Reign of a King: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 1)

I leave work early.

But I don’t go to Jonathan’s house.

In fact, for a second, I contemplate driving my car to someplace else.

I could go to Wales. Or Scotland.

If that’s still too close, I can go to another country. Pick a place on the map and fly over there.

I can start anew. If I’ve already had one rebirth, I can have another, right?

Only, I can’t leave H&H and Layla and everyone else behind.

I can’t abandon the dream I started with my own hands. I can’t keep running for the rest of my life.

When I walked out of the court hearing that day, I promised he’d never be the master of my life again.

He won’t control my every breath as if he has a right to. As if he owns my life just because he gave it to me.

Every time someone looks at me, I breathe wrong. I watch my surroundings as if expecting the eggs, the slurs, the assault.

“The devil’s spawn.”

“Her father’s daughter.”

“Murderer! Murderer! MURDERER!”

I hit the brakes and place both hands on my ears as if that will stop the voices from screaming louder in my head.

My breathing is non-existent. My heartbeat escalates like a heavy weight is perched on my chest.

No.

No one will find me. They can’t.

Just because the solicitor did, doesn’t mean my past will come rushing back in.

It takes me several minutes to compose myself and drive to my flat. All the way there, I watch the rear-view mirror and over my shoulder, imagining a hand coming out of nowhere.

By the time I reach the reception area, I’m a hot mess of screwed up nerves. My head is crowded with the screams and the cries of the victims’ families, and the way they asked me why.

I didn’t even know myself. How could I answer them?

“Ms Harper.” Paul in reception intercepts me, lowering the volume of the TV.

I come to a halt and plaster on a smile. “Hey, Paul. How are you?”

“Good. Have you moved out?”

“Yes, temporarily. I’m keeping the lease, though.”

“I…see.” He tips his lips up, but I don’t miss the pause. “There’s a new package for you.”

My heartbeat skyrockets with something a lot different than the reason behind the solicitor’s visit.

Alicia’s voice message.

“Where is it?”

Paul retrieves a small box from under the counter like the other time.

I take it with a slight smile. “I’ll drop by to check my mail, but can you call me whenever I get any others?”

“Definitely, Miss.”

“Thank you so much, Paul.” I motion at the empty sofa in an awkward attempt to make conversation. “No Shelby today?”

“He’s not feeling well.” His cockney accent is thicker than usual as he slides his gaze back to the Premier League football game on TV.

I thank him again and count the minutes until I’m in my flat. As soon as I’m inside, I shrug off my jacket, kick my shoes away, and run to my TV. I plug the flash drive in and press Play.

Like the other time, there’s silence at the beginning before Alicia’s voice trickles in.

“I lied to you, Claire, and I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought I was protecting you. I thought the only way to protect you was to keep you in the dark. Maybe that wasn’t my brightest decision, but I want you to know how much it pains me to have one hair on your head hurt. I hope you forgive me for what I’m about to confess.”

Her voice goes dead.

I skip ahead, but just like the other time, the recording is over.

Damn it.

It’s like whoever sent this is playing a distasteful joke on me.

I slump in front of my TV, the screen blank, and pull my knees to my chest.

What could she have meant about keeping me in the dark? Was it about the devil we both knew? Though Alicia hardly met him. She usually came to me at school, not at home.

Or is this about something else?

I honestly don’t know anymore. I’m too emotionally drained and exhausted to gather any logical thought.

My limbs shake as I recall the solicitor’s visit. Parole. He said fucking parole.

Surely he can’t get paroled after only eleven years.

The dark cloud hovers over me and my fingers quiver as I pull my knees to my chest, grip my trousers, and remain in place like a statue.

That’s what I did that day.

I wasn’t sitting, but I was a statue.

You see, my love for puzzles was my damnation. I shouldn’t have gone to the forest that day. I shouldn’t have tried to figure out Dad’s puzzle.

But I did.

I wore my hoodie, took my bike, and followed close behind, a bit like a detective. I felt so smug at the time, thinking I was Sherlock Holmes or something.

Thinking Dad wouldn’t win this time.

He always said I was an extension of him, and because of that, he could read me better than anyone else.

I was going to prove that I could read him, too.

Or so I thought.

Past

Dad’s truck slows to a halt behind a small cottage. Hmph. He thought he could come here without me right after the business trip he took this morning. Well, he has a surprise waiting for him.

It isn’t the first time I’ve come here. This is where he keeps his tools.

Dad’s a hunter and a mechanic. He likes tools.

Tomorrow, we’ll go hunt again. I don’t really like it when the rabbits and deer die, but I like the stalking, the chase, and the rush of adrenaline.

Daddy says I need to perfect my hunting methods so that I can hit the target like he does.

After all, Daddy is the best hunter alive.

The door of his truck opens and he gets out. I smile with mischief as I hide with my bike behind a tree.

Daddy is a big man with broad shoulders and long legs. He has blond hair and a beard and blue eyes so deep, they’re mesmerising. All the women in town gush after my daddy.

But he’s never wanted to bring me a mum. He decided early on it was only going to be the two of us.

We do everything together. We run and hunt and solve puzzles. We cook together and even go to the local festivals side by side.

I never knew my mother, and Alicia doesn’t visit often. Daddy is my world, and as he always says, I’ll grow up to make him proud.

Dad puts on his baseball cap and rounds the truck, then goes inside the cottage.

Maybe he’s having fun without me. How dare he? I don’t have fun without him. Well, except when Alicia is in town. She doesn’t like to come home with me. I think she still hates Daddy from when he followed us to London on her wedding day and yanked me away. She never comes home with me and tells me not to mention I visited.

I hate keeping things from Daddy, but I’m cool if it’s for Alicia.

I leave my bike behind the tree and inch closer to the cottage by using the trees as camouflage. By the time I’m a few metres away, Dad re-emerges.

But he’s not alone.

A limp woman lies at his feet as he drags her out. At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. Dad and a woman.

I mean, I know Daddy is popular with women and goes on some dates, but he never introduces them to me. Why would he bring them to the cottage that’s supposed to be our basecamp?

It’s when he drags her across the harsh ground and her head lolls that I catch a glimpse of the woman’s side view. Her head is all strapped with silver duct tape except for the eyes, which are bulging, bloodshot, and vacant. They’re looking at me, but they’re seeing straight through me. Her arms are limp and a trail of blood trickles down her body, soaking the hem of her dirty pink dress.

I gasp and quickly cover my mouth with both hands. Dad stops and spins around, planting his shovel in the ground.

For a moment, I think he sees me. I think he’ll come over and catch me.

I remain frozen in place, not making a sound. I don’t even breathe, but I can’t control the tears that slide down my cheeks and moisten my fingers.

The face of the man I call Daddy every day is the same. His features are the same, those deep blue eyes and that blond beard. Everything I see is Dad.

And yet…he isn’t.

And yet…he’s dragging the body of a dead woman. I want to go there and scream, ask why, demand he explain, but I can’t move, let alone go to him.

I remain planted behind the tree as I stare at the man I call Daddy. My father. My only family.

Instead, there’s a devil in his place.

Dad whirls around, and the woman’s head hits the ground, her hand lifelessly sliding behind her.

I think I’m going to throw up.

As soon as he’s out of view, I run back towards my bike. I trip, fall, and stand up again. My knee stings and hot liquid trickles down my shin. My heart is about to beat free of its confinements, but I don’t stop until I’m on the bike.

My legs quiver as I cycle through the forest Dad and I call our world.

His world is different from mine.

His world has duct tape and vacant eyes.

And blood. A lot of blood.

The need to puke my guts out assaults me again, and I nearly give in to it. But I don’t.

I drown in the sound of the bike’s tires and the crunching of the dry leaves and the fallen branches.

I don’t look behind as I pedal the fastest I can. No idea what I’ll do now. What if… What if Dad was helping her? What if —

I frantically shake my head at that thought.

The scene was clear. There’s no mistaking that no matter how I flip it.

I halt at the edge of the road, catching my breath. My nails dig into my palms and I bite my lip as more tears soak my cheeks.

Dad is…

No. I can’t say it.

I reach into my back pocket and retrieve my phone. Alicia. I need to call my sister. She’ll tell me what to do.

The phone doesn’t ring.

Damn it.

Wait. Now that I think about it, Alicia mentioned that her son, Aiden, is missing. Did something happen?

My thoughts jump all over the place, unable to stay in focus. The inability to think straight is paralysing. So much is going on in my brain and I couldn’t comb through everything, even if I tried.

All I know is that I need to get in touch with my sister. I need to make sure her family is safe, and I need her to tell me what to do.

My fingers hover over the number titled ‘Jonathan: Emergency Only.’ Alicia said to only call him if it’s a life or death situation and I’m unable to reach her.

This one definitely is.

My toes curl into my shoes as I hit the number and the phone rings. I haven’t met Jonathan even once since the wedding nine years ago. Alicia comes to visit alone and we usually keep up through calls. When I tell her to FaceTime, she says that’s for the younger generation, not her.

“Hello.” A strong voice brings me out of my reverie.

“H-hey…I…I’m…Clarissa…A-Alicia’s sister.”

“I know who you are.”

Oh. He remembers me. I don’t know why I thought I had to explain myself some more.

“I-is Alicia there? I’m trying to reach her and…”

“She’s dead.”

My heart nearly hits the ground for the second time today. “W-what?”

“The funeral is tomorrow. I expect you to be there.”

The line goes dead.

My heart follows soon after.

He…can’t mean what I think he does, right?

I call him again, but there’s no answer.

No, no, no.

I flip open my browser and search Alicia King. That’s what I usually do when I miss her. I study her pictures with Jonathan and their son on the internet from fundraisers and parties.

The results that enumerate in front of me aren’t of those joyful events, though.

‘Breaking News: Alicia King found dead after a tragic accident.’

‘Jonathan King is a widower after the death of his wife, Alicia King.’

‘An accident takes the life of Alicia King, Jonathan King’s wife.’

The first droplets of rain hit my screen and more soon follow.

My legs abandon me and I drop to the ground as I see the pictures of Alicia’s white car, the one she used to take me all over town with as we shopped and ate.

Then the images of a body covered in a white sheet appear.

The rain blurs my vision as I scroll through the articles, all from today.

Alicia is dead. My sister is dead.

No.

No…

Alicia. You can’t leave me.

She promised we’d see each other more often if I chose to study in a university in London once I was eighteen.

I was counting the days, crossing them off my calendar until I got there.

A sob tears from my throat as a sense of grief sneaks up on me quietly and grips me in its clutches. All our moments together play like a distant song at the back of my head, and the fact that I’ve lost her forever engulfs me in a wave of darkness.

A bleak world.

A strangled heart.

This can’t be happening.

Alicia can’t be gone.

It’s a lie. It has to be.

Still, my tears blind my eyes no matter how much I bargain with my head.

I stare up at the sky, at the stormy clouds and the pounding rain. At the howling wind in the trees and the desolate road.

That’s how it feels inside. Barren. Hollow.

Wake me up, please. I can’t breathe. Someone wake me up.

My phone vibrates and I startle as a picture of Dad lifting me in his arms on my sixteenth birthday flashes on the screen.

My Hero.

I named him my hero, but he never wore a superhero cape. Not even close.

I stare behind me, my tears coming to a screeching halt. I hop on my bike, throw my phone in the basket, and pedal down the road the fastest I can. The rain soaks me, my dark hair sticks to my forehead and my mouth, but I don’t stop my high speed.

The phone flashes with a text from Dad.

My Hero: You were here, weren’t you, my little muse?

Muse. That’s what Dad calls me sometimes. When I asked him why he uses that nickname, he said it’s because I inspire him to be a better man.

My breathing catches as I stare behind me. No one is following me, but I feel as if someone is.

The phone flashes again, and this time I do answer, putting it on speaker as I continue my escape.

“Clarissa.” His suave, welcoming tone suffocates the air. The Yorkshire accent is barely there. “You know I don’t like it when you don’t answer my calls.”

“W-why…? Tell me why, Dad.”

“It’s not what it seemed, Muse. Wait for me at home. We’ll talk when I get back.”

“Why, Dad?!” I shriek. “Why?”

“Because I can. I’ll be there in a few.”

The line is cut off. Just like that. It’s completely cut off.

I open my mouth to scream, but it remains slack and nothing comes out. I contemplate pedalling straight off the edge of a cliff.

Maybe if I do, I won’t feel Dad’s betrayal and Alicia’s loss.

Maybe I can erase today from my memories and I can call Alicia and she’ll pick up. I can solve a puzzle with Dad and make him pizza afterwards and we’ll binge-watch true crime on Netflix.

But driving myself over the edge won’t solve anything.

It won’t bring back life to the dead woman he drug across the ground.

I pedal all the way to the town centre, ignoring the screams of my exhausted leg muscles and the funny way people look at me. Some greet me, but I don’t reply. I can’t.

There are only a few words in my mouth, and none of them are meant to be said back as a greeting.

I stop in front of a shabby building, throw my bike aside, and forge in. I hesitate at the threshold, but then I recall Alicia’s soft voice.

‘The silence of an accomplice is similar to committing the crime.’

Alicia, whom I can’t see again. Alicia, who was stolen from my life as if she never existed.

I barge inside and a few officers pause at my entrance. I must look like a mess, soaked in rain, my clothes glued to my skin, and my face must be pale, lips blue from the cold.

A black officer approaches me, his eyes firm but welcoming. “May I help you, Miss?”

“I…I want to report a murder.”