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.”
12
Jonathan
Ever since I sat down for dinner, all I’ve been thinking about is how to bring Aurora to her knees.
It doesn’t matter what methods I have to use. She’s challenging me again and I’m not the type to be challenged.
Sending my driver back is a clear sign of her loathsome stubbornness. And I need to crush that stubbornness to smithereens.
So when she showed up on time on her own, I took a pause.
I don’t take pauses.
Still, here I am. Taking another pause as I stare at her pale bare skin. My gaze trails from the defiant expression on her face — no red lipstick today — to the jutting of her nose and the slight crease in her chin.
Her long, delicate neck is taut — with tension, no doubt. Both her arms are inert by her sides, not trying to hide her half-nakedness. She’s in an unflattering purple cotton bra and underwear, clearly highlighting that she didn’t put any effort into how she looks before she came here.
It’s her way of showing defiance. She’s telling me this means nothing and she’ll wake up in the morning and completely erase me.
Doesn’t she know there’s no erasing a king? At least, not when you reside in his kingdom.
I take my time sliding my gaze down her full, high tits that push against the bra with each harsh intake of breath. The pale skin contrasts against the purple like the type of art you only see in exhibitions.
Her body shape is slim, tall, and fit. Judging from her toned legs, either she jogs or hikes. There’s no line of tan on her shoulders or around her hips, even though we’re just out of the summer, which means Aurora doesn’t do sunbathing.
Aurora doesn’t wear swimsuits, but she runs or hikes.
I tuck that information away for later as I continue watching her rigid posture and the rebellion in her dark blues. They sparkle like a hurricane about to conquer an ocean.
My cock twitches and it’s not just because of her half-naked state. It’s that look in her eyes. The spirit, the fight. The damn stubbornness.
My blood rushes with a powerful heat at the idea of exploiting that fight, of digging my fingers into her armour and ripping it apart from the inside out.
How long has it been since I’ve had a worthy opponent? Aside from Ethan and his dog, Agnus, no one dares to look me in the eyes, let alone stand half-naked, in a vulnerable position, and still defy me.
My gaze slides to a medium length scar beneath her left breast. It’s horizontal, a bit messy, and appears old.
How old, though? And what happened to give her that scar?
There’s also what seems like a tattoo above it. It’s too small to make out its details, but I’ll have plenty of time to study that later.
Aurora wraps an arm around her midsection to hide her scar. She’s either ashamed of it or she doesn’t like to be exposed.
Fascinating.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask in my firm tone that people usually bolt at hearing. I don’t show that she took me by surprise. Again.
I thought I would have to fight her tooth and nail before she removed any piece of clothing. The fact that she’s willingly offering her body is the last thing I expected. And well, fuck me if that isn’t a turn on.
My dick thickens against my trousers, but I don’t bother adjusting it.
“I’m doing what we agreed on. Isn’t this what you want? I’m only giving you what you bargained for, Jonathan.”