The Ruthless Heir

Judge’s [POV]

I am divided.

Ever since Vivien’s party and our fight, I’ve spent my days at the office only coming home to sleep and often not even that. The couch in my office is doubling as a makeshift bed.

It feels as though Mercedes and I are on repeat. Reliving the same hell over and over again. Sexually, I’ve never been as attracted to a woman as I am here. And attraction doesn’t begin to cover it. She has this strange power over me. Something I can’t seem to resist. And the things I do when I’m with her or near her-it’s like all these years I’ve worked so hard to maintain control, to be the man everyone knows, they just go out the window.

I care about her, but it’s not that simple. Nothing is with her. My feelings for her run deeper than simply caring for the sister of my best friend. These are feelings I should not have. I want her in ways I cannot want her.

Because every time I touch her, I lose a little more of myself to the darkness inside me. I should give her up, but I can’t. The thought of another man touching her, having her, brings about a violence inside me that burns so fucking hot its ferociousness scares even me.

We are what we are, all of us. No matter how we try to hide beneath what we show the world. And maybe it’s just a matter of time until we give in to the depravity of our true selves.

I arrive home in the afternoon on the day Mercedes is having her friends over for high tea. I wasn’t planning to return to the house, but Ezra called and insisted it was time to visit with my brother, and I decided perhaps I should go. I will need to deal with him at some point, and now is as good a time as any. So I’ve come to pack. At least I can use the excuse that she’ll be busy with her friends to not see her. It’s cowardice, I know, but I can’t trust myself around her.

I enter through the back door, greet Lois briefly in the kitchen, and let her know I’ll be out of town for the next two nights.

“You should say hello to Mercedes and her friends. They’re having tea. That way, you can let her know so she’s not disappointed.”

I make a point of checking the time. “I’ll miss my flight.”

“Judge-”

“She won’t be disappointed, Lois. She’ll be happy.”

“If you say so, Judge.” She returns to the work of preparing finger sandwiches.

I don’t overthink it. Instead, I walk quickly past the room they’re in, ignoring their laughter, and head upstairs to my bedroom, where I take a small bag out of my closet and set it on the bed, which hasn’t yet been made since Mercedes is sleeping longer these days. I begin the task of packing the things I need. I’m just zipping the duffel when I see Mercedes’s phone tossed on the bed.

I have her phone linked to mine so I can see all the text messages she sends as well as know the numbers she dials. So far, it’s only been Georgie, Solana, and Santiago, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’m about to set the phone on top of the nightstand so it doesn’t get lost in the mess of blankets when my thumb brushes the screen. There is no password. That was a requirement when I gave her this. And when I touch it, it lights up, and I see a message she is in the process of writing.

I had a lovely time dancing with you at Vivien’s party. I’d love to see you again at the next dinner. Perhaps we can talk without interruption then. There is something I’d like to discuss but

That’s where it ends. Like she was interrupted.

My blood goes cold as I re-read the message. I check the phone number. It’s saved under C. I almost roll my eyes as I compare the number to the one I have for Clifton Phillips in my contact list.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

Did she think she’d do this behind my back? Arrange a meeting? There is a dinner in two weeks at the compound that she and I will both need to attend. What the hell does she think she’s going to discuss? Their date? I know he’d asked her out, but I thought I made it clear she’d go on a date with him over my dead body.

And Clifton Phillips. Like he’s man enough to handle her.

I force a deep breath in as my phone dings with a message from Ezra telling me the private plane will be ready to take off in one hour. I type out a response that I need to delay by a few days.

The three dots start bouncing as Ezra types out his response, telling me I shouldn’t put it off much longer, that a brother is a brother, and that Theron is sorry, but that he’ll stand by for word from me to rebook the flight. I wonder if he’s so concerned about my relationship with Theron because he is estranged from his.

I ask about the thugs and the men they lead back to Italy, and he tells me he’s working on an agreement with them. Money talks. Always.

I thank him, then scroll to Clifton Phillips and hit the call button to invite him for dinner that same night. It takes all I have to do it. To swallow down my resistance. And I’m not even sure why I’m doing it.

No, that’s not true. It’s to show her how poor a match he’d make.

If only my intentions were good, though. If only it was for her sake and not my own need to possess her, knowing all along I can never truly have her.

Setting my duffel back in the closet, I go downstairs, still avoiding Mercedes and her friends, and inform Lois that I will be home for dinner after all and that we will have a guest. I also ask her to instruct Mercedes to wear the dress I left out for her.

Later that evening, when I enter my bedroom, I find Mercedes trying to clasp the diamond necklace I sent over into place. I’m not sure why I bought it for her. She pauses when she sees me, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror over my dresser. The sight is so domestic. We’re sharing a bedroom. She’s in the middle of getting dressed. To anyone who doesn’t know our situation, we could be husband and wife.

She blinks away first and curses when the necklace slips through her fingers and drops to the floor. It falls beside her sandals. They match the white gold dress with its spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline that dips to the waist giving one a glimpse of the roundness of her breasts. From the fitted waist, the soft fabric of the skirt drapes past her knees but has a long slit along the front of one thigh. I’m sure Clifton Phillips will start drooling the moment he sees her.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” she says as we both bend to pick up the necklace. I get to it first. We straighten, and I’m standing too close. But I don’t move.

“You seemed to enjoy Clifton’s company at Vivien’s birthday party, and I’ve considered what you said. And you’re right. You need a husband.”

Her eyes are cold. Better than flat, like a Stepford wife. “I believe the exact words you used were over my dead body will you ever go out with him.”

“Hmm.” I look at the diamond necklace that cost a small fortune. I thought of her the instant I saw the woman setting it in the window of the exclusive jeweler I pass on my way to the courthouse. A delicate pave-set diamond choker suspending a line of ten round diamonds. It’s one of a kind. Like her. I brush her hair over her shoulder, the heat of her skin sending an electric jolt through me.

“I can do it myself.” She tries to snatch the necklace.

“Be still.” I brush my thumb over the IVI tattoo on the back of her neck and feel the space above it. Would I ever really allow Phillips to put his mark on here? The thought makes bile rise in my throat as I place the choker around her neck.

“Can you make up your mind what you want at least?” she asks.

Once I secure the necklace, I lift her hair and set it down her back, inhaling the clean scent of her shampoo, the hint of her signature perfume beneath it.

“You look beautiful.”