King Novel novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

I barely step into the office before Liam throws a grenade at me.

“You’re getting fitted for the ball today.”

I pause mid–step, my brain buffering like a shitty internet connection. “I’m sorry, the what now?”

Liam, looking infuriatingly put–together for someone who probably crawled out of a crypt this morning, doesn’t even glance up from the stack of papers he’s flipping through. “The ball. The one the King is hosting. The one we’re covering.” He finally looks at me, eyes sharp. “You thought you’d just show up looking like a stray?”

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, what the hell does that have to do with me getting ‘fitted‘?”

Zoe appears at my side like a caffeinated raccoon, practically vibrating with excitement. “VIP treatment, T! We’re getting styled by actual designers. Can you believe it?”

“I can’t, because it makes zero sense.” I cross my arms, my instincts prickling. “We’re journalists. We’re supposed to report, not prance around in overpriced dresses like we belong.”

Liam sighs like I personally give him migraines. “You don’t get it, do you?” He leans forward, dropping his voice. “We’re not just covering the event. We need to blend in. Get people talking.” He taps a pen against the desk. “This isn’t just about looking pretty, Sinclair. It’s about access. The right dress gets you past the right doors.”

I hate that it makes sense.

Still, I scowl. “Feels like a whole lot of pomp and bullshit for a guy no one’s even seen.”

Liam smirks. “And yet he’s got the whole world at his feet.”

I hate that that makes sense, too.

***

The boutique smells like money–leather, perfume, and something floral that’s probably imported from some rare fucking flower only the rich know about.

I don’t belong here.

Zoe practically drags me around, eyes alight like a kid at a candy store. The moment we step inside, we’re swallowed by luxury–crystal chandeliers, racks of gowns that probably cost more than my rent, a staff that looks like they’d rather be euthanized than deal with commoners like us.

“Is this really happening?” Zoe spins in a circle, clutching a sequined gown to her chest like it’s a fucking relic. “Tell me this isn’t some kind of fever dream.”

“If it is, I want out,” I mutter, shifting on my feet.

Zoe, unfazed, dives into the racks like she’s found religion. “Oh my God, look at this one.” She holds up something red and slinky, and I swear it’s whispering sins to ife.

I ignore her. My gaze flickers to the attendants fussing over us, to the way they already have dresses pulled in our sizes, to the complimentary champagne waiting by the fitting area.

None of this is normal.

So why the fuck are we here?

1/6

25 Mar

Chapter 61

The only answer that makes sense is that Liam’s playing some long, twisted game. And if 1 know anything abonam Calloway, it’s that nothing he does comes without strings attached.

“Okay, what about this one?” Zoe holds up a red dress with a neckline so plunging it might as well come with a complimentary set of nipple pasties,

I snort. “I’m not trying to flash the entire Lycan elite, thanks

“Oh, please. You’ve got the tits for it.” She winks before draping the dress over her arm and sauntering off like she’s been shopping here her whole life.

I force myself to follow, my pulse thrumming under my skin. Every time I glance at the saleswomen, I swear they’re watching me out of the corners of their eyes–like they’re waiting for me to pocket something or start licking the mannequins.

“Zoe,” I say lowly, “why are they treating us like fucking royalty?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because we’re attending a royal ball?”

I narrow mine. “We’re covering it.”

“Same difference.” She shoves a dress into my arms. “Now stop being paranoid and start trying shit on.”

I don’t stop being paranoid.

But I do try shit on.

“Okay, this one,” Zoe declares, shoving a navy–blue gown into my hands. “Give it a go”

I blink down at the dress, the heavy silk pooling between my fingers. It’s beautiful, the kind of dress I’d normally drool over

in magazines–long, off–the–shoulder, with slits high enough to flash some leg but not scream desperate.

It’s also the kind of dress that feels like a trap.

“Come on,” Zoe whines. “At least pretend to have fun.”

I glance back at the mirror, at the girl staring back at me. Her hair’s a mess, her eyes bruised from too many sleepless nights. No amount of silk or designer bullshit is going to change the fact that she’s still the same broken thing underneath.

But what if for one night… she wasn’t?

“Fine.” I snatch the dress from her hands, stomping off toward the fitting room. “But if I flash my tits to the whole kingdom. I’m blaming you.”

Zoe grins. “Deal.”

By the time we leave the boutique, my wallet is still intact but my dignity’s hanging by a thread.

The gown’s wrapped in layers of tissue paper inside a sleek black bag, like some kind of fucking prize I didn’t sign up to win. Zoe’s still buzzing, bouncing on her toes as we weave through the crowded shopping district, but my skin won’t stop crawling.

Something’s off.

The city feels… different today. Thicker. Like the air’s holding its breath.

I glance over my shoulder for the third time in five minutes. Nothing but tourists and high–end shoppers, snapping selfies and flashing credit cards. Still, the hair on the back of my neck won’t lie flat.

2/6

Chapter 61

I’m not the only predator in this crowd.

“Taryn?”

Zoe’s voice snaps me out of it.

I blink, realizing I’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking foot traffic. Across the street, a crowd’s gathered outside some boutique hotel, cameras flashing and voices rising in a low, eager buzz.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Zoe stops next to me. “Uh… what’s going on?”

I follow the direction of her gaze.

Across the shopping district, a crowd has gathered.

Camera flashes burst like fireworks, the low hum of whispers rolling through the air.

My heartbeat stumbles.

“Is that…?” Zoe breathes beside me, standing on her tiptoes.

“The Alpha King.”

The title tastes like ash on my tongue.

I can’t see him–just the black SUVs, the wall of security, the ripple of bodies parting like water.

But I feel him.

Every nerve in my body lights up, a slow burn under my skin that coils tighter and tighter until I swear I’m going to snap in -half.

It’s him.

I know it. I fucking know it.

My feet move before my brain can stop them.

“Taryn–wait!”

Zoe grabs my arm, but I wrench free, rushing through the crowd like some possessed little bloodhound.

I need to see him. Just a glimpse. Just enough to know I’m not completely out of my mind.

I push forward, the crowd blurring around me, my breath coming too fast. The rational part of me screams that this is stupid, reckless. That he wouldn’t just be out in the open like this. That I’m chasing a ghost.

But my heart–my stupid, desperate heart–doesn’t care.

Security closes in before I get close. A wall of black suits and cold stares.

I shove against the barricade, craning my neck, trying to see past them. “Hey–move!”

“Taryn!”

Zoe’s voice is distant now, drowned out by the hum of the crowd.

3/6

10: Tue, 25 Mar

Chapter 61

I push harder. Closer.

I catch the briefest glimpse.

A figure. Tall, broad–shouldered, moving through the flashes like a shadow—a very powerful one.

My chest caves in.

It’s him.

I know it’s him.

Then he’s gone.

The security detail swallows him whole, disappearing into the black SUV waiting at the curb. The doors slam shut. The vehicle peels away.

My pulse roars in my ears.

“Taryn!” Zoe grabs my arm, yanking me back. “What the hell was that?!”

I can’t speak.

Because I don’t know what the hell that was, either.

But I do know one thing.

I was close.

And it still wasn’t close enough.

Before I can register, another set of crowd gathers around another SUV and both our eyes follows it as it parks beside Enoch’s.

The door

opens and it reveals a woman, an undeniably beautiful woman.

The first thing I notice about her is the fucking hair.

Silky, bone–straight, jet–black strands that fall down her back as though she was carved straight out of a goddamn oil painting. She’s tall too–at least two inches taller than me, and wearing heels like she’s never tripped over a single crack in her life.

Her dress is sleek and blood–red, clinging to her curves like it was stitched onto her body by the fucking gods themselves. Every inch of her screams perfect.

The kind of woman men would throw themselves into traffic for just to get a second glance.

Shw walks towards Enoch before she clings onto him.

Enoch.

My Enoch-

No.

Not my anything. Not anymore.

My stomach twists, violent and mean, something inside me is trying to crawl out and rip her throat open.

4/6

645 11

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Chapter 61

I don’t even know who the fuck she is, but I already hate her.

It’s pathetic.

I came here for a goddamn story–not to get sucker–punched by the sight of the man who shattered me, waltzing around with Miss Perfect hanging off his arm like some goddamn prize.

He’s standing tall–brooding, powerful, with that same sharp–cut jaw and those forest green eyes that used to look at me as if I was the only fucking thing worth breathing for.

Only now he’s looking at her.

He leans in when she whispers something in his car, his face cold and unreadable–she’s the only voice in the room worth listening to.

I feel like I’ve been sucker–punched.

He remembers me.

I know he does.

But he acts like he doesn’t even fucking see me.