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As I’m about to start, my mind rushes with all the pitches I’ve spent a long time preparing.
I lift my head slightly and my smile disappears when my gaze collides with sinister grey eyes.
Killer eyes.
His presence rips me from the now and slams me to eleven years in the past.
I’m back to that day, catching my breath at the side of the road. I broke to pieces and I’m still unable to pull myself together again.
He is one of the reasons I never will.
Jonathan King.
A ruler in this world.
An actual king who holds more power than the queen herself.
My worst enemy.
4
Jonathan
Ghosts are supposed to stay where they belong.
Dead.
So why the fuck is that ghost looking at me as if she’s ready to drag me with her to the grave?
In my world, it’s the other way around. I’m the one who drags things — and people — to wherever I please.
It’s bad enough that I have to be in Ethan’s house to celebrate my son’s marriage to his daughter — which I still don’t think is the brightest decision Aiden’s made.
I don’t need the situation made worse with this…ghost.
If I hadn’t seen Alicia dead with my own eyes, I would believe she’d somehow resurrected.
Perhaps she’s returned for vengeance. Perhaps it’s time for her to serve justice.
Only, what’s justice? If everyone’s perception of that word is different, whose truth is the real truth?
For me, justice doesn’t exist. It’s a useless word the politically correct folk have picked up to put their little minds at ease.
Justice is a delusion in a world where the likes of me grip the reins of power with ruthless hands.
I don’t believe in justice. My father did, and he died still searching for it. What did justice give him? Fucking condolences, that’s what.
Since then, I’ve built my kingdom with merciless methods and brought justice to its knees right in front of me.
That’s where everyone who defies me belongs. On their fucking knees.
Alicia — or her doppelgänger — stands around a table with Ethan, drinking from a flute of champagne. Her dainty fingers painted red surround the glass with infinite elegance.
She’s the same. From her dress and uptight posture to the curve of her neck and the softness of her cheeks. Her inky black hair and her petite nose. Even the contours of her full mouth.
It’s all a replica.
One thing is wrong, though. Or more accurately, two.
