I’m shaking by the time the car stops. I have no clue about the destination. All I know is that I should stay far away from that place, those people.
From everything.
Ethan didn’t try to talk to me, and I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t have been able to converse with him even if my life depended on it.
I’m back to being that teenage girl who sat in a dark corner in the safe houses the police took me to. I pulled my knees to my chest and trembled all night, unable to rid the victims’ faces from my mind.
At every trial, their families brought their happy pictures, their toddler albums, their graduation memories — all the things that made them human.
They thrust them in my face and demanded I see how their lives were stolen and could never be retrieved.
In that dark corner, I prayed for their souls. I even asked for forgiveness on Dad’s behalf, but with time, I stopped everything altogether.
I think a part of me died during those excruciatingly long weeks. With every trial, every escape from the media, and every look in Dad’s desolate eyes, pieces of my soul slowly chipped, then scattered.
For eleven years, I’ve been trying to gather them back together again, and just when I thought I finally could, the nightmare rushes back in.
The door opens, and I startle, pushing into Ethan’s side. What if they found me so soon and will now finish what they started eleven years ago?
Maybe my attacker has returned and he’ll drag me back to that eighth grave.
A breath leaves me when I get trapped in those grey eyes. It’s a weird sense of relief, something I never thought I’d feel upon seeing Jonathan.
There’s a crease in the middle of his forehead as if he doesn’t approve of the scene. As proof, he clutches me by the elbow and pulls me out of the car. I stumble, but he catches me against him, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist.
He leans back into the car to glare at Ethan. “Get off my property and don’t show your face here again.”
“A thank you would be nice,” Ethan shoots back.
“You’re lucky that I’m not setting you and your car on fire.”
“If it weren’t for me and my car, Aurora wouldn’t have gotten here in time.”
I gulp, imagining what might’ve happened if I had been caught there on my own. Sure I could’ve escaped, but they could’ve recognised me first, or worse, filmed me and caused some sort of a media ruckus.
“That’s why I’m allowing you to leave intact.” Jonathan slams the door shut.
Ethan lowers the window. “Take care of yourself, Aurora.”
And just like that, the car speeds down the road.
“That fucker.” Jonathan stares at the retreating vehicle.
I’m still shaking, and as much as I want to, I can’t stop. There isn’t anything I want more than to pull myself together and then…what? Run? Disappear? Is that even an option anymore?
Jonathan holds me by my shoulders an arm’s length away and leans down so he can stare me in the eyes. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, only, it’s not his usual disapproval; it’s something similar to concern. “Are you okay?”
Tears gather in my eyes as I shake my head frantically. I don’t attempt to speak, because I have no clue what to say, and something tells me I’d burst out in sobs.
I don’t want Jonathan — or anyone — to see me that way.
“You will be.” His thumb slides under my eyes, gathering the unshed tears and wiping them away. “Do you trust me?”
I stare at him, taken aback by his sudden question.
If he’d asked me that in the past, my answer would’ve been a definite no — especially after I heard Alicia’s message. However, ever since that turned out to be null, there’s been something morbid growing inside me for this man. Maybe trust is part of that?
When I don’t answer, he grabs me by the hand, where the wound is almost healed. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
Before I can make out what he means, Jonathan drags me to his car. As soon as we slide inside, Moses drives out at full speed. I physically push back against the seat cushions from the force of it.
Jonathan straps a seatbelt across my chest, then asks Moses, “Is everything set?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Harris confirm?”
“Yes, the flight is scheduled upon your arrival.”
“Whoa. Hold on.” I stare between Moses’s bald head and Jonathan. “What flight? Where are we going?”
“Away from here,” Jonathan says simply.
“Away, where?”
He runs his knuckles over my cheek, and I resist the urge to close my eyes and lean into his touch. He always gets to me when he does that. “A place where they can’t find you.”
“T-they?”
“My resources tell me the prosecutor will issue a warrant to bring you in for questioning, and there might be a travel ban.”
“They can find me?”
“If Maxim’s lawyer can, so can they. Besides, he’s the one who revealed your new identity.”
“Won’t I, you know, be considered a fugitive if I leave the country?”
“There’s no travel ban at the moment. This is completely legal, but even if it isn’t, who fucking cares? I won’t let them have you under custody until the trial — that’s out of the question. Besides, you need to clear your head.” His hand grabs both of mine before he lifts them and kisses my knuckles. “You haven’t stopped shaking.”
I’m breathless, caught in a trance by the way his lips glide over the back of my hands. He’s not only kissing them, but in his own way, he’s also comforting me.
Who knew there would be a day where Jonathan King comforts me?
“There. That’s much better.” He cradles my hands, which have stopped trembling, on his lap.
It takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around him in a hug. He’s offering me an attentiveness that I never thought anyone, let alone he of all people, would show me.
“Then what?” I murmur now that I’m in a calmer state.
His thumb traces the back of my hand, eliciting small bursts of comfort. “I’ll figure it out, but for now, we need to stay away from the media turmoil. When they find out you’re no longer here, Maxim’s lawyer will play a media game and fully expose your new identity. We’re not only talking about where you’re living and your company, but everything he already knows will be discussed by the entire country.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe out in a low murmur. The scenarios he’s painting in my head form like a black doom.
“I know it’s a difficult time, Aurora, but we need to get ready for all possibilities.”
“Oh my God! What about H&H and Layla?”
“Harris is on it. I currently own H&H, so Layla should be fine, but I can’t guarantee they won’t harass her or her family. They should go stay someplace else. I have Harris arranging a safe hotel for them. Can you ask her to go with him?”
“Uh…yeah.” I pull my phone and wince when I find about ten missed calls from Jonathan and five from her.
Jonathan’s hawk-like attention doesn’t miss what’s on my screen and his tone hardens. “And next time, answer my fucking calls, Aurora.”
“I’m sorry. I…wasn’t thinking.” I’m still not — not straight, anyway.
“You were with Ethan.”
“I’m thankful he was there.”
Jonathan’s grip tightens around my wrist, but he says nothing. He also recognises that I shouldn’t have been alone in the midst of people who most likely would’ve gotten my head on a stick.
I dial Layla and she answers after the first ring. “What the F, mate! Don’t ghost me. That stuff gives me PTSD now.”
“Sorry, Lay. Something came up.”
“No kidding. Harris is at our house, saying we need to go, or something.”
“Yeah, Lay, please go with him. I…I’m so sorry I got you, Kenza, and Hamza involved in this. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
The whole case is public now, and she’ll see it eventually. However, I don’t want her to hear about it from strangers. “Maxim Griffin, the one who’s currently all over the news?”
“What about that psycho?”
“H-he’s my father, Lay.”
There’s no answer from the other side. It’s the first time Layla’s been speechless, and it’s not the good type.
“A-are you going to say something?”
“Wait up. So you’re, like, the daughter who reported him?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“I’m s-so sorry, Lay. I know I should’ve told you before and I’m sorry you guys will be implicated in this when my new identity is revealed, so just tell them you didn’t know. Say I played you, lied to you.”
“Bollocks. Where are you?”
“I’m leaving for a bit. Please follow Harris. It’s for your own safety. Please.”
“We’ll go to our relatives in Birmingham. Don’t worry about us. You just take care of you, okay?” Her voice turns brittle at the end and she pauses before saying, “Remember, you’re my ride or die, mate. I’ve got you.”
“Lay…” I choke on my tears, gripping the phone hard.
By the time I end the call, I’m too emotional to talk. The fact that Layla is on my side without even hearing the full story squeezes my heart. I didn’t know I needed her support until now.
Jonathan takes the phone from between my fingers and powers it off.
“Why are you taking it away?”
“Journalists will start bugging you.”
The rest of the way is spent in silence as Jonathan holds my hand in his lap, still stroking my skin.
If it weren’t for my loud thoughts that don’t seem like they’ll be cooling down anytime soon, I would’ve fallen asleep on his lap like I usually do when we’re in a long car ride.
We arrive at a secluded landing area of an airport and a plane waits for us. When we come out, Jonathan places a hand on the small of my back and leads me to it. Moses carries bags, which I didn’t know were already packed and loaded, from the car.
The flight attendant, a redhead with a blinding smile, welcomes us in. Jonathan doesn’t release me until we’re inside, and that’s only because the entryway doesn’t fit two people at the same time.
The luxury is clear in the furnishings, from the dark ceiling and flooring to the light caramel plush seats that appear custom-made.
The only flights I’ve ever taken were from Leeds to Glasgow, then from Glasgow to London. And those were the lowest classes available. I have no idea what first-class looks like, but something tells me this is a step further.
It isn’t until we’re completely inside that I notice no one but us is here.
“Did you book the entire flight?” I ask Jonathan.
“Didn’t need to. This is my private jet.”
Right. Not that it should be a surprise that Jonathan has his own jet. He travels around the world a lot. Or that’s what he did before I came along, as Harris likes to remind me in his snobbish tone.
He lets me sit by the window as if he remembers when I told him that I’d never left the UK. I’ve never had the chance to look out from a window seat and have always wondered what it would feel like.
Jonathan fastens my seatbelt, then does his own as a suave male voice fills the space.
“Welcome aboard, Mr King and Miss Harper. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes, so please fasten your seatbelts. We will reach our destination in approximately thirteen hours. I wish you a comfortable flight.”
The voice disappears and I’m about to ask Jonathan where we’re going, considering the time we’ll have to spend on the plane. Before I can open my mouth, the flight attendant reappears and nods when she makes sure the seatbelts are in place.
“Can I get you water? A drink?” She focuses on Jonathan and her smile widens as her voice drops. “Anything?”
I narrow my eyes at her as she blatantly flirts with Jonathan. Is she one of his ex-fuck buddies? There could be no other explanation for the way she openly flirts.
The idea of Jonathan touching her in the same way he touches me, kissing her, or even talking to her like he does to me turns my blood hot, then cold.
“We’re good,” I say, glad I don’t snap.
She’s still focused on Jonathan as if my words don’t matter and I want to claw her eyes out.
It’s only when Jonathan dismisses her with a finger that she leaves, but she does so with a deliberate sway of her hips.
“I didn’t know redheads were your type,” I say before I get the chance to measure my words.
“They aren’t.”
“Well, you obviously had a thing with her.”
“Her?” he repeats, slight amusement shining in his eyes.
“The flight attendant.”
“I haven’t.”
“Are you telling me women just flirt with you?”
“They do. Doesn’t mean I pay them any of my attention.”
I peek at him through my lashes. “Not even her?”
“No. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“But you did with me.”
“True, though I never considered you business.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip at his unsaid words. The fact that he considers me pleasure.
The plane starts moving, then ascends. My nails dig into the plush armrest of the chair. Once again, Jonathan takes my hand in his, and my nerves slowly calm.
I get lost in the early evening sky and the city lights as they get farther away the higher we ascend. The view is mesmerising. I can’t believe how much I’ve been missing out in life. I’m twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, yet I feel like a toddler in this world.
“It’s so beautiful,” I murmur.
“Indeed.”
My attention snaps back to Jonathan, and just like the other time in the park, he’s not watching the view, he’s watching me.
“Right,” I joke. “You’ve probably seen this scenery like a thousand times.”
“It feels like a first with you.”
My lips part, but no words come out. God. He sometimes says shit that turns me speechless and so utterly touched. How the hell does he do that?
“Are you comfortable?” he asks.
“Mmm.”
“You might want to rest. Here.” He fiddles with something on the side and both chairs fall back in a comfortable reclined position. Jonathan removes the seatbelts and pulls up the armrest so there’s nothing between us.
I don’t hesitate as my head rests on his chest, half my body covers his like we do when we sleep. His fingers caress my hair, and I lean farther into his touch.
It could be his soothing heartbeat or the peaceful atmosphere or that I’m putting a pause on the chaos back home, but sleep comes almost immediately.
“Where are we going anyway?” I ask in a half-sleepy tone.
“To my island.”
