Page 159 of Guarded King

Things aren’t over between Chloe and me, but they could be if I don’t get my fucking head out of my ass and figure out what the hell my problem is.

“We’ve got your back,” Cole says. “All of us. Whatever you need.”

“I appreciate it.” My mind whirs, but finally I come to a decision. “I’ll see you back at the office. I’ve got something I need to do.”

The rain has lessenedto a dull drizzle by the time I find myself standing at Dad’s grave. The grass has already begun to grow over the dirt extending from the marble headstone.

Just the sight of his name etched in the stone sends a familiar surge of anger and resentment coursing through me.

My hands tighten into fists. Why did he have to be the man he was? Why couldn’t he have shown me something, anything, worth emulating?

I close my eyes, letting a slideshow of memories flicker through my mind. Dad’s constant lectures about money and power, the cold dismissals of any display of emotion—especially affection—and his relentless drive to mold me in his own image. His laughter when he revealed the truth about Katherine.

I’ve spent most of my adult life doing everything I can not to be him, yet here I am, letting my fear of turning into him ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.

An image of Chloe forms in my mind: her smile, her strength, her genuine care. I pushed her away to protect the King Group from scandal, to protect myself from being compared to my father. Maybe I was trying to protect her, too, but if I’m honest, I had my own interests at heart.

By letting fear and self-preservation win, all I’ve done is repeat history. I’m embracing the emotional detachment Dad drummed into me for decades, prioritizing the King Group’s image over my heart. Over her.

I picture Dad with that ever-present sneer, his disdain at the weakness he saw in me. And I think about my brothers—their lives now, the choices they’ve made. Choices that haven’t made them weak the way Dad predicted, but stronger than he ever was.

A single leaf drifts down, landing on the damp dirt in front of the headstone.

Chloe believes in me. Not the man molded by my father, but the man who wants to do better, be better.

I swallow down the trepidation still plaguing me. I won’t let fear keep me from becoming the man I want to be. Theman who loves Chloe. Without reservation. Without concern for repercussions. I want a future with her—not one dictated by the sins of my father.

My heart throbs harshly with the overwhelming need to prove to her that what I said was true.

She’s safe with me.

I turn away from Dad’s final resting place and stride toward the cemetery gates without looking back. I’ve got a lot to do in the next few days.

It took me far longer than it should have, but I’ve finally got my priorities straightened out.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHLOE

Iunlock the front door, and when the delicious scent of Carol’s spaghetti Bolognese, which has quickly become Dad’s favorite meal, hits me, I can’t help but smile.

I pass the empty spot on the wall. It still feels strange not seeing his painting hanging there when I get home each day.

In the kitchen, Carol is shaking her booty in front of the stove while dad is on his phone.

When he hangs up, he turns to me, eyes bright. “The gallery called. Someone’s leased my painting, with an option to buy.”

Conflicting emotions flood me, happiness for Dad with a little bit of sadness for me. As wonderful as it is, this means I may have lost an important part of my history.

I shake my head and push away the thought, choosing to focus on the positive side. I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “That’s wonderful. How much are they leasing it for?”

“I’m not sure yet. They’re going to send me the details shortly. But the gallery owner says it’s a substantial amount.”

“Maybe we should celebrate with a delicious meal and a glass of wine, then.”

The news and the incredible dinner are almost enough to ease the dull ache in my chest for an hour or so.

After we’ve cleaned up, I retire to my room and set up a fresh canvas. Along with buying some of my own, I’ve replaced the two I took from Dad. He’s started sketching again, and with any luck, it won’t be long before he’s ready to paint.

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