Chapter 118: Alice pt 2

The name burned in his brain like acid. Luke had told him. Luke had heard her throwing a fit in her room because Isabella hadn’t died on impact.

Alice had ordered the hit. Alice had sent the truck. Alice had taken his child, his wife, and his entire future, and flushed it down the gutter just because she couldn’t wait for her money.

Twenty minutes later, the dark Mercedes burst through the iron gates of the Kingston Estate, tires ripping through the pristine gravel driveway.

Kian slammed the brakes in front of the grand stone steps, jumped out of the idling car, and stormed through the heavy front doors.

"Kian?" Aria stepped into the grand foyer, holding a silver tray, her eyes widening as she saw his him storming in her direction. "What happened? Is Isabella—"

Kian didn’t even acknowledge her. He shoved past her, his heavy dress shoes pounding up the carpeted staircase, taking three steps at a time.

Luke stood at the top of the landing, stepping aside smoothly as Kian marched down the east wing corridor toward Alice’s private quarters.

He didn’t knock. He kicked the mahogany door right near the latch, the wood splitting with a loud CRACK as it flew inward and slammed against the wall.

Alice was sitting near her vanity table. She was wearing a silk robe, a thin cigarette held lightly between two fingers, a glass of amber whiskey resting near her hand.

She looked completely relaxed, unbothered, as if she were waiting for a afternoon tea.

When the door flew open, she didn’t jump. She just tilted her head back, blew a cloud of grey smoke toward the high ceiling, and smiled.

"Well," Alice said softly, her voice dripping with lazy disdain. "Look what the day dragged in. You look pathetic, Kian."

The sight of her calm, smug face snapped the last thread of sanity inside his head.

Kian didn’t speak. He launched himself across the room like a starving animal.

He tackled her off the velvet chair, his heavy weight slamming her down onto the hardwood floor. The whiskey glass shattered on impact. Alice let out a sharp gasp of shock, but before she could draw breath to scream, Kian’s long, thick fingers wrapped around her throat.

His hands clamped down with crushing force, squeezing her windpipe shut.

"You stupid, worthless bitch," Kian growled, his face inches from hers, his grey eyes pitch black with hatred. "You killed my child! You ruined everything!"

Alice thrashing beneath him, her hands clawing wildly at his wrists, her fingernails digging deep into his skin, tearing flesh and drawing blood.

Her legs kicked against the floor, knocking over a side table, a tall lamp shattering against the rug. Her face turned a horrific, dark purple, her eyes bulging, her oxygen cutting off completely as Kian pressed his entire weight down onto her throat, digging his thumbs deep into her neck until her windpipe gave a sick, wet crunch—

Snap.

Kian blinked.

The sound of his breath was loud in the quiet room.

He was standing two feet inside the open doorway. His hands were down by his sides, his fingers twitching violently.

Across the room, Alice was still sitting near her vanity table. The velvet chair was untouched. The whiskey glass was still full. She was taking a slow, long drag from her cigarette, watching him through the haze of smoke with cold, calculating eyes.

He hadn’t moved. The entire murder had lived and died inside his head in the span of three seconds.

Alice lowered her cigarette, tapping the ash into a small crystal tray. "You’re staring, Kian. And you look like you’re about to vomit."

Kian took a slow, heavy breath through his nose, trying to pull his scattered mind back from the edge of absolute madness.

He took two steps into the room, his shoes leaving prints on her cream-colored rug.

"Why did you do it?" he asked. His voice wasn’t loud. It was raspy, broken, and hollow. "Why did you send that truck?"

Alice didn’t even bother to deny it. She leaned back against her chair, crossing her long legs.

"Because you were taking too long. You were playing house with a girl who hates you. You were letting that Russian brute walk all over your court cases, and you were forgetting why we started this in the first place."

"She was carrying my child, Alice," Kian said, his hands clenching into fists so tight his fingernails bit into his palms. "She lost the baby. The doctor just told us."

Alice paused for a brief second. A tiny spark of surprise flashed in her dark eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold, sharp sneer.

"Good," she said simply.

Kian’s jaw set. He took a heavy step toward her, the bloodlust inside his chest flaring up so bright he could taste iron on his tongue.

He lifted his hand, his fingers curling like talons, ready to close around her neck for real this time.

"Don’t," Alice warned. She didn’t move an inch. She didn’t even reach for her glass. She just looked him dead in the eye. "Take one more step toward me, Kian, and you won’t live long enough to regret it."

Kian stopped. "You think you can threaten me?"

"I don’t need to threaten you. I prepared for this months ago," Alice said smoothly, taking another sip of her drink.

"The moment my heart stops beating or the moment I fail to log into my private server for forty-eight hours, every document, every wire transfer, every recorded phone call from our early days planning Lance’s... little accident... goes straight to the Federal Prosecutor’s office. And to your worst enemy, Aaron Kazarov."

Kian froze in his tracks. The cold air in the room seemed to freeze around him.

"You think you care about Isabella?" Alice chuckled, a dry, nasty sound. "If those papers leak, you won’t just lose her. You’ll lose the Kingston company. You’ll lose your money, your name, your reputation, and your precious freedom. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a maximum-security cell while Aaron takes care of your sweet little wife."

She looked at him, her eyes sharp as glass. "So go ahead. Put your hands around my neck. See what happens to your life."