Page 60 of The Cruel Heir
When it was done, I didn’t move. Just stroked her side, let her breathe, pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said against her collarbone.
She didn’t answer.
But she didn’t push me away either.
And that, for now, was enough.
ZARA
The first thing I learned about being Sterling Kingsley’s wife was that control was an illusion. I didn’t own my time. I didn’t own my choices. I barely owned my breath.
It had been six weeks since the secret wedding, and I was still processing the weight of my new reality. I wasn’t just Zara Ellis Johnston anymore, I was his.
Saint Bipal University was supposed to be my escape. A place where I could sink into textbooks and lectures, where my pregnancy wasn’t the whispered subject of every room I walked into. But now, even as I sat in the back of my ethics class, my fingers poised over my laptop keyboard, I could feel the weight of Sterling’s control, pressing into my skin like a brand.
His driver had dropped me off that morning. I wasn’t allowed to take public transportation anymore. Not that I had before, but now it wasn’t a choice. I wasn’t allowed to walk alone.
It wasn’t just about control anymore, I was undeniably pregnant.
At around seventeen weeks, my body had transformed in ways I couldn’t ignore. My lower belly had rounded into something noticeable, no longer just a suggestion of weight gain,but a clear sign of the life growing inside me. My uniform, already tight before, was now impossible to button properly. The waistband of my skirt dug into my hips, and even with adjustments, the fabric strained around my curves. The once-loose blouse now clung to my fuller chest, making my blazer useless as an attempt to conceal what was becoming obvious to everyone.
Sterling noticed. Of course he did. Every morning his eyes lingered on my stomach a little longer. His hand would settle there when I wasn’t expecting it, his possessiveness growing in ways that made my skin burn. He wasn’t just protecting me anymore, he was guarding something larger than both of us.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
For what, I didn’t know. But I didn’t trust it.
“Your safety is my priority.”
That was the only explanation he gave me when I complained.
The man didn’t even try to make me feel like I had a say.
A sharp tap against my desk jolted me from my thoughts. I blinked up at Dr. Harrington, my professor, whose tired eyes narrowed with mild disapproval.
“Miss Kingsley, I asked for your thoughts on the reading.”
Kingsley. The name hit me like a slap. The entire class had gone still, eyes darting between me and the professor.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. “Could you repeat the question?”
A few students snickered, and heat crawled up my neck.
Dr. Harrington sighed, adjusting her glasses. “We were discussing moral obligations in power dynamics. Do you believe someone can justify manipulative behavior, if they believe it’s for another’s benefit?”
My stomach twisted.
Yes. That’s how I ended up here.
“I think,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “that justification doesn’t erase consequence.”
The professor nodded approvingly. “An interesting take. We’ll circle back to it later.”
I sank into my seat, gripping my pen between my fingers. The irony of this conversation wasn’t lost on me. Manipulation. Power. Justification. It was my entire life now.
By the time class ended, I had barely touched my notes. I was gathering my things when I felt the unmistakable prickle of someone watching me. My pulse jumped.
