“You did nothing wrong.” He winks and the car revs to life.
I stand at the threshold, crossing the coat over my chest until Knox’s Range Rover disappears down the road.
“I’m back,” I say to no one as I step into the door.
The house is empty and… cold.
As usual when Aunt and Uncle aren’t here.
Maybe I should’ve been selfish and asked Kim to stay the night.
For some reason, I don’t want to be alone tonight.
Once in my room, I remove my coat and throw it on the desk’s chair, open the balcony, then drop on my bed headfirst.
Since I left the party, there’s been this crushing weight on my chest. It’s suffocating my air and making me feel claustrophobic in my own skin.
I won tonight.
Not only did I stop Aiden, but I also humiliated him in front of the entire school like no one did before.
He’s the king after all. No one would dare to look him in the eye for more than five seconds, let alone disrespect him while the entire student body is in earshot.
But I did.
I won.
Then how come I feel no sense of victory? If anything, it’s a bit emptier inside.
Rolling on my back, I stare through the balcony at the rain.
It’s barely a drizzle, but I feel it in my bones. The scent of the earth after rain fills my nostrils and a sigh rips from me.
I pull my phone and type in Google’s search bar, Alicia King’s death.
Several articles come by. All of them state that Alicia died in a car accident. Her crashed car was found at the bottom of a cliff. The coroner’s report says that it took her several hours to die. Since the place is desolate and it was raining that day, it took people some time to find her.
I swallow, my fingers hovering on the screen of the phone.
How did she feel during those hours as she slowly and painfully died in her car?
It hurts to even imagine it.
Some reporters speculate that she had suicidal tendencies and King Enterprises is just camouflaging it as an accident.
They also speculate that James King, Jonathan’s eldest brother and Levi’s father, who was reported to have died from an accident four years ago, actually died from an overdose.
If that’s true, then Jonathan does a lot of media play to make his family appear so mighty and without weaknesses.
I flip back to Alicia’s articles and stare at her pictures. She was petite with dark brown hair and pitch-black eyes. Even her features are so tiny, they’re distinguishable.
She’s like those maidens in period films. Sophisticated, elegant, and with a mysterious smile.
“What exactly happened to you, Alicia?” I whisper to her image. “How did you end up with a man like Jonathan?”
Except for the small beauty mole at the side of her right eye, Aiden looks nothing like her. He’s definitely a carbon copy of his father.
Even after seeing her images, it brings nothing to memory.
My eyes skim over the article, and I pause. The date of Alicia’s accident was one day before the fire that took my parents’ lives.
No.
It must be a coincidence.
Alicia died in London. We were in Birmingham.
There’s no way my parents killed her as Jonathan told Silver.
I type my mother and my father’s names in the search bar, John Steel and Abigail Steel.
No photos or articles come out. Even the article I read a few weeks ago about the domestic fire has completely disappeared.
That’s… weird.
Well, my parents weren’t as important as Alicia King or James King.
I scroll through my phone’s gallery and find a picture I took of an old polaroid of Mum and Aunt.
The fire destroyed everything I had of my parents. This old picture is the only thing I have left of her. I stole the shot from Aunt a few years ago.
Aunt doesn’t like to talk about my parents or anything in the past, basically. She always says that I’m better off saving my energy for my future.
In the picture, Aunt Blair grins wide at the camera, her arm surrounding Mum’s shoulder. Mum has a small smile that barely reaches her eyes.
Even though Aunt is the eldest, she was wearing fashionable denim shorts and a tank top. Mum, on the other hand, wore a straight knee-length dress and her golden hair was pulled into a conservative bun.
They were about my age at the time the picture was taken, or maybe a year older, but Mum appeared like she was thirty.
It’s uncanny how much I resemble her. The eye colour. The shade of hair colour. And even the facial form. It’s like I’m staring at myself from a different time.
“What happened, Ma?” My voice is brittle. “I wish you were here to tell me.”
I hug the phone to my chest and close my eyes, fighting the tears trying to escape.
I must’ve fallen asleep because when I open my eyes next, the soft lamp I always keep on is off.
Disoriented, I search around me and freeze.
My hands.
A rope surrounds both my hands and is tied to the bedpost. I’m lying on my back with my hands stretching above my head on the bed.
And they’re tied.
What in the…?
I pull at the ropes, but they don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten around my wrists until it’s painful.
Before I can clearly focus on that, something else cuts into the black.
A shadow looms over me.
A dark, familiar shadow.
For a second, I’m too stunned to react. A thousand shivers break over my skin and terror explodes in my spine.
Is this… another nightmare? Are the monsters finally coming for me?
I scream.
A strong hand wraps around my mouth, suffocating the shriek and my breathing.
Goosebumps form over goosebumps as I stare up with wide eyes.
“You fucked up, sweetheart,” a cruel voice whispers near the hand blocking my mouth.
A-Aiden?
I take a long breath through my nose. The male shower gel and his unique scent underneath assaults me.
It is Aiden.
His arm is taut as his free hand slams on the side of my face. His knees straddle my thighs.
He tied me.
Why the hell would he tie me? He never did that before.
Is this another sick game?
Game or not, he won’t get his way anymore.
Renowned energy pushes through my haze. I pull at the ropes and buck off the bed.
He tightens his knees against my thighs, pinning me down. I wince, but I don’t stop.
I pull at the ropes and try to get my knee up to hit him in the balls.
He leaves no moving space as if he knew what I was planning.
I scream again, but like the first time, it’s muted by his hand like I’m a victim in a horror film.
I’m not a victim.
I won’t let Aiden reduce me to a victim.
Adrenaline shoots through my veins, tightening my muscles.
Pulling at the ropes only tightens them around my wrists. I release a muffled groan as I attempt bucking off the bed again.
“Stop,” he grunts. “Or I will make you.”
“Fuck you!” I yell but it comes out like a madwoman’s muffled screaming.
Still blocking my mouth, he wraps his other hand around my neck. His thumb latches on my pulse point as all his fingers squeeze.
My lungs burn, and I stop moving.
Oh. God.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe.