Page 67 of The Cruel Heir
I looked at him. "She’ll find out soon enough. Being my wife isn’t a title, it’s a duty. One she won’t walk away from."
ZARA
The morning air was a mixture of salt and summer, a reminder of the proximity to the coast, even though the looming walls of the Kingsley estate made the ocean seem like a distant dream. But today felt different.
For the first time in weeks, I woke up without nausea clawing at my stomach. The realization made me pause as I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand pressing over the pronounced curve of my belly. Relief. The subtle roundness had given way to something undeniable, I was showing more now, my body fully embracing the changes of pregnancy. My uniform barely fit anymore, and there was no way I could pretend that nothing had changed.
Despite everything, I smiled, smoothing my hand over my stomach. The discomfort had faded, and for the first time, I felt good. Light. Maybe today would be different.
I stretched before making my way to the bathroom, unwrapping my waist-length, thick curls from my bonnet. My coily hair needed care, so I worked leave-in conditioner through the coils, twisting and pinning sections into an elegant updo, leaving a few defined curls framing my face.
After showering and doing my hair, I sat at the edge of the bed, winded, and looked over at the violin case. It hadn’t moved since Sterling gave it to me, at least, not in any way I could prove. But every few mornings, I’d find the latch slightly ajar, the bow nudged just off center, the faintest trace of dust wiped from the chin rest. Like it was waiting. Like he’d been here. Touching it. Touching me. Without ever being seen.
I hadn’t touched it. But a small part of me wanted to. Something about its presence soothed me. Like it was watching. Waiting. My fingers hovered over the latch, just for a second, then I pulled back. Not today.
But maybe soon.
I walked away from the devilish temptation to get dressed inside the walk-in.
After slipping into my Saint Bipal University uniform, I took a final glance in the closet mirror. The blazer strained, the pleated skirt sat high over my hips. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, the smell of coffee, eggs, and toasted bread filled the air. Sterling was already there, seated at the counter, a cup of coffee in hand, his phone in the other.
“Morning,” I said, and for once, I meant it.
His gaze flicked up, scanning me from head to toe. His expression darkened, as his eyes lingered on my blouse, stretched over my belly.
“Fuck, you need a new uniform,” he said, voice firm. “Something that fits. Something that doesn’t give men a reason to look at you.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
Sterling reached for his phone again, already typing out a message. “I’ll have something custom-made. Something that covers you properly.”
I scoffed. “I don’t need you dressing me, Sterling.”
His gaze locked onto mine. “You think I don’t notice the way men look at you? The way their eyes linger where they shouldn’t?”
My pulse jumped. His tone wasn’t just protective, it was possessive.
“It’s a school uniform,” I said, exasperated. “Everyone wears the same thing.”
His smirk was slow, deliberate. “And yet, none of them are my wife, walking around glowing.”
I rolled my eyes, taking a seat across from him. “I’m not. I just finally had a morning without throwing up.”
“Sounds like an improvement,” he said, his voice laced with something unreadable.
“It is,” I admitted, pouring myself some tea instead of coffee. “I actually feel good today.”
Sterling set his phone down, giving me his full attention. “Good enough to eat?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Good enough to eat without you forcing it.”
He smirked, but said nothing, as he slid a plate of food in front of me. I sighed, picking up my fork, feeling his gaze on me as I ate. There was a rare ease in the air between us, a moment where it felt less like a battlefield, and more like… something else.
Then, the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor shattered the peace.
“I see the newlyweds are finally acting like a married couple,” my stepmother’s sharp voice cut through the air, followed by my father’s deep chuckle. There was an unmistakable edge of disgust in her tone, like our relationship was an abomination in her eyes.
