The Heirs Of Kingston

Olivia’s POV The knock on my door came just as I was trying to decide which bill I could afford to ignore this week. I stared at the stack of unpaid bills scattered across my tiny kitchen table and pretended I hadn’t heard it. Maybe if I stayed quiet long enough, whoever was outside would give up and leave. The knock came again. Louder this time, more determined. The kind of knock that said the person on the other side wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon. No such luck. Pulling myself out of the chair, I crossed the apartment and opened the door. Mr Thompson, my landlord, stood there with his usual expression of disappointment. The kind usually reserved for people who repeatedly forgot birthdays or kicked puppies for fun. “Morning, Olivia.” His voice carried the same careful tone people use when they're trying to avoid a confrontation while walking straight into one. I forced a smile. “Morning.” He glanced over my shoulder into the apartment. “I was hoping we could discuss the rent.” Of course, we could. That seemed to be the only thing anyone wanted to discuss these days. “I know I’m late.” “Two weeks late,” Mr Thompson said. “I’ll have it soon.” He sighed. “That’s what you said last week.” “I know.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay; I simply couldn’t. Freelance work has been slow. Three clients still owed me money. The little savings I had managed to build over the years had disappeared months ago. Now I was surviving one project at a time, and barely surviving at that. Mr Thompson rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment, his expression softened. “I like you, Olivia.” That wasn’t a good sign. People only started conversations that way when bad news was coming. “But I can’t keep doing this.” The words landed like a punch. My fingers tightened around the edge of the door until my knuckles turned white. “Please.” The word slipped out before I could swallow it back. Heat crawled up my neck. I dropped my gaze to the worn floorboards, wishing I could snatch the word back. I hated begging. “I just need a little more time.” He studied me for several seconds. The silence stretched. Somewhere down the hallway, a door slammed, and a dog barked in the distance. I held my breath. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “One week.” I hadn’t realised I’d been holding my breath until it rushed from my lungs. My shoulders sagged, and I reached for the door frame to steady myself. “Thank you.” “One week,” he repeated, his voice firm enough to erase any hope of negotiation. “I mean it this time.” I nodded quickly. “I understand.” A few moments later, the sound of his footsteps faded away down the hallway. After he left, I closed the door and rested my forehead against it. One week. Seven days. That was all I had. Seven days to find the money I didn’t have. I laughed bitterly. The sound echoed through the empty apartment. Calling it an apartment felt generous. A small studio flat in East London, peeling paint, old furniture. A heater that worked whenever it felt like it, but it was mine. Or at least it would be mine for another week. I walked back into the kitchen and sank into the chair. My eyes drifted to Dad's photograph on the shelf. The photo was from Brighton. Eight years later, I still caught myself wanting to call him on days like this. “I could really use your help right now.” The apartment remained silent. It always did. A sudden ringtone interrupted my thoughts. I grabbed my phone before it could stop ringing. Sophie’s name lit up the screen. Immediately, I answered. “Please tell me you’re calling to say you’ve won the lottery,” I asked, teasing her. “If I won the lottery, do you really think I’d still be working?” Sophie’s laugh burst through the speaker. “Fair point.” “Actually, I have something better.” I raised an eyebrow. “Better than millions of pounds?” “Possibly.” That got my attention. I leaned back in my chair. “I’m listening.” “The design company you’ve been freelancing for is handling a major corporate event tonight.” My brows knitted together. “Okay?” “One of their staff members called in sick.” My confusion deepened. “And?” “And they need someone to cover.” My pulse quickened slightly. Extra work was always welcome, especially now. “How much are they paying?” Silence. Just enough to make me suspicious. Then Sophie told me the amount, and I nearly dropped the phone. “You’re joking.” I sat upright, staring at nothing “I’m serious.” Sophie’s laughter floated through the speaker. “That’s more money than I’ve made all month.” “I know.” For the first time that day, hope sparked inside me. Small, fragile, but there. Maybe this was exactly what I needed, the break I’d been waiting for. “So…” Sophie said. “Are you interested?” I rolled my eyes. “Obviously.” She laughed. “I already told them you’d say yes.” “One day, your confidence in me is going to get me into trouble.” “Not today.” The corner of my mouth lifted before I could stop it. God, I hoped she was right. “What time do I start?” I asked. A brief pause. “Three hours.” My smile instantly vanished. “Wait… what?” “Three hours?” I said, my voice coming out much higher than I intended. “You’ll be fine,” Sophie said. “I’m not prepared.” “You never are.” I groaned. She laughed. “Oh, and before you panic, wear the black dress I made you borrow last Christmas. It still looks better than anything hiding in your wardrobe.” The dress was hanging on the wardrobe door, still tucked inside its protective cover. A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “I suppose this means I owe you another favour.” “You owe me several.” Three hours later, I stood outside one of London’s most luxurious hotels, seriously questioning every decision that had brought me here. Luxury cars lined the entrance, each one worth more than every possession I’d ever owned. I smoothed down the simple black dress Sophie had insisted I borrow before leaving. At least I didn’t look completely out of place. Taking a deep breath, I walked inside. The next few hours disappeared in a blur of last-minute fixes and frantic problem-solving, and somehow I managed to get a stubborn projector working minutes before the rehearsal ended. By the time the first guests began arriving, my feet were aching. “You saved tonight.” Claire, the event manager, appeared beside me with two champagne flutes. “One toast,” she said. “You’ve earned this.” I smiled. “Just one.” The champagne was crisp and surprisingly good. After finishing it, I set the empty flute on a passing tray and went back to work. The ballroom slowly filled with laughter and conversation. The atmosphere changed instantly. Staff straightened, conversations softened, and every eye turned toward the entrance. “He’s here,” someone whispered. I frowned. “Who?” The waitress beside me looked at me as though I’d asked who the King was. “Mr Kingston.” Curiosity got the better of me. Across the ballroom, a tall man stepped inside, his perfectly tailored black suit doing little to soften the quiet authority that seemed to follow him. I couldn’t make out his face before someone called my name. “Olivia! We need you backstage.” I looked back a second later, and he had already disappeared into the crowd. Another hour passed. The event was running smoothly. I walked past one of the service stations. Beside the water glasses sat several champagne flutes waiting to be served. Without looking closely, I grabbed one. My throat was really dry. One sip wouldn’t hurt. The champagne tasted… sweeter than I remembered. I frowned but shrugged it off. Maybe it was a different brand. I took another sip, and a strange warmth spread through my body. I slowed. That was… odd. The music drifted farther and farther away, and the crystal chandelier overhead blurred into streaks of gold. My heart began to pound. Something was wrong. I reached for the nearest table, but the room tilted beneath my feet. “Olivia?” Someone called my name. I turned towards the voice, and the champagne flute slipped from my fingers. It shattered against the marble floor, and before I could fall, a strong arm wrapped around my waist. “Careful.” The single word was low and calm, cutting through the panic around me. I forced my eyes open. Piercing blue eyes held mine for the briefest moment. Then everything went black.