Rise of a Queen: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 2)

by Rina Kent

  I was done anyway. I came here to urge them to investigate the other victims and to warn them of Dad’s manipulative nature, but if they’d rather play into his hands, then it’s all on them.

  “Ms Harper,” the prosecutor calls when I’m standing beside Alan. “Mr Griffin said you were never innocent. What’s your reply to that?”

  “You don’t have to answer that question,” Alan tells me.

  “It’s okay. He should know that Dad doesn’t even know the meaning of innocence. He spent his entire life tarnishing it.”

  And with that, I’m out of the room. Alan walks closely beside me. We’re about the same height, but since I’m wearing heels, I’m a bit taller than him.

  “Don’t show up for any voluntary questionings anymore, and if it somehow happens, please call me beforehand, Miss.”

  “I’m sorry, but who hired you?”

  “Mr King.”

  “Oh.” Of course, it’s Jonathan. Did I mention that he’s always one step ahead?

  “Word got out that you were here.” Alan’s voice turns critical. “The press is just outside.”

  Shit. Fuck.

  Sweat trickles down my spine at the thought of facing them. I’m sure the victims’ families are there, too. Despite my pep talk, I can’t handle restarting the nightmare all over again.

  “We can wait, then go through the back,” Alan suggests.

  “Running away would mean I admit to doing something wrong. I haven’t.”

  “Remember, you don’t have to answer anything.”

  I nod, but I’m not in the right headspace. My feet hesitate at the revolving doors as dark memories of the trial rush back in.

  It’s okay. I can do this. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore.

  Snapping my spine into a straight position, I march right outside.

  As Alan had forewarned, the press is waiting. As soon as I come out, a horde of people rush towards me. Cameras flash in my eyes as phones and microphones are shoved in my face.

  It’s a complete shitshow and I’m caught right in the middle of it. Alan tries to shield me, but he alone can’t ward them all off. Bodies bump into me, and eager, slightly judgemental eyes bore into mine.

  The questions rain on me from all directions.

  “Ms. Harper, is it true you escaped?”

  “Why change to Aurora Harper? Did you erase your family history along with Clarissa Griffin?”

  “Is it true you picked the victims for your father?”

  “Why have you come to questioning?”

  “Is it true that you escaped the Witness Protection Program to join an extremist jihadist group?”

  “What’s your comment on your father’s accusations?”

  “Will you stick to your initial statement or are you going to change it?”

  “Were you diagnosed with an antisocial disorder when you were young?”

  Their words muffle into each other, and it takes everything in me to stay in the present. The flashing of cameras keep throwing me back to eleven years ago.

  “Murderer! Murderer!” A group of people protest at the side of the road. They’re holding pictures of the women who lost their lives because of Dad.

  I recognise their faces, even though it’s been a long time ago. The families. The people left behind.

  Sarah stands with them, carrying the toddler I saw her with at the charity event. She’s glaring at me and screaming with the others. “Murderer! We want justice!”

  One of them throws rotten tomatoes at me and I close my eyes, letting them hit my face. I retrieve a napkin from my bag and try to wipe it away, but they hit me with another one.

  Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them out and I force myself to remain completely still.

  I force myself into a numb state. That’s the only way to get through such scenes.

  On the third tomato, a few buff men dressed in black surround me and Alan. We’re in such a small circle that their heights and developed physiques block the press and the victims’ families.

  They block everything.

  I stare with a stunned expression as Jonathan strides to my side with that innate confidence of his. Relief as I’ve never felt before engulfs me as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into the crook of his body. I inhale his woodsy scent, using him as an anchor to dissociate from the hell surrounding us.

  Jonathan faces the press and says in a loud voice that everyone can hear, “This is my first and final warning. If anyone harasses my fiancée again, I’ll sue and destroy them in court.”

  He then leads me towards an awaiting car. My legs barely carry me and he has to half-lift me. Only one word stays stuck in my head.

  I’m not becoming deaf, right? Because I think Jonathan just called me his fiancée in front of the entire world.

  24

  Aurora

  My fiancée.

  My fiancée…

  My. Fiancée.

  Maybe if I say those words once more in my head, they’ll somehow make sense. But will they really?

  I can’t stop staring at Jonathan as he uses the wet napkins Moses passes him to wipe my face and my clothes.

  His jaw is set and he seems angry. It’s not even directed towards me, but I somehow feel it in my bones.

  “Aurora!”

  “W-what?” Was he talking?

  “I asked you if you’re okay.” He’s studying me intently, as if that will manage to snap me out of my daze.

  It doesn’t.

  Since there’s no way I’ll be able to speak, I nod.

  “I need words, wild one.”

  “I-I’m fine.” But am I? I don’t think so. Not after the bomb he’s just dropped out there for the entire press to hear.

  “Why the fuck did you even go in there? Why didn’t you tell me first?”

  Because I thought he would pull something like this. I mean, not exactly, but yeah, something similar.

  I’ve read about Jonathan’s brutal ways with the media. He shows them no mercy when they overstep their boundaries or try to get their noses in his private life — or his family’s. The more he blocks them, the more they become obsessed with him, though.

  He wraps a hand around my throat and pushes me so my back is pinned to the leather seat. His woodsy scent rushes into my lungs and it’s all I can breathe. His presence is all I can see. His touch is all I can feel.

  I love it when he does that.

  “I’m waiting for an answer,” he insists, and I know his soft phase is coming to an end. Jonathan might be protective, but he also has a no-nonsense, ruthless streak that demands to be obeyed.

  “I’m done running away,” I murmur. “I have no reason to hide. I’m not him. I’m not my father.”

  His lips pull at the corners in what I assume is approval. “Still, you do not go behind my fucking back ever again. If Alan didn’t have acquaintances in the office, we might not have gotten here on time. Do you know what that means, Aurora? You could’ve been attacked.”

  I gulp. “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

  “Fuck.” He hits the side of the seat. “It won’t happen under my watch. Never. Is that understood?”

  I believe him.

  No idea why, but I believe the words coming out of his mouth as strongly as Layla believes in her religion. He is my religion.

  When he showed up earlier, all I could think about was safety. It’s weird, isn’t it? That the man I call my tyrant is also my safest place.

  “I said, is that fucking understood, Aurora?”

  I nod.

  “There will be no more putting yourself down for others, whether it’s victims’ families or what-the-fuck-ever. They’re not your victims and you will not take their shit.”

  “Okay.”

  “No one hurts a fucking hair on your head, Aurora. No one touches you but me. Do you hear me? I’ll burn them all down before they put you through the hell from eleven years ago again.”

  “Jonathan, do
n’t hurt them. They’re just in pain.” I have no doubt that he’ll crush them under his shoes if he chooses to.

  “How about you? Aren’t you in pain? Weren’t you in pain eleven years ago? You were sixteen, for fuck’s sake. They had no right to blame you for Maxim’s crimes, and if they continue to do so, I will show no mercy. I’ll burn them until no one is left.”

  “Jonathan…”

  “That’s final, Aurora. You might’ve tolerated that and gotten fucking stabbed for it, but I’ll never let it happen. I will protect you.”

  My heart warms at his words, at the force behind them, because I have no doubt he’ll do as he says. But I need to get a point straight, “You don’t have to protect me. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself.”

  “I’m not protecting you because you’re a woman. I’m protecting you because you’re my woman.”

  Holy. Shit.

  My mouth hangs open for the second time today, but this time, my heart is about to go into overdrive. Jonathan just called me his woman.

  His. Woman.

  That should offend me in a way, but that’s the last emotion gripping my heart.

  The car comes to a stop in front of the mansion before I can say anything. Jonathan releases my throat, only so he can carry me in his arms out of the vehicle.

  I grip his shoulder. “I can walk.”

  “And I can carry you.”

  This man is a serious tyrant.

  We pass by Margot and she watches us for a second, probably because of the tomato stains on my jacket. “May I get you anything, sir?”

  “Food, Margot,” Jonathan says while breezing past her. “Leave it in front of my room.”

  He doesn’t wait for her reply as he ascends the stairs, not caring about the weight he’s carrying. He really doesn’t have the stamina of an old man. I can only imagine what he was like young.

  Or not.

  That means imagining him with Alicia, and I feel so guilty towards her right now. I feel so guilty for wanting her husband for myself. For feeling safe with him like I never have with another human being.

  He’s like the fortress inside of which I know nothing will come near me, let alone hurt me.

  In the room, Jonathan lowers me to my feet and peels the jacket off me, then throws it behind him. “Those fuckers.”

  “Jonathan…”

  “Not a word, Aurora. I won’t stand by as they do this to you.”

  “No, I meant…what you said earlier. Why did you?”

  “What part?”

  “The part about how I’m your fiancée?”

  He raises a brow. “Aren’t you?”

  “W-what?”

  His expression remains blank, and I hate that I can’t see past it. “You are, in a way.”

  “No. We had a deal, remember? I only have a few weeks left here, then each of us will go our own way. There certainly was no fiancée clause in there.” Even as I say the words, my throat closes around the part where we’ll separate.

  Jonathan watches me for a beat too long, which makes me fidget. When he finally speaks, his voice is lethal, “Is that what you think?”

  “That’s what it is. It’s what we agreed on.” I don’t know why I keep emphasising the point I hate. All I want is an explanation for the whole fiancée thing and why the hell he brought it up in front of the press.

  It could be a camouflage tactic recommended by his solicitor, or even Harris. No clue why I’m mentioning the forgotten agreement. Maybe I want confirmation of it, because I sure as shit am starting to forget it exists. And when I do remember it, my stomach sinks at how little time there is left.

  Jonathan continues his unreadable study of my face. I hate his closed features so much right now. Of all times, he can’t seal himself from me now.

  “Huh.”

  That’s it? Huh. What is that supposed to mean?

  I see?

  I agree?

  It’s nothing?

  We should talk about this?

  Before I can ask him just that, he points at the bathroom. “Take a bath, then eat. You have to begin preparing for your trial with Alan starting tomorrow.”

  Then he turns around and strides to the exit with his usual confident steps. The door closes behind him with painful finality.

  My heart falls to my feet as I watch where he stood only seconds ago. He’ll return, right? He’ll just make calls, as usual, listen to Harris’s snobbish voice, and come back.

  Right?

  Refusing to think of the alternative, I drag my heavy feet to the bathroom and take a shower instead of a bath. It feels wrong to take a bath without him doing it for me.

  Margot brings me supper and I barely manage to take a few spoonfuls of soup. Again, it’s weird to eat without Jonathan either sitting me on his lap or staring at me across the table with that raised brow so I’ll eat.

  When I’m finished, I lie in bed and read Layla’s texts to distract myself from Jonathan’s scent that’s surrounding me like a vice.

  The fact that he’s not here yet causes my stomach to dip.

  Layla: Mate! Guess what? Jake the piece of S turned himself in.

  My eyes widen.

  Aurora: Jake, as in the accountant Jake, who stole our funds and ran off to Australia?

  Layla: Uh-huh. That Jake. Jessica was notified a few hours ago about how he turned himself in. He spent the funds, but at least we’ll have our justice.

  Aurora: But…how?

  Layla: No clue, but I heard he was coerced into it. Whoever did it, I love him.

  Jonathan.

  This has his fingerprints all over it. This must be what he talks about with Harris in private, not wanting me to hear.

  My heart aches at that realisation. He’s been searching for Jake all this time and finally made him pay.

  The need to go to him and thank him, kiss him, hug him, hits me like a ton of bricks.

  Layla: Anyway, enough about that sucker. Don’t think I didn’t see the news. Since when are you engaged to Johnny?

  Layla: I need details, mate. And I’m totes not jealous that you have a Daddy and I don’t. *crying emoji*

  I smile, but it’s sad at best. Layla doesn’t know that I might’ve ruined this entire thing with him altogether.

  After we’re done texting, I toss and turn all night in bed.

  Jonathan doesn’t return.

  25

  Jonathan

  A deal.

  She said we had a deal.

  A fucking deal.

  I grip my phone so tightly, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack into pieces. I’m even more surprised that I’m able to function after the whole fucking show that happened today.

  While I was planning the future Aurora and I will have together after the drama with Maxim ends, she’s been thinking about the fucking deal.

  As in, during all the months we spent together, her sole purpose has been to leave me.

  Running is constantly the first thing on her mind no matter what I do.

  It doesn’t matter if I paint the world gold for her or if I pluck the bloody stars from the sky and scatter them at her feet. She’ll just step over them and run.

  Like she always does.

  Like she has been doing for the past eleven years.

  But here’s the thing. She didn’t have me in the past. She didn’t belong to me body and soul. I don’t care how much her heart fights me, it’ll eventually crumble like the rest of her.

  Will it, though?

  I was never one to receive affection. Being incapable of it turned me into a solid wall against it. Even my own mother didn’t think I needed such a thing. To make it even worse, Alicia completely withdrew from me and my own son cares more about challenging me than anything else.

  Why would Aurora be any different?

  That isn’t the problem, though. The problem is that I want her to be different when I never wished for it in my entire existence.

  “Where to, sir?” Moses
asks from the front seat.

  “The headquarters,” Harris says on my behalf. He followed us here after the media show and was about to leave for a meeting when I told him I’d join.

  He has barely stared at his tablet for the last minute. That’s a record.

  “Didn’t you say you’re staying in for today?” he asks slowly, almost cautiously. I must appear like I’m on the verge of combusting, and Harris is smart enough to pick up on exterior changes.

  “Don’t you always bitch that I’m constantly absent? You should be happy I’m coming along.” My voice is calm, but it’s the deceptive type that hints at a fucking storm brewing underneath.

  “I am, but…you wouldn’t usually leave Aurora’s side. Especially after what happened today.”

  “She’s Ms Harper to you.”

  “I can’t call her Ms Harper now. That’s like calling Grams Mrs Willis.”

  I release a breath but say nothing.

  Harris readjusts his glasses with his index and middle finger. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Shut it.”

  “I was wondering when she’d snap.”

  “She?” I give him a side-eye. “I am the one who’s supposed to snap.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you’re not the one who was dragged into a foreign world all of a sudden and forced to deal with...well, someone demanding – for the lack of better terms.”

  No. But I might as well be.

  “She was bound to rebel against you.”

  “Do you have a point, Harris?”

  “Do you want my advice?”

  “Since when are you an expert?”

  “I’ve been Googling things to stay ahead.”

  “Googling?”

  “You would be surprised at what you can find there. Anyway, all I’m saying is, give her time, sir.”

  “That won’t be happening.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, you might lose her once and for all.”

  My breathing turns harsh and rugged as I resist the urge to punch Harris’ snobby face. “That won’t be happening either.”

  “It will, unless…”

  I stare at him. “Unless what?”