Page 49 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Because I have friends who look out for me,” says Ophelia, watching me carefully. “You’re an incredibly busy man with a hundred other places you need to be, and yet you have time to visit a man in hospital.”

“It was in the evening.”

“The time of day is irrelevant,” says Ophelia. “A billionaire like you always has somewhere else they need to be. Why check in on the guy you apparently never beat up?

“You don’t believe me,” I state, staring deep into her eyes, feeling something crack within.

People generally believe everything that comes out of my mouth. Money buys cars and real estate, but above all else, it buys opinion.

Everyone believes what I say. They can disagree on the inside, but they know better than to upset a billionaire entrepreneur. Sucking up and agreeing is how people think they can earn my respect, but it is quite the opposite.

Ophelia has always impressed me, and because I have so much respect for the girl, it hurts that she thinks I’m lying.

“What exactly are you saying here, Miss Bennett?” I lean into the table, folding my arms over my chest. “You think I killed Lenny Foster?”

Her silence tells me yes.

I grind my jaw, on the verge of bursting, of taking her back to my penthouse and showing her who I really am.

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” I say, putting myself in her shoes for a second, trying to see the world from her point of view. “Danger surrounds us like an invisible cloak, and in a city like New York, you have to pick your poison."

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I wink.

“This isn’t a joke,” hisses Ophelia, her eyes filling with venom, letting me know which poison she might be picking… “My mother dies and leaves fragments of the past behind, and I’m meant to ignore it and stay on the stupid path you tell me to stay on? If your entire life has been based on a lie, are you supposed to continue living the lie? To forget about the truth, close the books and spend the rest of your life wearing rose tinted glasses?”

“The truth can hurt, sweetheart.”

“Losing my mother hurt. But working for a man who had a hand in her death hurts more than the grief.”

I search her eyes, watching tears stream down her face.

I hook my hands around her hips, turning her away from the window. Ophelia presents herself exceptionally well around here, and I know these vultures are praying on her weakness, looking for opportunities to knock her down.

Crying only makes us stronger.

“Who was your mother?” I say, staring at her face. I had no part in her mother’s death. I only kill males.

“Elanor Bennett.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, holding eye contact so she knows I mean every word. “I’ve never heard this name before. I promise you, sweetheart, your mother died from natural causes.”

“Promise is a big word. How can you be so sure?”

“I have connections.”

“What kind of connections? Ones linked to Lenny?” Ophelia searches my eyes. The pleading look on her face suggests she wants to be proven wrong, for me to reassure her that I’m not the monster she thinks I am.

“I didn’t kill Lenny Foster, but I have killed others.”

Her entire blood supply drains from her face, her mouth gaping open. She spends the next few seconds analyzing my face, working out why the fuck I would need to kill another person. Failing to reach a conclusion, she bursts out laughing.

“Ophelia,” I say, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Calling her name is the best thing I can do to get her attention at the moment, seeing as though we are in public. “Ophelia!” I say again, raising my voice.

Ophelia cups her mouth, laughing hysterically, all the while I’m leaning into the desk, wondering if this is a normal reaction. I wouldn’t know. It’s not every day I tell someone I murder people.

“I’m not joking.”