Page 78 of Emperor of Corruption
“Anything.”
I nibble my lip, hesitating. “Why?” Why does he want to know more about me? “Don’t act like you haven’t looked into me. You probably have a report from an investigator who knows my habits better than I do.”
“I do,” Killian agrees easily, not bothering to lie. “But reading words on a piece of paper is different from hearing someone tell you about their life.”
“And why should I choose to tell you anything about my life?”
Killian tilts his head to the side. “Because you want to. Because you don’t hate me nearly as much as you wish you did. Because seeing the indecision and turmoil play out over your face when I order you around is one of my favorite pastimes. I especially like it when I tell you to get naked and bend over, but requesting details from your personal life is a close second.”
I sigh. “I might not hate you, but I don’t like you.”
“Yes, you do. You wish you didn’t.” Killian releases a sardonic chuckle. “If I could cut my fondness for you out of my body, I’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.”
Pain radiates through me as if he’s dealt me a physical blow. “Why?”
Killian takes a long time to answer. “Because you make me remember who I used to be, and what I used to crave.”
“Before you became a billionaire?”
“Before I became a billionaire.” Killian shifts his body, rolling to his side to face me. “So, tell me something about yourself.”
My gaze drops to the wrinkled sheets. “I had a sister.”
Killian doesn’t respond, but I suspect he knows as much. The topic is always a source of pain, and very few people in my life know that I wasn’t an only child.
I play with the split ends of my hair to give my hands something to do. “She was four years younger than me. My parents died shortly after giving birth to her, and custody switched over to my grandma.” My eyes flutter shut. “Grams was a strong woman in her youth, but by the time she got us, she was in her seventies. She wasn’t as robust and capable as she had been before. She was an athlete all her life, whichleft her with severe arthritis and a collection of injuries that never fully healed. Even though I was very young, I grew up taking care of my sister.” A sad smile touches my lips. “I don’t remember my parents. I remember being loved by them, I remember being a happy child, but I can’t remember their faces unless I’m staring at photos. My sister, though? I can see her.” My eyes flick up, meeting Killian’s. “Her bright smile. Crooked teeth. Her ruddy pink cheeks and ringlet curls.” I let out a long breath. “She’s more real than you are.”
One of Killian’s hands slides over the mattress between us, palm up. For once, he’s requesting, not ordering. I stare at his hand for a few moments before placing my own in it. He twines our fingers together, wordlessly offering me support. “What happened?” he asks.
“She got sick. Leukemia.” My eyes squeeze shut. I was seven when she got the diagnosis. Too young to truly understand the implications of the disease, but old enough to register the fear and dejection on my grandmother’s face. “It progressedso fast. One day, she was fine, happy, and running around, playing with me. The next day, she could barely get out of bed.” I sigh. “That’s a slight exaggeration, but not by much. Anyway, my grandma was old, and she was tired, but she took my sister to chemo appointments. Drained her savings to try to help my sister, but nothing worked. It wasn’t long before the doctors told us the kindest thing to do for my sister was to make her comfortable. Her death was inevitable.” My eyes start to burn with tears. “Grams was old, so I would take care of Zara. I’d bring her food, arrange her blankets and pillows, help take her to the bathroom. When she could no longer get out of bed, I’d change her diapers.” A tear drips down my cheek. “She passed away in agony, and it was a blow Grams never truly recovered from. She lost her son and daughter-in-law, and just a few years later, she lost one of her granddaughters. Things were hard after that. I focused in on school, because Grams used most of the moneymy parents left me and Zara for Zara’s treatments. I got a full-ride scholarship to college. Grams died when I was a junior.”
“Four years ago?”
I nod. “I slept through the anniversary of her death this year.” It’s almost poetic that the day I got extremely sick and passed out for thirty hours is also the day marking my grandmother’s death. I usually visit her grave, but I couldn’t even lift my head that day. I’ll go after my time with Killian comes to an end.
“I’m sorry,” Killian says, squeezing my hand.
I meet his eyes. “Are you?”
He nods. “Yes. I lost everyone, too. When I was very young, too. My grandfather—my favorite person in the world—died because we couldn’t afford his medication. My parents died because fate’s a cruel fucking bitch. I was left alone in this world, and I wouldn’t wish that upon my greatest enemy.”
I examine his expression. “Yes, you would.”
He considers that for a moment. “Only if the enemy did something bad enough to merit the endless emptiness that comes with the territory of being left to fend for yourself.” Killian clears his throat. “I decided to become rich, and powerful enough that nobody could deny me anything, ever again. It took time, but I got there.”
“I decided to live a fulfilling life to honor what Grams wanted for me, to live up the ideal she created.” I lift a shoulder. “I’m sure being super rich wouldn’t hurt, but it wouldn’t offer me happiness, either. Has your wealth made you happy, Killian?”
He shakes his head. “Few things in this world make me happy.”
“Like what?”
“Like you.”
I slowly draw my hand away from his, a pit forming in my stomach. I sit up again.
“Lyra,” Killian says quietly. I don’t look at him—Ican’t. “I don’t want this to be over.”
“Yes, you do,” I correct. “I’m too far beneath you, remember?”
