The Ruthless Heir

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Judge’s mood is a dark, palpable thing for the entirety of the ride home. More than once, I feel his gaze on the side of my face as I stare out the window. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, even when his palm settles on my thigh, sliding up just beneath the hem of my dress. The warmth of his touch brands his possession into my skin, and if I wasn’t so raw from his earlier rejection, I might find it amusing.

We pull into the drive, and he helps me from the car with all the practiced elegance of a refined, well-bred man. This is how the world sees Lawson Montgomery, but beneath it all, I can’t help thinking about what a hypocrite he is. He wears his finery to cover up his depravity, the same as me. Beneath those suits is a man who takes pleasure in ruining me, all while his lips spew lies about giving me away to someone else. Lurking under that veneer he presents to the world is a beast. A beast whose eyes I’ve stared into while he’s threatened to harm me, all while the echo of his promise to protect me fades away.

I wonder if he ever tires of it, these dueling personalities. I know how exhausting it is to live this way, and I’m only twenty-five. He’s been doing this for thirty-one years, and he still hasn’t chosen a side.

“Thank you for tonight.” I pull my hand from his the moment I step out. “It’s always such a pleasure to see you in your natural habitat.”

“Mercedes.” He calls after me with a growl as I walk into the house, my heels echoing off the floor.

I ignore him, but I can feel his presence behind me. His eyes burn into my back as I traverse the stairs and enter the corridor leading to his bedroom. Deftly, I reach behind me and unzip my dress before I even reach his door, clutching the fabric to my naked breasts. As soon as I step inside, I let it fall from my body, kicking it off before I bend over and strip my thong off too.

Judge’s polished shoes come to a dead halt as he enters behind me, taking in the scene. I glance over my shoulder and offer him another fake smile. The same one I reserve for everyone else. Today, when Judge made his position clear, I decided it was time to let go of my ridiculous notions. This game between us has very real stakes, and it’s been easy to forget in the thick of it. But the battle lines have been drawn, and in the end, I’m the one who will have to face the consequences.

When I leave this house and his care, Judge will go back to the life he knows. He will spend his days at work, serving his purpose for Society, and his nights will be spent in the comfort of a warm body that isn’t mine.

In my time here, I’ve grasped at every justification for my jealousy and the unwarranted possession I feel toward him. He was my first, but I’m not him, and I certainly won’t be his last. He wants a life free from complications, and I can’t forget that, even in the face of his temporary control. This flame of passing desire will inevitably burn out for him, and we will part ways.

I know there’s no guarantee I’ll go unscathed. Truthfully, I know I won’t. I’ve already given him more of me than I’ve ever given anyone else. I’ve made the mistake of letting him in and letting my guard down. But if I’m to survive this, I have to separate the two. I have to learn how to give him my body without giving him my heart.

“We need to talk about your little performance at the party,” he says.

I toss my thong to the floor and leave my heels on, turning to face him. His eyes burn a slow path down my naked body, the vein in his neck pulsing with the betrayal of his need. I move toward him slowly, and he eyes me with suspicion as I unbutton his suit jacket and slide my palms inside over his chest.

“Haven’t you heard?” I tip my chin up to peer into his eyes. “I’m in want of a husband.”

He stiffens, but I don’t acknowledge it as I push his coat back over his broad shoulders and divest him of it entirely.

“I figure there really shouldn’t be any wasted opportunities,” I add, my fingers moving over the buttons of his vest, slipping them through the holes. “I’m not getting any younger, and the longer this ruse goes on, the more people will start to question it.”

“You mean the way they question it when you willingly tell them it’s official.” He arches a dark brow at me.

“That was just to goad Vivien.” I shrug. “She can’t stand the idea of it.”

“Yes, and she likes to gossip.” He studies me sharply as I help him from his vest and move onto his button-down shirt.

“Don’t worry.” I stare straight at his chest, proud of how empty my voice is as I give him my assurances. “It’s always the woman’s reputation that falls into question. Yours will go unscathed, as a Sovereign Son.”

“Mercedes.” His voice is quieted as he tries to still my hand, but I shove his away and keep working to undress him.

“In all honesty, though, I don’t think it will matter too much. As you saw tonight, Clifton Phillips had no issue with my reputation as he took me for a spin around the dance floor. I think he could be husband material. He’s a little arrogant, but I suppose everyone has their faults.”

“Are we back to this again?” Judge sighs, but it quickly turns to frustration when I look up at him deadpan.

“I’m not joking,” I tell him. “I know the whole purpose of me coming here to stay with you was to reform me, but let’s not kid ourselves. I am who I am. They may have broken the mold with me when it came to creating a perfect Society wife, but it doesn’t negate the fact I still need to wed. I have a legacy to carry on. A duty to the De La Rosa name.”

Irritation pinches his features, and I almost wish I could believe it means something. But I’m not falling into that honey pot again.

“Let’s not make this complicated.” I toss his shirt aside and reach for the zipper of his trousers. “It’s time for me to grow the fuck up, right? And don’t get me wrong, I enjoy this. I enjoy this. But at some point, preferably soon, I’ll find someone else to take over the responsibility of my care and free you from the burden you’ve shouldered for far too long already.”

He reaches for my wrist, squeezing it in his palm before I can yank down his briefs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” I stare at him, blankly.

“This.” He gestures back at me. “It’s like you’ve been reprogrammed. You’re acting as dead inside as your friends tonight.”

“It’s the bane of being a Society princess.” I lift my shoulder daintily, but he doesn’t seem amused.

We stare at each other in tense silence, unspoken truths blooming in the space between us. I could pretend to guess what he might be, but I won’t. If he wanted to say them, he would.

“I don’t like you like this,” he says finally, his tone too acidic to be mistaken for anything else.

“I’m sorry. Was that too much honesty for you?”

When he doesn’t reply, I slide my free hand down between my thighs, toying with myself while he watches.

“I didn’t intend for this to turn into a therapy session. That’s the last thing I want. So are you going to participate, or are you going to watch? Either way, I’m getting off tonight.”

He releases my hand and grabs me by the face, his thumb dragging over my lips. His eyes are half reverence, half regret. But we aren’t going back to that place. I prove it when I stop playing with myself and thread my fingers through the belt loops of his trousers, tugging him forward.

He doesn’t fight me as I pull him to the chair and shove him down into it roughly, only to climb atop him and straddle him. His eyes are liquid fire when I reach between us, and this time, there are no protests from his lips when I drag his cock free from his trousers.

My stomach clenches as I stroke him in my palm, our eyes locked, our breaths mingling. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I lean my body into his, capturing his lips with mine as I feed his cock into me slowly. So slowly, it’s impossible to miss the catch in his breath when I drag my fingers through his hair and tilt his head back, biting my way down his jaw and neck.

Judge groans and I do it again because I want to play that sound on repeat. His palms come to rest on my ass, squeezing me as I start to rock against him. When I leave a bite mark on his neck, branding him in the only way I can, he snaps his gaze back to mine. His nostrils flare, and he yanks me down against him hard, forcing me to bear the full brutality of his cock. And I know he’s let me have my fun when his palm slaps my ass, reverberating with a sharp crack.

“This isn’t a game, little monster.” He wraps a handful of hair into his fist, keeping my gaze pinned to his as he fucks me from below.

“No?” I whisper. “Then what is it?”

In answer, he fucks me harder. Faster. Smacking my ass and grunting out the frustrations he refuses to give voice to. He has no fucking reason to be pissed off, yet that’s exactly what he is.

“If this is what you call punishment, maybe I should misbehave more often,” I muse.

“Punishment?” he growls. “How’s this for punishment?”

He stands up and unceremoniously dumps me onto the floor, fisting his cock inches from my face as he glares down at me. What he’s doing would be hot in any other circumstance, but there’s no pleasure in it. He’s choking the life out of his cock, his anger driving home his point that he will deny me what I want. I know it when he grabs me by the hair and holds me there, forcing an orgasm as his come spurts over my breasts before dripping down onto my thighs.

He releases me with a ragged breath and glares down at me. “Little brats don’t get to come.”

“Little brats make themselves come.” I thrust my fingers between my thighs resentfully, and he turns away, stalking toward the door.

There’s no pleasure in my actions, not with his abrupt dismissal, and I refuse to let him walk away from this so easily.

“So how does this work exactly?” I call after him. “How much was my time worth to you just now? Will you leave some cash on the floor beside me before you go?”

He freezes, his back going rigid, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t say a goddamned word.

“Or do you consider this a bonus?” I ask. “On top of what Santiago’s already paying you.”

His head dips, the only sign he even heard me, but again, I get no response. The silence goes on too long. It’s too painful. And despite my best efforts to restore myself to factory defaults, and wipe away all my emotions, I revert to the mess he’s made of me.

“Clifton asked me out on a date, and I want to go. Next week.”

“No.” The word squeezes through what I don’t doubt are clenched teeth.

“It’s not up to you.” I force myself to remain calm. “I need to find a husband, and I’m tired of waiting. There’s nothing to be accomplished by you keeping me locked up here”

“I said no!” he roars.

The thunder in his voice silences me, but if that wasn’t effective enough, he takes it a step further, snatching a decorative vase from the nearest table. When he hurls it at the wall, shattering it with a deafening blow, I can’t help but flinch.

Slowly, he turns his sharp gaze to me, and at that moment, I hardly recognize the man I know burning beneath the hatred in his eyes. But for a moment, only a fleeting moment, I see something else there too. Something that looks like the same agony I feel splitting my ribs apart.

“Over my dead body,” he grits out. “Will you ever go out with him?”

With that final blow, he prowls from the room entirely, slamming the door behind him.

I smear my fingers through the come on my chest while my empty reflection stares back at me from the mirror. For three minutes, my thoughts have swung wildly on a pendulum, trying to decide if this is the evidence of his hatred or his possession. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. One is the short road to heartbreak, and the other is the long. The result, inevitably, will always be the same.

I wash him off me, tears stinging my eyes as I reach for my makeup bag and dig through it with trembling fingers. When I pinch the pill between my fingers, examining the only evidence I need to understand, something inside me breaks all over again.

I had given myself a long list of reasons I couldn’t swallow it this morning. At first, I had even managed to convince myself it was Catholic in me that led me to employ the sleight of hand Judge never saw coming. It was something I practiced many times over the years with Antonia when she’d forced us to take the pain pills after our father’s beatings. Back then, I didn’t think I deserved anything to dull the pain if I had earned it in the first place. It was the stubborn De La Rosa in me, and in my way, I thought I’d be more righteous for refusing any comfort. But this pill wasn’t designed for comfort. I knew it the moment Judge pulled it from the packaging. I felt shameful, like something wrong he needed to blot from his memory. But when I settled my palm over my belly after he left the room, I knew I couldn’t erase it. The thought was unbearable to me, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit that in front of him.

I’d made a decision, standing in the bathroom alone this morning. It was a decision that might alter my life irrevocably. And I didn’t know how I felt so certain of it already, but I did. There weren’t many things I’d ever been sure of in my life. But I knew when I pressed my hand to the flesh, there was something inside me I couldn’t regret.

As I stand here now, even with tears burning in my eyes, my feelings haven’t changed. I never wanted to be someone’s throwaway. I’m not even convinced that I’d ever really wanted to be a wife before I could imagine a husband worthy of my love. But there is one thing I have always ached for. One desire I knew I’d never be able to give up. That was a child. A family of my own. Even if that family only consists of me and my son or daughter.

My resolve is unwavering when I force my gaze back to the mirror. I know what it might cost me. I’m aware my reputation will be ruined, and my brother will probably disown me. And Judge… well, Judge will hate me until the day I die. But this is my cross to bear, and I will do it on my own. I will do it without shame or regret, and I will do it with enough love in my heart to eclipse the absence of anyone else by my side.

“That is my promise.” I close my eyes in a whisper, letting a solitary tear fall before I walk to the toilet, dump the pill into the bowl, and flush it away.

It’s a promise I refuse to break.