I’ll bow down or drop to my knees.

It also doesn’t mean that I will needlessly provoke a much stronger opponent than me. My survival instinct has taught me to pick my battles and learn my worth.

Just because I collapsed once doesn’t mean I will allow myself to be broken again.

So tonight, I sent away Jonathan’s driver. I also didn’t give him a reason. I have no doubt his tyrant boss will not be pleased. I just hope he doesn’t take it out on him or something.

It’s not a vain provocation. It’s my way to tell Jonathan with no words that he doesn’t get to order me around.

I might be willing to do this, but it will be on my terms and my terms alone.

I step out of my flat and lock the door. The cold air from the corridor creeps into my bones, despite the beige coat that I’m wearing over my black knee-length dress. The one I reserve for funerals.

My face is makeup-free and I spent no effort in being presentable.

Screw Jonathan. I’ll never get done up for him.

Not only did that tyrant push me into a hole, but he’s also burying me alive.

Layla still insists on starting anew; however, my decision has been made. I’ll play Jonathan’s game, but unlike what he plans, I won’t be the one coming out of this in pieces.

He broke my sister beyond repair and if he thinks he can do the same to me, he has a surprise waiting.

I’m the wrong sister to come after.

Where Alicia was soft and caring, I’m hard and unfeeling.

Since I was a kid, I’ve learnt to build stone around my heart because that thing will only lead me to doom. It will only push me into a path filled with wires and vacant eyes and…duct tape.

So much fucking duct tape.

I shake my head as I take the lift down.

I promised myself not to think about that time again. I’m not Clarissa anymore.

Clarissa is buried with those vacant eyes.

“Ms Harper,” our building’s concierge calls my name.

He’s a short bald man with bushy brows and a beer belly. His cockney accent is noticeable when he speaks. He also always watches the Premier League games on the hall’s TV with Shelby, the old man who resides next door to me.

When Layla and I first started out, I used to rent a room in a dangerous town in Eastern London. As soon as I could afford to, I moved into this building. The security is brilliant and most of the tenants are businessmen, lawyers, and doctors. The location is safer as well.

“Good evening, Paul. Shelby.”

The concierge nods and stands up, his attention temporarily away from the game. Shelby doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, deeply focused on the TV screen. Not that he ever returns my greetings. Since we moved in almost at the same time, I always try to be friendly, but it’s rarely reciprocated.

Paul reaches behind the counter and retrieves a packet. “This came for you.”

“Thank you, Paul.” I take the small wooden box. I wonder what it could be. It’s not large enough to be the new notebooks I ordered online.

As soon as I’m in my car, I check the box. Weird. My name and address is on there, but the sender’s isn’t.

I shake it and hear a faint sound coming from inside. When I open it, I find a flash drive.

That’s all.

A flash drive.

Along with a note printed in a computer-generated font.

PLAY ME.

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I plug it into my car and hit Play.

At first, there’s no sound and I’m about to chalk this up to a prank or something. Then I hear someone breathing and I freeze as a soft voice follows.

Alicia.

Oh my God.

It’s Alicia!

“Hey, Claire. If you get this, it means I’m no longer with you. I debated about whether to leave you this, but I decided that I need to warn you. I need to protect you like I wasn’t able to when I was alive. Claire, baby sis, someone is trying to kill me and I probably will die. I —’

The recording is cut off.

I hit Play and Forward, but it cuts off at the same point every time. I press the player again and again, my fingers shaking.

Damn it. A whole body shudder grips me, and tingles erupt all over my skin at the words I heard straight out of my sister’s mouth.

Someone was trying to kill Alicia.

I knew it. I knew that her death was suspicious.

Now, I have to bring my sister justice.

Just like I did with those vacant eyes.

The moment I’m in front of the King mansion, the metal gate automatically opens like in some horror film.

I drive inside, watching my surroundings as if something or someone will jump me.

The silence of the night is deafening as I slowly go down the road that’s faintly lit by tall street lamps.

A fountain sits in the middle of the garden with imposing grandiose. There’s a statue of an angel pouring water from a jar as the virgin Mary holds him at a tilted angle.

I hit the brakes, staring with wild eyes of the statues. Both the woman and the angel are crying, their expressions wrenched.

I touch my watch, the one Alicia gave me as a present. That same image is engraved on the back of it.

This can’t be a coincidence. There must’ve been something she wanted to tell me. Something that has to do with crying angels and the person who was after her life.

A shiver creeps down my spine as I hit the gas. I don’t stop until I’m parked outside Jonathan’s house.

Inhaling deeply, I step out of my car and stand in front of a large wooden door that appears ancient but elegant with an ornamental design that looks handmade. Not that it should be a surprise, considering this is the tyrant’s residence.

The mansion stretches across a vast piece of land, accentuated by towers on the eastern and western sides. It’s like a glasshouse from the amount of glass visible. Tall windows occupy the three floors and none of them have lights on.

That’s not creepy at all.

This will be the first time I’ve stepped foot into Jonathan’s house. After all, Alicia was the one who came to find me when I used to live in Leeds, not the other way around. The only two times she brought me to London was after Mum’s funeral and during her wedding, and that didn’t happen here. I think it was at her father’s house.

The door opens on its own. Again.

I nearly jump when a petite woman appears at the entrance in utter silence. She’s wearing a black skirt, a white shirt, and matching apron. Her brown hair is held in a stiff bun at the back of her head.

“Good evening, Miss,” she speaks with an Irish lilt. “Mr King is expecting you in the dining room.”

Of course he is.

She motions at my coat and I shrug it off, then awkwardly give it to her. I’m not used to people serving me, considering I was forced to fend for myself since I was sixteen.

Draping it over her arm, she starts down the corridor with moderate footsteps and I follow after her, trying not to gawk at the place.

Or more accurately, the palace.

Everything here is built to impress. From the high glass windows to the marble flooring and the golden vaulted ceiling. It’s like he receives royalty here. Hell, maybe he does.

This is just another drop in the ocean for how far apart Jonathan and I are.

He was born a king — literally. I was born to become invisible.

And I succeeded at it for eleven years. Until he ruined everything.

The woman stops in front of a set of double doors, nods, then leaves.

I suck in a deep, shaky breath and touch my watch.

You can do this, Aurora. You’ve gotten through worse.

I push the doors open and close them behind me before I finally raise my head.

Jonathan sits at the head of a grand table fit for all of H&H’s employees. No kidding. Does he receive the British Army in here, or something?

He’s wearing a white shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, veiny arms. He could snap me in half with those arms without even blinking.

The fact that he’s all alone reduces nothing of his majesty. He doesn’t appear lonely or even the least bit miserable. If anything, he looks every bit the tyrant king on his throne. If it were medieval times, Jonathan would be the type of monarch who orders the burning of an entire city so the others would learn a lesson and bend the knee for him.

“Well, well.” He places his elbows on the table and meets my gaze with his unreadable one. “Have you changed your mind, wild one?”

“I agree.”

“To what?”

“To the deal you offered.”

“Smart. Now sit down.”

He cuts a piece of whatever is in front of him, sure I’ll comply with his order. Jonathan pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth when I reach a hand to the zip at the side of my dress and yank it down.

The cloth pools around my feet and I stand almost naked in front of him. “Get it over with.”