Page 44 of King of Omen

How had I been so blind and foolish to believe she held the key to my deliverance and renewal? That she was the lucky omen to my desired future?

I grabbed the nearest object, a vase on the bedside table, and hurled it across the room with a primal roar of frustration.

Its shattering reverberated through the air, echoing my brokenness back to me in a cacophony of chaos.

As I stood over the fragmented pieces, a sense of clarity washed over me.

The facade of redemption had disintegrated just like the ceramic shards at my feet.

I was raw and exposed, stripped of the illusions I had clung to with such desperation.

With a bitter laugh that resounded off the walls, I realised I was the only person capable of saving me and rewriting my future. No amount of false hope would fill the void within me.

I didn’t need her, nor her note, to remain anchored in the world.

I tore the rose gold envelope from my pocket, stared at it with disdain and crumpled it up.

Flinging it, I followed its arc as it landed in my luggage and rolled into a dark corner.

I’d no more need of it.

I slumped to the carpet, reached for a pillow from my bed and tucked it under my head.

Twisting my body, I lay on the floor, one knee up, eyes bleak and fixed on the stars and clear night skies outside the vast windows.

Through the darkness, I searched for a glimmer of hope.

After staring at the pulsing celestial bodies for a long, torturous age, I closed my eyes and let despondency leak out of me.

Chapter 10

MIA

Manly’s famous shoreline was heaving with dogs being walked, couples holding hands, and eager punters crowding cafes, keen for a refreshing drink on a hot day.

Baby oil glistened on naked backs and stomachs, hairless chests and bulging biceps flexed, and half-clothed bronzed runners pounded the tree-lined promenade. The beach was a pristine ivory, the surf a vivid blue, and the sun a yellow orb above the glittering shore.

None of which registered with me.

It was morning, and I had much to accomplish that day.

I clocked the white and sand wooden panel-clad sanctuary oriented to the north.

It was nestled in one of Manly’s most peaceful and private streets, basking in a tranquil setting of trees and green lawns with elevated ocean views.

I stood at the entrance of my new client’s home, my dark hair pulled back into a tight bun and my eyes taking in every detail.

My head-to-toe cleaning ensemble was in low-key silver and grey, elegant, clean, and professional.

On my nape rested my mother’s necklace for luck, where I’d strung Bianca’s tiny fist-shaped amulet, sensing her close to me as well this way.

I smoothed my hands over my trousers, spotted the security pad and tapped out the password given to me by Mr Reed Jones’ assistant.

As I’d come to find, many of these extensive homes were deserted. Their owners were often either on holiday or at work, so cleaners let themselves in with a unique code that was also a safeguard feature.

The device beeped, and the massive wooden front door swung ajar with a sigh.

Gathering my cleaning equipment, I stepped into a high hallway that swept past two levels and towards a glass atrium, flooding the floors below with light.

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