“If you don’t like it, then leave. No buts are needed.”
I grit my teeth. “If you’d let me finish my sentence, I would’ve told you I don’t have a choice.”
“Even if this is one of Jonathan
’s games, surely you can find a way out. I don’t care what it is as long as you stay as far away from this place as possible.” His gaze meets mine with distaste. “You might be Alicia’s doppelgänger, but I can’t even stand to look at you.”
“Why not?” My voice softens.
“Because you’re fake. You might resemble her, but you’ll never be her.”
“I’ve never tried to be Alicia.”
“Is that why you’re fucking Jonathan?”
I purse my lips to not snap at him for speaking to me this way. He must’ve inherited the entitlement gene from his father.
“He gets bored easily, you know. The moment he finally sees that he can’t get Alicia back through you, he’ll throw you out as if you never existed.”
“That’s exactly what I want, Aiden.”
He watches me peculiarly for a bit, then steps back. I take it as my cue to leave the property.
I have no doubt that I’ll face Aiden again. No idea how that will go, but I’ll make sure not to be caught in that position with Jonathan a second time.
As I drive to work, I feel eyes following me.
At first, I chalk it up to paranoia since I’ve had many false alarms in the past. Especially after the attack.
But as it stays persistent and strong, I realise that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a false alarm after all.
25
Aurora
A few days later, I’m attending a double charity dinner organised by Layla’s local mosque and a church for orphaned children’s associations.
We do this annually. Layla and I help her mother and their neighbours cook, and then we try to invite as many rich people as possible. Meaning, many of our clients. Some appear, some send cheques, and others ignore us altogether.
It doesn’t stop us from trying, though. We still send invitations to our contact list every year and try to retarget them.
It’s the one time I’m not ashamed to spam. If someone has given me their business card, they should expect an invitation for this.
The hall we rented for the event is big enough to fit not only our invitees, but also the orphaned children, their support, and the associations who will benefit from the money we’ll raise tonight.
The priest is talking about the importance of giving. The imam spoke earlier about how vulnerable children are and how much they need our support.
Layla and I are at the entrance, welcoming the invitees and giving out directions to whoever needs it.
Inside, her parents are doing background work since they’re a part of the organisation committee. Layla’s family is all about activism. Her eldest brother is a part of Doctors Without Borders, and the rest of her family participates in charities like these or ones that support passed soldiers’ families.
Layla even made an effort and actually wore a dress. An elegant floral scarf that I gave her for her birthday covers her hair and I kind of had to hold her down, with the help of her mother, to put some makeup on her face. She hates staying still for more than a minute.
I, on the other hand, have opted for a dark blue knee-length dress and left my hair loose. I brought my clothes with me and changed in Layla’s house so that I wouldn’t have to go back to the King mansion.
“Look at all the people who showed up!” she whisper-yells, her voice filled with so much enthusiasm.
“I know.”