Page 11 of The Cruel Heir
I watched the realization crash over her, the way her lips parted, the way her chest rose and fell too quickly.
"No," she whispered. "You’re lying."
I chuckled. "Am I?"
She tried to pull away again, but I only let go when I wanted to, when I’d had my fill of her fear.
"You did this," she accused, voice shaking.
"Of course I did," I said simply, brushing my thumb over the inside of her wrist before releasing her. "Did you really think I’d let you go so easily?"
She staggered back, her eyes flashing between fury and disbelief.
I had planned every piece of this. Moved every piece on the board.
I nearly said the words; three of them, sharp as razors. But even I wasn’t that much of a liar. Not yet.
I knelt beside her again, the ointment tube heating in my grip.
She flinched when I touched her. I paused, just for a breath, then pressed forward. Regret curled somewhere low in my chest, but not enough to loosen my grip on what I’d claimed. Gently, I smeared the burn cream over the angry red K on her skin, my fingers slow, precise. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
“It’ll scar,” I murmured. “A memory etched in skin. No one else gets to rewrite you now.”
I wrapped gauze around the wound, kissed the edges like a penance, then pulled her panties up with care, tucking the lace into place as if I hadn’t torn her apart moments before.
She blinked up at me, dazed. Trembling.
“I take care of what’s mine,” I said quietly, brushing sweat-damp curls from her cheek.
I’d finally gotten my hands on her. Not just her body, but her silence, her surrender, her vulnerability. She was raw now. Unprotected. Mine.
And I had no intention of letting her slip away again.
She might think she could run.
But I was already building the world she’d be caged in.
A world where Zara Johnston would learn the only place she ever belonged… was underneath me.
After I left her there,branded, marked, mine, I knew it was only the beginning. She thought it was over. That I’d gottenwhat I wanted. But what I wanted wasn’t her body. It was her surrender.
Business didn’t sleep for anyone, and I’d been dodging my mother’s calls, spending my mornings researching data for my father’s company. She had something important to tell me, but I wasn’t interested. Ever since he passed away six months ago, I’d been preparing to take full control of Kingsley Consortium, and had no time for her nonsense.
Kingsley Consortium looked like blue-blood investments on paper; yachts, crypto-brokerages, offshore resorts. But underneath? Arms deals, cloaked as security contracts. High-society trafficking, cloaked as talent acquisition. It was a kingdom built on shadows. And now, it was mine.
Last week, I locked her out of the shareholder meeting, and cut her access to company funds. She was livid.
When my father’s will was read, and she learned she was only getting a small stipend, she nearly lost her mind. She’d been desperate ever since, trying to align herself with someone powerful. But I would not let her manipulate her way back into control. Her shares in Kingsley Consortium were already teetering, and I intended to push her out completely. Soon, her allowance would be mine to control. Not these small scraps of power I had now.
A widow in our world held no power.
Frankie, my COO, and trusted advisor, lit a cigarette, his gaze sharp as he leaned against the bar in my suite. The scent of burning tobacco curled through the air, mixing with the rich musk of aged whiskey. Outside, the city stretched beneath me, the lights glittering like a thousand little pawns, waiting to be moved.
“You sure about this?” Frankie’s voice carried the weight of caution.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, letting the liquid catch the light. The amber glow reflected at me, dark and rich, much like the future I was carefully crafting. “It has to be done.”
Frankie exhaled, blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Dragging a new-money daughter into your castle? Bold play. The board won’t like their golden heir slumming it.”
