Chapter 2 Meeting King
Claire
I stood just outside the enormous building, staring up at it. I glanced down at the address in my hand again and swallowed hard.
I moved to the ignition button and pressed it gently, after a little wait, a low voice came through, deep and masculine.
“Yes, who is that?”
I swallowed again, my throat suddenly dry. What am I doing? Should I really proceed?
“I—I’m Claire. Claire Anthony. Is this the residence of Mr. Liam King?” I asked, my voice a little shaky.
Silence. No reply came, and for a moment I thought I’d made a huge mistake coming here. But suddenly, the gate opened—quietly, smoothly, though no voice followed from the intercom.
I hesitated. Two huge cameras stared down from above the gate. Should I go in? I mean, the gate did open. Clutching my bag tightly, I stepped forward, and as soon as I walked in, the gate closed behind me with a soft, heavy thud.
I turned back sharply—it was locked. Now a ripple of fear began to rise in me. The confidence I had before coming here had completely vanished.
I sighed and whispered to myself, “You’ve got this, Claire.” Then I forced my feet to move toward the front of the building.
When I got to the door, I hesitated, the wooden door looked like something carved out of a fairytale. I knocked once. No answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. My palms were sweaty, and my chest felt tight—I could barely breathe from the fear of seeing him and what I wanted to say, I am not really the confident type.
And also I remembered what the investigator had told me: that this man, Liam, was suspicious. That it was nearly impossible to find any information about him. That I should stay away, or at least be careful.
But I had to try. I wanted my marriage back. I was tired of not having my husband to myself, tired of being deprived of the love I deserved.
Just then, the door swung open. I gasped softly.
A man stood there—tall, broad-shouldered, young. From what I’d gathered, he was about twenty-eight. But his glare… those eyes… They made me regret coming here instantly. They were cold—icy, even—despite how beautiful his face was. What am I thinking?
“Hello,” I managed to say, forcing the word out.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he simply stepped aside, silently inviting me in.
I hesitated, frozen, until he spoke. “You came this far. What’s stopping you from entering?”
My eyes widened. He sounded as though he’d been expecting me. Had he?
“I’m not here to come in, I just wanted to let you know that—”
Before I could finish, his large hand gripped my arm, pulling me inside. The door shut firmly behind us.
My body collided with his hard chest, and I gasped as his scent hit me—clean, masculine, sharp enough to make my thoughts blur. When I looked up, he wasn’t even looking at me. I quickly pulled free from his grasp, stepping back.
My heart was pounding wildly.
“If I say come in,” he said, his voice low and his eyes dark, “you come in.”
At that moment, a chill ran through me. My legs felt weak. What if he’s a serial killer—and I just willingly walked into his den?
Without saying another word, he turned and began walking away. I took in two deep breaths before following him. When we arrived at the living room, he headed straight for the bar. I stood there, taking in my surroundings.
Despite how quiet or downright spooky—he seemed, he hadn’t done anything yet that felt out of the ordinary.
As he poured wine into two glasses, I couldn’t take my eyes off him for some odd reason. The way he moved… the way the muscles in his arms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he poured… the calm, terrifying stillness in his expression—it was unnerving and fascinating all at once.
When he set the bottle down, I quickly looked away, pretending to study the room.
His footsteps drew closer, and I lifted my gaze just as he neared me. I felt small compared to him… smaller than his girlfriend, even—the reason I was here in the first place.
“We should stop all this formality,” I forced myself to say when he handed me a glass of wine, which I didn’t take.
He studied me for a few seconds, then took a swig from the glass himself before setting it down on the table. As he sat down crossing one leg over the other, he leaned back into the couch, still holding the other drink, his gaze fixed on me.
“Go on,” he said, voice calm. “State your business.”
I exhaled shakily. “I’m here to tell you that your lover or whatever she is to you—is trying to destroy my marriage.” There, I’d said it. Finally. But his expression didn’t change.
He took another sip, then hummed as if mildly entertained.
“I see,” he murmured.
“I see?” I repeated, disbelief slipping into my tone. “That’s all you have to say?”
He rose from the couch, set his glass down, and began walking toward me again. My anger flared just as he stopped in front of me.
“Which one?” he asked quietly.
I blinked confused. “What do you mean which one?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes just lingered on mine before dropping to my lips. The fear returned instantly. When his gaze lifted again, he smiled, a cold, unreadable smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The atmosphere shifted. The air felt heavier. Maybe it was because he was standing too close, close enough for me to smell him, to feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Do I look like a man who keeps just one lover?” he asked, voice low, almost mocking.
And honestly, he didn’t. Not in the slightest. Everything about him screamed power, indulgence, danger. I felt stupid about coming here, but I forced myself to stay composed.
I exhaled sharply, blinking away the sudden rush of nerves. “Well then… it’s Pattie,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Before I could take another breath, his index finger slid under my chin, tilting my face up. My eyes widened as I met his, dark, unreadable, yet pulling me in like a current I couldn’t escape.
“Please,” I stammered, “let go of my chin.”
His lips curved, not into a smile exactly, but something close, as if trying to make me feel intimidated. “I like it when I’m being spoken to and looked at at the same time,” he murmured, his voice smooth but laced with quiet command.
I shook my head free, his touch slipping away, but his gaze stayed fixed on me, steady, intense, and impossible to look away from.
And to be honest, I didn’t like us being this close—nothing about it felt right.