Chapter Fourteen
Lyra
Imanage to work remotely the day after my ordeal with Killian. My head’s far too fucked up to go into the office.
Killian drugged me. He fucking drugged me, and I’d have almost preferred he used a date-rape drug so I could hide behind not wanting his touch. If I’d been too drugged to even ask him to stop, I might be able to live with myself…
But I begged him to keep going. I begged him to keep going, and I rode his face like it owed me money, and I took his cock until I actually passed out. Even the memories of the evening create an ache in my core.
I don’t know who I’m more repulsed by; Killian, or myself. In either case, I’m disgusted. If there was a drug I could take to make me forget that night, I’d empty my bank account for it.
What’s worse is that I agreed to do it again.
I recall managing to bargain down to consenting only once, which means that un-consensual encounters are the standard I need to mentally prepare myself for.
The harsh, painful truth is that Killian King can do whatever he wants to me without repercussions.
I can’t tell anyone. I’m not powerful or knowledgeable enough to make any moves against him…
yet. I hope to change that after meeting with his ex-secretary on Friday.
On Wednesday, I force myself to go into work. I know there are dark circles under my eyes, and I look exhausted in more ways than one. I don’t even have it in me to put on makeup, because I know I’ll be seeing Killian tonight, and I have no desire to prepare for him.
When I get to my office, I stop cold at the sight that greets me, my heart speeding.
There’s a bouquet of flowers on my desk—an enormous bouquet of red roses, with at least 100 flowers neatly tucked into a huge round vase. It’s accompanied by a black velvet box.
Bile rises in my esophagus. My thoughts stutter to a halt.
This display could only be set up by Killian, but I know damn well it’s not a gift.
It’s a taunt. It’s a cruel play on what a genuine courtship with a very wealthy man might look like, but it’s not sincere.
It’s simply Killian playing games and trying to fuck with my head.
I need to get this shit out of my office before someone else sees.
I stride inside, shut the door behind me, and hurry over to the desk. Beneath the velvet box is a handwritten note—my fingers tremble as I lift it up to read it.
Lyra,
I enjoyed your company immensely on Monday night. Your nectar was the sweetest I’d ever tasted, and your tears the prettiest a woman has ever cried for me.
To my great disappointment, an urgent matter has taken me out of the city for the day. We’ll need to reschedule our planned interview. I’m regrettably busy most of the week, but we’ll meet again on Saturday.
I’ll be thinking of your taste, scent, and feel until I see you once more.
K. K.
I tear the note in half, then keep tearing it until it’s nothing more than miniscule pieces of paper, which I promptly dispose of in the trashcan.
I stare at the velvet box, watching it like I’d watch a serpent preparing to envenomate me.
I should toss it out immediately, but some sort of deranged curiosity prompts me to pick it up.
I shake it first, hearing the slight clink of jewelry. Instead of exciting me, the prospect of an expensive present angers me.
Killian got me a gift after he drugged me and fucked me until I passed out. He was shopping for flowers and jewelry while I was frantically running to the nearest pharmacy to find Plan B, and working from my laptop while praying to God that I didn’t catch any STDs from him.
The man is profoundly cruel and twisted… and, even without tonight’s interview, I still have seven weeks with him left. Seven weeks of coercion to dinners. Seven weeks of being his doll.
Seven weeks of trauma-fuel to ruin his life.
Every time Killian exerts his will on me, he only cements my decision to do everything in my power to hurt him.
I slowly crack open the box. The sheer number of diamonds that glitter up at me are blinding, and I promptly slam it shut again. Curiosity gets the better of me… so I open it once more.
The necklace hidden within is beautiful.
A white-gold setting is shaped into a vine, which gives way to diamonds cut to mimic leaves.
While the white diamonds are overwhelming, there’s also an assortment of tastefully arranged rubies, emeralds, and sapphires to look like flowers.
It’s beautiful—the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen, let alone been gifted.
Killian must’ve put thought into this… which will make selling it all the more satisfying. As pretty and tempting as the necklace is, I can’t keep it—it’d only be a symbol of Killian’s ownership.
After some research, I realize that this necklace is worth more than 200k. That’s well over a year’s salary for me—bonuses included. I could quit right now and live comfortably for a good year, even in my nice apartment complex.
I won’t, of course; despite my current rough patch with Sarah and the long hours, I love my job. Even Killian can’t take that away from me. He might make me hate my current project, but he’ll never take away my love of writing.
Have you ever considered writing a book rather than an article? His words float across my mind, but I immediately toss away that possibility. I’d need to have either insane luck or an excellent business plan to make writing books a viable career. As of now, I have neither.
I take pictures of the necklace, make an anonymous account at one of the prestigious second-hand luxury goods websites, and immediately put it up with an asking price of 150k.
An offer comes in, full price, an hour later. I feel a slight smile tug my lips as I click accept, then arrange an anonymous drop-off upon payment, utilizing a useful courier service. I’m surprised I got through the website’s verification so quickly.
That was surprisingly easy. When you’re selling high end jewelry at a marked down price, I suppose things move faster.
I’ll have one fuck of a tax bill this year, but I’ll be able to afford it.
Something giddy rises inside of me. I got one over on Killian. I got one over on Killian, and I made some cash from it. I didn’t think anything could make me feel better after the depression that sunk its claws into me yesterday, but right now, I feel like I have a glimmer of hope.
I’m not as powerful as Killian, and I never will be, but I’m eternally underestimated by the people around me.
It’s why I’m good at what I do; even after people find out I’ve won one of the most coveted awards in the world, they still dismiss me on account of me being small, unassuming, and mostly quiet.
They mistake my quietness for complacency.
My ability to bend under pressure for breaking.
I believe it was Confucius who said the green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.
I’ll bend and contort under pressure and I’ll suffer, but life has thrown many trials at me, and I know Killian is simply one more. If nothing else has broken me, he certainly won’t get the pleasure.
Rhea is a pretty woman who’s younger than I expected—mid-twenties, like me.
Her amber eyes are brightened by thick dark lashes, her cheeks are covered in a smattering of freckles, her dark hair is tied into a sleek bun, and she looks like she belongs on a runway rather than in a corner table at a hole-in-the-wall café.
Her greeting to me is decidedly less pleasant than her appearance. She looks me up and down, eyes shadowed with suspicion. “Do you have a recording device on you?”
My eyebrows lift, but I shake my head. “No, I figured it’d be best to commit anything said to memory.”
“You thought right. Mind if I take a peek through your bag?”
Warning tickles the back of my mind. I’ve only gotten this sort of request when dealing with high-level individuals who had to ensure I couldn’t record them in any way to avoid any brushes with the law… or people who lived on the wrong side of the law.
Either Rhea is going to give me information that’s exceptionally dangerous, or she’s going to rat me out. As of now, I don’t know which it is.
I hand over my purse, since I brought nothing of value with me.
My eyes flick to the stained linoleum counter, and the bored-looking barista playing on his phone behind it.
This coffee shop is sandwiched between two equally innocuous stores—a bagel spot and a pizzeria, both of which look like they’re in sore need of a visit from the health inspector.
“Thanks.” Rhea motions for me to sit. I gaze at the shabby wooden chair for a few moments before carefully sinking into it. “Can never be too safe these days.”
“Is that why you selected a meeting location with no working cameras?” I query, motioning at the ceiling. Most establishments these days have at least one or two security cameras—even the shitty ones—but here, only dim, bare lightbulbs lend a glow to the destitute shop.
“It is.” Rhea braces her elbows on the table and leans forward. “You must’ve gone through a lot of effort to find me. I’m not listed anywhere as an ex-executive assistant to Killian King. I presume you were searching for someone in Killian’s past who might have dirt on him.”
Interesting that she calls him Killian and not Mr. King. Maybe that’s a habit she developed post-employment… or maybe Killian also fed her an aphrodisiac and took her to his bed.
No, if it were the latter, I think she’d be significantly more… jittery.
“I wouldn’t quite say that.” One look at Rhea’s suspicious nature tells me I’ll need to approach this very, very carefully. She’ll tell me to fuck off if I admit I’m purely looking for dirt on him, so I’ll need to slide a little closer to my motives than I’d prefer.
“Then what would you say? I understand we’re both busy women. Do us the courtesy of not wasting time.”
“Very well.” I pause, trying to word what I’ll say before spewing it out.
“To be honest—and I do hope this stays between us, otherwise I’ll lose my job and my nice salary—I’ve seen glimpses of a part of Killian that make me very hesitant to work with him.
I was only meant to have one interview with him—during the interview, I pushed back just enough to make something…
odd occur. It’s like he became a different person.
Darker. Far more dangerous. Then, he suddenly requested that I do an entire profile on him rather than an article—a profile that’ll be preceded by eight weeks of interviews with him.
This is my first week, and my discomfort has only grown.
I’m not here for a story or a quote. I’m here because I’m worried for my wellbeing. ”
Rhea’s eyes only narrow more as I speak. I’m not sure if it’s suspicion or contemplation.
“What’s he done to make you so worried?” she asks.
“I’d rather not say.”
“And yet you expect me to divulge details about my ex-boss that could get me killed?”
Cold flashes over my body. Killed?
The word shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. I don’t think I’m shocked that another person realizes Killian is probably capable—more, experienced—with murder. What surprises me is that she said it aloud. It’s like breathing life into all of my fears and doubts.
“I’m trying to avoid getting in over my head. I won’t force you to talk. I’m not here as a reporter, I’m here as a woman who’s trying to see how much danger she’s in, how much she should be worried.”
“If Killian requested you keep working with him, you’re already in over your head.
As for danger… just assume the danger around Killian is infinite.
” Rhea leans forward. “I’m inclined to trust you as much as someone can trust a reporter—journalist—whatever you are.
So I’ll tell you this much; Killian is not a safe or entirely sane individual.
I saw things through the course of my employment…
” she trails off with a shiver. “No one should ever have to see those things. If you can find a way to get out from under his thumb, do it. If he’s trapped you…
” she shakes her head, almost sorrowfully.
“Then I’m afraid it’s already too late. You just have to try to survive. ”
“Should I be worried that he’ll kill me?”
“Depends. Are you high-profile enough for your death to be an inconvenience?”
The question punches me right in the gut. Rhea’s indicating that my only safety will be found not in relying on Killian’s morals, since I’m not sure he has any, but in relying on his steadfastness in maintaining his shiny public image.
“People have seen us together—”
“That means jack shit. If you become an inconvenience, then your life is in danger unless killing you is even more inconvenient.”
I swallow harshly. “Okay.”
“Watch yourself. And watch him. And, Lyra, in case you ever get an itch to dig into him, to try to find something that might actually tarnish him in the public eye…” she pauses.
Glances around, then leans forward even more.
“He attends meetings every quarter, like clockwork. Off-the-books. I’ve never been to one, but I did once hear that those meetings include Silas Cornell, and I’ve heard he has business interests with Silas.
If you want to search, that’s where I’d start.
But, once you’ve started looking, know that your life is forfeit. That’s why I never had the strength.”
She swiftly stands and strides out of the coffee shop. I sink farther into my seat, heart hammering, mind reeling.
Killian King isn’t just a rapey man who’ll blackmail me into spending time with him and drug me to gain my consent… he might be someone much, much worse.