Reign of a King (Kingdom Duet 1)

It also doesn’t mean that I will needlessly provoke a much stronger opponent than me. My survival instinct has taught me to pick my battles and learn my worth.

Just because I collapsed once doesn’t mean I will allow myself to be broken again.

So tonight, I sent away Jonathan’s driver. I also didn’t give him a reason. I have no doubt his tyrant boss will not be pleased. I just hope he doesn’t take it out on him or something.

It’s not a vain provocation. It’s my way to tell Jonathan with no words that he doesn’t get to order me around.

I might be willing to do this, but it will be on my terms and my terms alone.

I step out of my flat and lock the door. The cold air from the corridor creeps into my bones, despite the beige coat that I’m wearing over my black knee-length dress. The one I reserve for funerals.

My face is makeup-free and I spent no effort in being presentable.

Screw Jonathan. I’ll never get done up for him.

Not only did that tyrant push me into a hole, but he’s also burying me alive.

Layla still insists on starting anew; however, my decision has been made. I’ll play Jonathan’s game, but unlike what he plans, I won’t be the one coming out of this in pieces.

He broke my sister beyond repair and if he thinks he can do the same to me, he has a surprise waiting.

I’m the wrong sister to come after.

Where Alicia was soft and caring, I’m hard and unfeeling.

Since I was a kid, I’ve learnt to build stone around my heart because that thing will only lead me to doom. It will only push me into a path filled with wires and vacant eyes and…duct tape.

So much fucking duct tape.

I shake my head as I take the lift down.

I promised myself not to think about that time again. I’m not Clarissa anymore.

Clarissa is buried with those vacant eyes.

“Ms Harper,” our building's concierge calls my name.

He’s a short bald man with bushy brows and a beer belly. His cockney accent is noticeable when he speaks. He also always watches the Premier League games on the hall’s TV with Shelby, the old man who resides next door to me.

When Layla and I first started out, I used to rent a room in a dangerous town in Eastern London. As soon as I could afford to, I moved into this building. The security is brilliant and most of the tenants are businessmen, lawyers, and doctors. The location is safer as well.

“Good evening, Paul. Shelby.”

The concierge nods and stands up, his attention temporarily away from the game. Shelby doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, deeply focused on the TV screen. Not that he ever returns my greetings. Since we moved in almost at the same time, I always try to be friendly, but it’s rarely reciprocated.

Paul reaches behind the counter and retrieves a packet. “This came for you.”

“Thank you, Paul.” I take the small wooden box. I wonder what it could be. It’s not large enough to be the new notebooks I ordered online.

As soon as I’m in my car, I check the box. Weird. My name and address is on there, but the sender’s isn’t.

I shake it and hear a faint sound coming from inside. When I open it, I find a flash drive.

That’s all.

A flash drive.

Along with a note printed in a computer-generated font.