My lips tremble and I set them in a line as I absorb what he’s said and hear the confirmation that he’s a monster with his own words. “Who is it?”

“I have my theories.”

“Who?”

“Why do you want to know, my little muse? Do you suspect they’re after you now?”

“I want justice for Alicia.” My heart dips in its cavity as I murmur, “Is it Jonathan?”

A part of me has already started mourning the fact that it could be Jonathan. After all, Alicia named him, and he made me feel as if I were insane when I mentioned the flash drives. He could’ve easily bribed Paul, the concierge, so that he’d lie and say he didn’t receive any packages.

If he hurt Alicia in any way, I won’t be able to forgive him. I don’t care that she did. I’m not her, and deep down, I’ll always hate him.

It’ll destroy me in the process, but I won’t be able to trust him ever again.

“Jonathan.” Dad raises a brow. “What is it about him that got you both tangled up? I didn’t raise you to take other people’s leftovers, Claire.”

“Is it him?” I insist.

“Apologise first and I might consider forgiving you and telling you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Say, I’m sorry I turned you in, Dad. I’m sorry I fucking betrayed you.”

“I didn’t betray you, Dad. You betrayed me. You painted the world for me, then you turned it all black. You became my hero just to pull the carpet from beneath my feet. The world shattered in front of my eyes the moment I saw you dragging a corpse with complete nonchalance. I was sixteen, Dad! Fucking sixteen. I hadn’t even lived yet and you killed me. I hadn’t breathed yet and you smothered me. I spent the past eleven years gasping for air and finding smoke. The moment I start to pull my pieces together, the memory of you scatters them apart all over again. So don’t you dare sit there and say I betrayed you. You betrayed me. You were my world, but you metaphorically buried me alive in that eighth grave. I’m finally digging my way out, and I will not allow you to push me in that hole again.”

Tears soak my cheeks by the time I finish, but they’re not sad or weak tears. They’re angry tears. Injustice tears. Because I was finally able to tell him what I think, what I’ve always thought.

The reason I felt so guilty towards those victims was because, even though I hated him for what he did, I couldn’t stop considering him as my dad. The little girl in me still loved him. She still saw him as the father who picked her up, after her mother threw her away, and raised her as if his world revolved around her.

But he tarnished that world. He smashed it to pieces.

Maybe that’s why sixteen-year-old me thought I needed to take the jabs and the hits. She even thought being stabbed was karma for not being able to hate my father as much as I should. For secretly still loving him. For secretly missing him.

I needed to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to consider your father a father, despite him being a monster. I just have to move on from those memories where I considered him my world.

He isn’t.

He’s just a monster who doesn’t deserve respect.

Dad remains motionless. His expression doesn’t change, but his jaw clenches. “You will not get anything from me unless you apologise, Claire.”

“I’ll never apologise for turning you in, Dad. That was the best decision I made in my life, even if it flipped it upside down.”

I stand up because it’s useless to try to extract information out of him. He’s right. We’re both too stubborn, and he won’t give me anything unless I comply with his condition.

“They’re only after you because you’re my muse now, Claire. They’re after me, not you.”

“Then I hope they get you.” A tear slides down my cheek as I stare him in the eyes that are identical to mine and, in a way, it feels like I’m bidding farewell to the little girl I always saw in those eyes. To the me from the past. “This is our official goodbye, Dad. I’ll never visit you again. If you still want to go on with the parole process, I’ll stand there again and tell them you deserve every second you spend in prison.”

I take one last look at his face, at the drawn brows and the golden beard and hair and I finally grieve my father.

When I get out of the building, I inhale a deep gulp of air.

Real air.

Actual air.

The feeling of being alive hits me straight in the chest and it’s so strong, I have to brace myself against the wall for a second.

I’m finally alive.

Finally breathing.

I’m finally out of that grave. Literally and figuratively.

“Are you all right, Miss?” One of my security men clutches me by the elbow.

I straighten, clearing my throat. “I’m perfect. Thank you.”

“Mr King has been calling nonstop,” he says as he leads me to the awaiting car.

Of course he has.

Once I’m in the back seat, I check my phone, and sure enough, there are a dozen missed calls and emails.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: Answer The Fucking Phone

Refer to subject. Don’t make me come find you from fucking Oxford.

Then another one.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: I’m On My Way

You better be ready for that arse to be turned red.

I power off my phone. Dad didn’t deny that Jonathan could be the one behind Alicia’s poisoning. If he is, this will get ugly.

“Miss.” The bodyguard hands me his phone with a pleading expression. “Please answer or he’ll fire us all.”

The fucking tyrant.

I swipe the green button.

“If you don’t put her on the fucking phone right now, consider your future ruined.”

My heart picks up speed at the sound of his voice, and I want to murder that heart. I want to bury it with Alicia so it never beats again.

“I’m on my way home,” I say in a bland voice that I don’t even recognise. “And stop threatening people.”

I hang up before he can say anything.

By the time we reach home, Jonathan has called the guards’ phones a few more times, but I took them and powered them off.

“Tell him I did it,” I say to the men as I leave the car and stride into the house.