Page 53 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Yes.”

“And you’re trying to shut it down. Why?”

“Because I already have everything I could ever possibly want… And more. Which is why I need you to send me a copy of your resignation, sweetheart, so I start processing it.”

“No.” Ophelia tightens her jaw, her gaze turning hard as she fights away tears.

“The seed was already planted in your head before you knew about the Crows….” I frown. “And then you saw my tattoo.”

Disappointment rushes to my chest as I realize she’s been using me after all. But I have no reason to be mad at her. She lost her mother. And when you lose someone you love, you go to extreme lengths, trying to seek revenge. And that varies from person to person. Some kill. Others search for clarity.

“You can fire me,” says Ophelia. “But that won’t stop me from showing up here and making your life difficult. It’s like you said,” she says, flashing me a smirk. “I tend to do the opposite of what people tell me to do. If you think I’m going to start dimming my light just because my boss is getting burned, you can think again.” Ophelia heads to the door, flashing me one last smile. “See you later, sir.” She yanks open the door. “And don’t forget about the board meeting this afternoon. I suppose you’ll need someone to take notes.”

16

OPHELIA

Resigning would have been the sensible thing to do, but I walk into the evening memorial for Wilson the next day, still very much part of the business.

I stride into the lobby, my nostrils filling with the scent of lilies.

Co-workers gather around the memorial, paying their respects to Wilson. There’s a portrait of the man in the center of the display, tealight candles burning around it.

Behind the portrait are three tables full of white lilies. Co-workers make their way around the tables, writing messages on cards, tying them to the stems.

I stand back, admiring the memorial from a distance. Guilt strikes through my chest as I stare at the portrait. I never knew the guy, but he looked honest enough, just trying to get by like the rest of us in this city.

“He was the funniest guy I knew.” I overhear people saying.

“His death should be a wakeup call to us all,” says another. “We live life thinking tomorrow is guaranteed. But the future is uncertain. We have no idea what could be waiting for us around the corner.”

Salvatore Moretti is waiting around the corner if you make the wrong move.

I stare vacantly into space. I shouldn’t be here. Wilson was murdered because he knew too much. Hanging around here, paying tribute to his death, is heartless. Unless I leave my boss for good, I’m just as evil as him. I’m pretending to care about a cause. And all for what? Because he said he doesn’t want to hurt me?

The tangy scent of lilies drifts through the lobby, turning me faint. I watch tiny flames wiggle on tealight wicks, imagining a different reality where the entire building goes up in flames. One wrong move and these tiny flames could turn huge. All it takes is one person to act out. One person. One tealight.

Orange fills my vision as I stare ahead, the sounds of roaring flames drowning out all other sounds.

You can expose the truth and get burned in the process, or you can keep pretending.

My skin flushes, my breathing turning shallow as I feel flames racing across my skin.

I have to get the fuck out of here.

I turn around, making a beeline for the revolving doors.

Before I can reach the exit, a black figure blocks me off.

I glance up at the dark figure, like I’m in the presence of a raven, or rather, a crow.

Mr. Moretti’s emerald, green eyes find mine through the darkness. His face softens, like he’s telling me everything will be okay. Everything is not okay. I refuse to quit my job here because my serial killer boss says he doesn’t want to hurt me. And in a world full of hurt, of people always letting you down, this feels real. Like I finally mean something to someone.

“Ophelia.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

“This wasn’t my idea.”