Part 3The Kings Perfect Surrogate

The lead hostess looked at my face, a deeply knowing, cynical smile playing on her lips.

“Honey, the money’s easy. The price is steeper.”

She wasn't wrong. The price the scarred woman had paid to Veronica was permanent.

With that warning, she pointed me toward the “Onyx Suite.” It held the club's most esteemed, powerful guest.

When I pushed the door open, seven or eight pairs of eyes swept over me.

They were appraising, expectant, and frankly, bored. The atmosphere immediately grew subtle, charged.

The man on the main sofa was lounging back, toying with an amber crystal tumbler, seemingly absorbed by the city lights outside the window.

The entire energy of the room centered on him, a heavy, silent pressure.

Harrison King. I saw him.

“New girl? Interesting choice. Harry, man, look at this. Little Miss Sinclair's been out of the country for like, a minute, and someone already volunteered to be the next contender?”

“Holy crap, she’s a dead ringer. Even more than that actress from the film academy last month. Especially those eyes. That jawline. The whole deal.”

“Wait, is this one of Mr. Sinclair’s illegitimate kids? It’s not totally out of the question, haha…”

The discussion was too loud, too close.

Harrison King finally, slowly, turned his face toward me.

My breath hitched, a pause I couldn't control.

His eyes were intensely dark, profoundly deep.

When he saw me, a flicker of surprise crossed them. But the surprise was instantly replaced by unconcealed annoyance. He was about to speak when the man beside him cut him off.

The slender-faced guy seemed drunk, leaning toward Harrison with a careless grin.

“Harry, this one is insane, man. Looks completely untouched, totally natural. Since you and Veronica are ‘on a break,’ and she hasn’t found a replacement to piss you off yet, why not let your little brother have a turn with this one?”

The moment the words left his mouth, the entire suite fell silent. Everyone stared at him as if he were an idiot.

And then, just as expected, Harrison King moved without warning.

He grabbed the nearest bottle of expensive scotch—a bottle that had cost someone’s salary—and, without aiming, swung his arm.

Thud.

A sickening sound.

The slender-faced guy let out a tortured, desperate howl.

Blood gushed from his temple.

He pitched forward, crashing onto the floor in agonizing sobs.

Harrison King slowly straightened up.

He tossed the shattered neck of the bottle aside.

Then, he walked straight toward me.

He stopped directly in front of me, finally raising his gaze to mine.

He watched me for a long time, his eyes filled with a terrifying nostalgia.

His hand rose to cup my cheek, feeling the slight tremor in my fear-stricken body.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice hard and icy.

“So much alike. Truly too much like her, exactly like Ronnie when she was younger.”

“Your boss sending you here to me is both your luck and your misfortune.”

“Because you will never marry. I won’t allow any other man to touch you.”

He lifted my chin slightly.

“And this place is certainly no place for you.”