KINGDOM OF THREATS

Chapter Eleven – London Tour

Valentina

I stare at the board glowing under the pale moonlight, the words blurring in and out as if mocking me. Midnight Meals. How fitting. I stand frozen at the entrance, performing a silent debate in my head, weighing the choice of stepping in against turning back. My palms feel damp, my heart a stubborn drummer inside my chest.

The night air is thick, heavy with a strange tension that only grows stronger the longer I hesitate. A part of me wants to walk away—pretend his message never came, pretend I don’t care. But my stupid feet betray me, carrying me inside.

The scent of grilled spices and freshly baked bread greets me the moment I cross the threshold. It should have been comforting, but instead it clings to my throat, suffocating me. My pulse quickens as my eyes adjust to the dim light. Lamps glow low and golden, throwing shadows across empty tables, every corner breathing a hush that makes me feel like an intruder.

I scan the room, searching for him. And then—I find him. His tall frame, broad shoulders, sitting with his back to me. Even without turning, I know it’s him. Something about the stillness of his posture commands my attention, as if he owns even the silence around him.

Dragging in a breath, I force myself forward. Each step feels deliberate, loud, like my heels are betraying me to the whole room. I slide into the chair opposite him. He doesn’t look up, not immediately, but I feel his presence like a shadow wrapping itself around me. His fingers move across his phone screen with infuriating calm, yet his silence weighs heavier than words.

“You came.” His voice finally breaks the air—low, smooth, but edged with something that makes my stomach twist.

I don’t answer right away. I just sit there, my stupid heart drumming so loud I fear it might burst through my ribs.

“I thought you’d never show,” he continues.

“I didn’t want to,” I whisper.

A short, cold laugh slips past his lips, void of amusement. “But you did. And now you’re here.” At last, his attention lifts from his phone to me. His stormy gray eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly the walls feel closer, the air thinner.

I roll my eyes, forcing defiance into my expression. “Then why don’t you tell me the reason you called me here for?”

His lips curl with the faintest ghost of a smirk. “You’re going to be my company’s muse. A permanent one.”

The audacity makes me scoff. “You don’t get to decide that. And I don’t accept your offer.” I push my chair back, ready to leave, but before I can stand, he slides a paper across the table.

A contract.

“I am ready to take your photographs while you travel,” he says smoothly, “but you’ll be the permanent muse of my company. Deal?”

My mind falters. I stare at the paper, my thoughts spiraling. This isn’t just some casual offer—it’s a trap disguised as opportunity. My father would never agree, never allow me to tie myself here. I swallow hard, my throat tightening as the reality settles in.

“I can’t sign,” I whisper, forcing firmness into my voice. “I’m going back to my hometown soon. And I don’t think I’ll return anytime soon.”

It’s a lie, one that burns my tongue. But Father will never allow me to stay, and I cling to that excuse like a shield.

He sighs, slow and deliberate, like a man with endless patience. “Then we will come over to your place.”

My eyes widen. “You’re not going to quit this, are you?”

He leans back in his chair, storm-cloud eyes glinting under the dim lights. “Not in my dictionary.” His lips curl into a sly smile, the kind that makes my chest tighten in ways I don’t want to admit.

Something inside me flips—fear, irritation, something more dangerous I can’t name. My hand trembles as I pick up the pen. The paper blurs for a moment, my pulse hammering in my ears, but I force my name onto the dotted line.

My breath escapes in a shaky rush. I’ve done it. There’s no turning back now.

He tucks the paper inside his pocket with the ease of someone who always gets what he wants. “I like you this way.”

I glare at him. “Like?”

His smirk deepens. “When you’re obedient.”

The words slice through my pride like a blade. I roll my eyes to mask the heat crawling up my neck, refusing to let him see how much he unsettles me.

Then his gaze drops—lower, lingering. The air thickens, tension crackling between us, every breath suddenly shallow, every heartbeat a violent drumbeat in my chest. His eyes—stormy, dangerous—burn with something unreadable.

I shift uncomfortably, trying to break free from the pull, but my body betrays me. My skin tingles under his scrutiny, goosebumps rising where his eyes touch me, even without contact.

My chest tightens, a blush creeping traitorously across my skin. He stares as though peeling me open, stripping away layers until only raw vulnerability remains.

When his gaze finally snaps away to call the waiter, relief floods me. My lungs expand in a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“What would you like to eat, ma’am?” the waiter’s voice is a lifeline, breaking the tension. I mutter something quickly, though I barely taste the words. He scribbles Aiden’s order without hesitation, then vanishes.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

“Have you decided any place to visit yet?” he asks casually, as though he hasn’t just unraveled me.

I shake my head. “Can you suggest some? You must know the beautiful places here.”

He leans back, his expression almost bored. “I don’t like to travel. Only for business parties or meetings.”

I scoff. “That sounds miserable. How can someone survive without travel?”

“Oh, I do.” His voice is calm, unbothered, as though my judgment means nothing.

But for me, it’s impossible. If I had his life, his freedom, I would’ve traveled the whole world already.

“Don’t worry,” I say with a grin that I hope masks the thundering of my heart. “I will make you like it.”

He chuckles lowly, his lips curving with amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Keep fantasizing.”

And just like that, the challenge between us is set.

—

The sun is just beginning to rise, a pale glow stretching over the horizon, as I fold the last of my things into my bag. My fingers fumble with the zipper, not because I’ve packed too much but because my nerves won’t stop buzzing. I still can’t believe it’s happening—finally. London has been my dream for so long, an escape carved out of lists and scribbles, maps folded and refolded until the ink began to fade.

And now, the list sits on my desk, half-crossed out, daring me to complete it.

But even as excitement tugs at me, something unsettles my chest. Aiden will be my company for this trip—not my friends. They’re drowning in exam stress, and I can’t add to their burden. Besides, there’s something about the way he wields that camera, capturing moments like he owns them, bending light into submission.

He makes ordinary things look extraordinary. And that terrifies me more than it should.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, just as a sharp honk splits the silence outside. I glance at the clock—of course he’s on time. Punctuality is practically tattooed into his DNA.

When I step outside, my breath hitches. He leans against the car, arms crossed over his chest, the morning light catching on his navy-blue suit. Crisp white shirt. Dark tie. Everything about him screams untouchable power, a man carved out of precision and arrogance.

For a second—just a second—I let myself look. The tailored fabric pulls perfectly over his lean, muscular frame, his posture relaxed yet commanding. And I hate that I notice.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, his voice coated with sarcasm. “Aren’t you a little too dressed up for a simple trip?”

His gaze trails deliberately from my head to my toes, slow, unhurried, like a touch I never asked for. My skin prickles in betrayal, every inch hyper-aware of his scrutiny.

I snap my eyes away, rolling them with all the disdain I can muster. “And look at you. This isn’t one of your corporate parties. Don’t you think you should’ve worn something casual?”

“I feel comfortable with this,” he replies smoothly, pushing off the car to open the door for me. The gesture almost looks gentlemanly, but his smirk ruins it. “Now sit.”

I slide into the car, refusing to thank him, refusing to acknowledge the way the faint scent of his cologne—sharp, woody—lingers in the air.

The ride begins in silence, heavy and stretched taut, a battlefield of unspoken words. I steal glances at him against my better judgment. The morning sun sharpens the line of his jaw, the hard set of his features. His eyes stay fixed on the road, narrowed in focus, but I can’t stop wondering—what would he look like if he smiled, really smiled, without arrogance?

“Stop staring, cherry.” His voice cuts through the quiet, deep and commanding, dousing my thoughts like cold water.

Heat rushes to my face. “I wasn’t staring. I zoned out.”

“Sure.” The corner of his lips twitches like he knows I’m lying, but he lets it slide. The car jerks to a stop, and he steps out swiftly, circling to my side before I can reach for the handle.

Again, he opens the door for me.

I blink up at him, suspicion stirring. He’s never this polite. What game is he playing?

I climb out slowly, narrowing my eyes at him. “What has gotten into you? This sweetness is giving me cavities.”

He tilts his head, unbothered. “Are you planning on standing there all day?”

I huff, smoothing the hem of my dress as I step away.

The crisp morning air greets me, filled with the scent of damp earth and blossoms. The park unfolds in front of us like a painting—trees blazing in colors of amber and gold, the Thames glinting in the distance. My lips part on an unbidden smile, the beauty too much to contain.

Aiden notices, his gaze flicking to me before he gestures towards the scenery. “That dome over there? St. Paul’s Cathedral. One of the most famous landmarks in London.”

I try to focus on the cathedral, its elegance dominating the skyline. But my eyes betray me, sliding back to him. The way his voice softens—just barely—when he speaks of history. The way his profile cuts sharp against the sunlight.

“Do you want a picture there?” he asks suddenly, pointing at a spot on the bridge where sunlight spills like molten gold.

I nod, moving into position. The wind plays with my hair, strands whipping against my face. I shift slightly, half-turned towards him, feeling the heat of his eyes behind the lens.

“Don’t move,” he commands, sharp and urgent, and my body goes rigid.

The camera clicks, flashes. Each shutter sound makes my heartbeat race, as though he’s capturing more than just my image—like he’s taking pieces of me I didn’t consent to give.

When he finally lowers the camera, I exhale. Relief washes over me, though my lips curve into a grin when I see the photo. “It’s beautiful!”

“Of course,” he says, staring at the screen. “It was taken by me.”

I scoff, spinning away. “So full of yourself.”

“You could be full of me too, if you want.”

My feet falter. My head snaps around, glaring at him. “I can tell Andrea about your dirty comment, you know?”

His smirk darkens. “Would you? Go ahead. Tell her that her brother was talking about filling her best friend full.”

My breath catches. My heart pounds erratically, a drum against my ribs. The words slither under my skin, poisoning me with unease.

He steps closer, towering over me, his shadow stretching long in the fading light. His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine, unreadable, dangerous.

I force myself not to flinch, not to look away. I will not be his victim.

“Move aside,” I grit out.

To my shock, he actually obeys, stepping back with a grin that unsettles me more than his closeness did.

Night falls, draping the city in velvet darkness. We end up in a quiet park, the world hushed around us. The moon spills silver light across the grass.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

His reply is immediate, smooth. “So beautiful that my eyes hurt.”

I glance at him. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines. For a fleeting second, I forget everything—our rivalry, our war of words. All I see is the man beside me, too close, too dangerous.

“You’re different when you’re quiet,” he says suddenly.

I scoff, forcing a smirk even as my heart stumbles. “And you’re unbearable all the time.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he tilts his head to the sky, as if the stars matter more than this moment.

Silence stretches between us. And for once—it doesn’t feel empty.

When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, almost thoughtful. “You weren’t that unbearable today. Not like I thought you’d be.”

My chest tightens. My eyes snap to him, startled, searching his unreadable expression.

I laugh softly, almost fragile. “That’s unfortunate. I was just about to say the opposite.”

He chuckles, quiet and genuine.

And for once, neither of us fills the silence.

Because this silence?

It says everything words never could.