Page 29 of The Cruel Heir
Love was optional. Legacy wasn’t.
She froze.
And then she laughed, a short, bitter thing that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You’re joking.”
I didn’t move. “I’ve never been more serious.”
Her gaze turned razor sharp. “I would never marry my bully.”
My mouth twitched. “Then you’ll marry the man your bully became.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
She jolted, cheeks flushing. She shoved at my chest, putting precious inches between us. I let her. But not before I dragged my fingers slowly from her neck to her collarbone, memorizing the heat of her.
I turned slowly, irritation prickling under my skin, as one of the staff hesitated in the doorway.
“Dinner is ready,” the woman said, voice soft and eyes averted.
Zara gripped the armrest like it anchored her. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Her lips were still parted.
“Looks like you get to escape for now,” I murmured, standing straight. “But don’t think this conversation is over.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
I turned to the servant, giving her a curt nod. “We’ll be right there.”
Then, with one last glance, I left the library.
But in my mind, I was already planning the next move. The next conversation. The next time she’d be close enough to break.
And next time, there would be no interruptions.
ZARA
Afew weeks after our parents’ wedding, Sterling’s library still dazzled my eyes as I followed him into the corridor, every step a metallic echo. Fall was usually my favorite season, and I should’ve been happy for the spooky holiday, but I couldn’t get into it. I hadn’t meant to move, my legs just obeyed when he said, “We’ll finish this after dinner.” Finish what? My life? My sanity? The chandelier light cut diamonds across the polished floor, and I trailed those shards all the way to the formal dining room.
The room was a weapon dressed in crystal. Chandeliers blazed overhead, with a table fit for diplomats stretched beneath. Madeline sat poised at its center, like a queen spider, pearls gleaming, smile knife-thin. John occupied the head, napkin folded with military precision. They looked up in perfect sync as Sterling guided me to the place on his right.
He pulled out my chair with a courtly menace. “Sit, hummingbird.”
I did, spine tight. My whole body vibrated, an untuned instrument. I hadn’t set foot in this house since before the wedding, before he destroyed everything. The library wasn’t mine but, when Sterling dragged me back across these floors,I’d slipped there out of habit, the same way I always did when the world turned hostile. And still, the air tasted of him. Bitter coffee, dark cologne, the after-scent of gunpowder ambition.
Soup arrived, a bisque the color of sunset. I managed two polite spoonfuls, while Sterling drained his glass in a single swallow. The silence between clinks might as well have been screams.
Madeline’s voice snapped the tension. “We’re so glad you rejoined the family, Zara. Tradition thrives on unity.”
I offered a paper-thin smile. “I take excellent notes.”
John dabbed at his lips, eyes sharp behind fatherly warmth. “Legacy isn’t merely blood, it’s discipline. Sterling understands that. I trust you do as well.”
“He means,” Madeline purred, “that a Kingsley wife must be… adaptable.”
Sterling set down his glass. The gesture was soft, but the sound cracked anyway. “Zara’s adaptability isn’t what needs testing,” he said, voice like glass over velvet. “Anyone who doubts her value can fight me for it.” His gaze never left Madeline’s. A shot fired without raising a gun.
Madeline’s spoon paused mid-air. “Of course,” she said, brittle. “Family first.”
