King Novel 82

? Views, Released on March 28, 2025

Chapter 82

1 fucking blink. Once. Twice,

Zoe?

She’s twirling on the dance floor like a damn ballerina on speed, all while I stand frozen, gripping my drink so tight I’m surprised the glass doesn’t crack.

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This has to be some cosmic joke, My best friend–my work best friend, my safe–space–from–werewolf–drama best friend- should be thousands of miles away, slumped in her cubicle, ranting about deadlines and how our boss is a “hot–but- terrifying dictator.”

Instead, she’s here, in the middle of a club in the Maldives, throwing her arms up like she just won the lottery.

Why is she in my vacation?

“What the actual fuck,” I breathe, setting my drink down before I crush it I immediately rush towards her. Bodies shift, sweat–slicked skin brushing against me, but I barely notice. The only thing I see is my friend, the only thing I hear is the hammering in my chest.

When I reach Zoe, I grab her wrist, yanking her around so hard she stumbles. She turns, her eyes locking on mine. Her mouth drops open. “Taryn?”

“No, the fucking Pope,” I deadpan. “What are you doing here?”

Zoe still looks like she’s trying to process reality, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “I–wait, what are you doing here?!”

Before I can answer, a new voice cuts in, smooth and teasing. “I brought her.”

Zoe and I turn at the same time. The woman standing there is beautiful. Too beautiful. Like something hand–carved with the sole purpose of ruining lives. She smiles, saccharine and sharp, eyes glittering under the neon lights.

And then it hits me. The familiarity. The way my stomach churns with unease before my brain catches up. She was there. Back in the pack. She handled it.

My pulse slams.

It was this woman, the woman I heard cooing Celeste’s crying figure when she was scolded by her own father. She’s one who said she’s going to handle it.

And she did. She did by ruining my reputation.

Brooke.

Long, dark waves. Full lips curved in amusement. A beauty that’s almost hypnotic if you don’t know better. But I do know better. Because I’ve seen her before.

No, not just seen her–heard her.

My body goes rigid as the realization drops a fucking anvil on my chest. I take a step back, my stomach flipping. Brooke’s gaze flickers with something, a little smirk curling her lips, like she can see the moment the realization clicks for me.

And she’s enjoying it.

Zoe, completely unaware of the absolute hellstorm brewing inside me, giggles. Fucking giggles. “Isn’t she the best? She just -poof!-surprised me with this whole trip. Told me I deserved a little getaway, and next thing I know, I’m on a plane.”

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She beams at Brooke, like she’s talking about a fairy godmother and not a snake in designer heels.

I don’t smile. “How generous,” I say flatly.

Brooke just tilts her head, her eyes gleaming. “I thought she could use a little fun.”

I bet you did.

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My mouth is dry, my throat locking up as I try to make sense of it all. Brooke isn’t here by coincidence. She didn’t bring Zoe out of the kindness of her heart. She knew exactly what she was doing. She came for me.

Brooke tilts her head, her smirk unwavering. “Zoe, give us a moment, would you?”

Zoe hesitates. She glances between us, finally picking up on the tension. “Um… are you guys okay?”

“I said,” Brooke’s smile drops, “give us a moment.”

Zoe, still high on whatever spell Brooke has her under, leans into me. “You know, you really should be thanking her. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even be here! And what are the odds we’d run into you of all people?”

Oh, I don’t know, Zoe. Maybe because she fucking planned it?

Zoe barely manages a nod to Brooke again before slipping away, and just like that, I’m alone with the woman who played a hand in tearing my life apart.

The bass–heavy music pounds, making my bones vibrate. Around us, people are lost in their own worlds, drinking, dancing, laughing–completely oblivious to the fact that the air between Brooke and me is so razor–sharp it could slice someone

open.

Brooke moves first, stepping closer, her body swaying to the beat. “You’re so stiff, Sinclair,” she hums. “Relax. Dance.”

I cross my arms, my nails biting into my skin. “Cut the bullshit. What do

you

want?”

Brooke twirls, the silk of her dress catching the light as she laughs. “Straight to the point. I respect that.” She grabs my wrist, yanking me forward before I can react. “Dance with me.”

I jerk my arm back, but her grip tightens. “Are you insane?”

“Not insane. Just ambitious.” Her fingers dig in, her voice honeyed venom. “And persistent.”

I don’t move.

She laughs–light, airy, like I just told the funniest joke in the world. Then, without warning, she grabs my hand and pulls.

I stumble, cursing, but she’s already moving, spinning us both into the rhythm of the music. When I try to yank away, her grip tightens.

“Let go,” I grit out.

But she just smiles, tilting her head. “Now, why would I do that? I haven’t had my fun yet.”

Rage flares inside me, but I force myself to stay steady, my breathing controlled. “You already had your fun,” I say, voice low, dripping with venom. “Wasn’t ruining my life enough?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. “Enough?” she echoes. Then she leans in, close enough that I can smell her perfume–rich, heady, suffocating.

“Never.”

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A shiver slithers down my spine, but I don’t let it show. I hold her gaze, unblinking “Why the fuck are you herer

She hums, still dancing, still toying with me. “Oh, Taryn.” Her lips curl. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I wait.

And then she says it.

“Enoch.”

My entire body locks. My stomach drops.

She smirks, watching the reaction like she’s savoring it. “You didn’t actually think I went through all that trouble for Celeste, did you?” She scoffs. “That woman is nothing but a stepping stone. A desperate little pawn willing to believe anything I tell her.”

I knew Celeste was gullible, but to hear it confirmed, laid out so casually, makes my blood fucking boil.

I narrow my eyes, pulse thudding. “You’re delusional if you think Enoch would ever fall for you.”

Brooke lets out a low, knowing laugh. “Aren’t you confident?” She twirls again, still dancing, still treating this like some game.

But this time, I move with her.

I match her.

Not because I want to, but because I refuse to stand here like some frozen, panicked little girl while she plays with me like a fucking toy.

So I dance.

Her grin falters.

I smirk. Oh, you didn’t think I’d fold that easily, did you?

She recovers quickly, matching my movements, but there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes–irritation. Annoyance. Good.

I lean in, mirroring her earlier move, my lips curling. “Enjoy your little fantasy, Brooke.” My voice drops, mocking, confident. “Because that’s all it’ll ever be.”

The song builds, the crowd moving around us in a blur of color and light. I keep my gaze locked on hers, my confidence solidifying, hardening. I won’t cower. Not to her. Not to anyone.

She tilts her head, studying me, and for the first time, her mask slips. Just a little. “We’ll see about that.”

Brooke’s laughter grates against my nerves, the sound curling around me like a taunt. My grip tightens around her hand, but she just smirks, her perfectly painted lips pulling into something smug.

“Do you really think he loves you?” Her voice is syrupy, sickly sweet, as if she pities me.

My jaw locks. “I don’t think. I know.”

Brooke tilts her head, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. “Then why is he searching for another

woman?”

The words slam into my chest like a blunt force, and my breath catches. My mind claws back to that night, sneaking into his archives, flipping through old files on his desk. The name. The pictures. The woman he’s been looking for. The woman I never confronted him about.

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Brooke’s watching me, reveling in my reaction. “Oh,” she coos. “You already knew. That makes this even better.

The music throbs around us, but I barely hear it.

My pulse is too loud, hammering in my skull. My fingers twitch to strangle the satisfaction off her face, but she steps in close, pressing something small and worn into my palm. Her fingers curl mine over it, sealing it shut.

She leans in, whispering against my car, “You look just like her

Then she’s gone.

he music pounds, people move, the scent of sweat and alcohol thick in the air. But I’m stuck, my heart slamming into my ribs as I lift the picture.

Two kids.

One is unmistakably Enoch–rigid, serious, even as a boy. But the girl beside him? She’s all bright eyes and sunshine.

And she looks just like me.

A lump forms in my throat. My hands feel numb. My vision blurs at the edges as my mind trips over itself, desperate to make sense of this.

This can’t be real. This isn’t real.

But it is, isn’t it?

I can’t breathe.

The walls of the club press in, the flashing lights making me dizzy. My grip tightens on the photo, the edges digging into my

skin.

Was I ever more than a shadow of someone he lost? Was I ever real to him?

Before I can spiral further, warm hands slide around my waist, pulling me against a familiar body. A deep, possessive hum vibrates against my neck as Enoch presses in from behind, lips brushing my skin.

“You stopped dancing,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark. “Now every man in this club is looking at you like you’re free for the taking.”

I shove the picture into the pocket of my dress so fast I almost crumple it. I force myself to breathe, to act normal. “I saw Zoe.”

His hold on me tightens. “Zoe?”

I nod, pulse still too fast. “She must not have expected us to vacation here.”

Enoch pulls me even closer, his lips skimming my shoulder. “Want me to send her somewhere else?”

I swallow hard. “No.”

Because if Zoe is here, Brooke is too. And if Brooke is here, then I have a chance to find out more.

The music shifts into something slower, heavier, and I let Enoch lead.

His grip on me is firm, his movements confident, but my mind won’t stop churning. The picture burns against my thigh like

a fucking brand, and the doubt settles like a stone in my chest.

I dance with him, our bodies too close, too desperate. His hands wander, his lips trace the shell of my ear. I barely react,

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caught between the feel of him and the question bleeding through my mind.

Did you ever love me? Or was I just the closest thing to what you lost?

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We make it back to the suite, the room stretching around us in luxury I should be used to by now. Enoch disappears into the shower, and I finally move, stiff fingers yanking open my laptop.

I try to focus. I don’t want to do this, but if Enoch is not sure about me… I begtter just do work.

That’s why I left, wasn’t it? To study my mother’s death, to piece together the past. It has nothing to do with Enoch. It has nothing to do with the way my heart feels like it’s been carved out of my chest.

My fingers move on autopilot, opening my notes, typing out the words I told myself I’d write. It’s not even a hit piece–just something about leadership, about how Enoch is reclaiming his throne, about his fears, his thoughts, his responsibility.