The Cruel Heir (Clear View Country Club #6)

Prologue

Z ara

The Clear View Country Club was more than a playground for the elite. It was a fortress; impenetrable and cold, built to keep the wrong people out, and secrets buried deep within.

I traced the chipped varnish on my doorframe with a fingertip; tiny islands of white where my father’s bowling ball once slammed down in rage.

Behind that door lay my world: narrow hallways scented of peppermint lotion, stacks of overdue library books gathering dust, a single violin string wound tight around my dresser knob.

Here, I was not an heiress with a contract on my back.

I was a girl, daring to breathe in sharp notes, and dream them back out.

From the outside, Clear View shimmered with elegance, its beauty deceivingly calm.

But beneath polished marble, and crystal chandeliers, it pulsed quietly with tension, like the uneasy stillness before a storm.

Within these pristine walls, the wealthy whispered between champagne glasses, making connections, negotiating deals, securing alliances, and eliminating enemies.

Because when everyone had treasure to spare, it came down to who you knew.

Bloodlines were the only currency that mattered, and mine was a fresh thread in their pedigree tapestry.

Once upon a time, I was the darling to know.

My mother built this world for me, hosting gala after gala, charity boards dripping in her name, until cancer took her, and Dad inherited a fortune he never knew how to steward.

It didn’t matter that my skin was dark, or that my bloodline was new.

What mattered was proximity. But I knew better.

Acceptance here was an illusion; one misstep, one moment of defiance, and the fortress walls would crumble around me.

The perfect daughter. The polished ebony heiress.

A girl bred for legacy. And yet I never knew why Father and Mother paused behind closed doors, or why my childhood laughter sometimes melted into hushed tones, whenever the Kingsley name arose.

Beneath the chandeliers, I was the score they’d written together: crafted to unite two empires, bound by ink I’d never been told to read.

I floated across marble in designer heels, my smile sparkling like chandeliers, my knowledge of everything, from politics to world events, purposely curated to the audience I was assigned to charm. I always played my part without error.

Until tonight. I lost everything, and all it took was one mistake at a birthday party.

It started with a text from Chadwick Worthington; the boy everyone said I was lucky to have. The heir to a real estate empire, with generational money, and whiteness buried just deep enough in his bloodline to be considered elite. He was never my sweetheart, just my assignment.

Chadwick once dragged Sterling to the auditorium just to watch me rehearse, and they laughed like summer boys. The day Sterling’s eyes cut sharply across that stage, the laughter soured. In every hallway after, I felt them; one wanting to own me, one wanting to win.

He was also my father’s pet project. A boy I was told to entertain, because he looked good on paper, and wanted me enough to make it matter.

He told me to meet him at the lounge. Alone.

My heart thudded in my chest, each beat whispering warnings I chose to ignore. Compliance was easier than confrontation, silence safer than screams.

I should’ve listened to my body. I knew something was off. My twisting stomach said as much. And when it came to Chadwick, something was always off, an edge beneath his charm, a hidden violence behind each polished smile. But like always, I did my duty and obeyed.

That’s what daughters like me did. Obeyed. Complied. Sacrificed ambition for reputation. Swallowed disgust, and smiled through trauma. Daddy needed me to be desired, so I let myself be consumed.

I hated myself for it, even then. Every silent compromise etched another scar into my soul, but obedience had always been safer than defiance.

I smoothed my dress nervously, every fiber of my being screaming warnings I refused to hear. I'd trained myself to silence my instincts, but tonight they wouldn’t quiet.

The dimly-lit lounge was empty, ominously silent, as if the shadows themselves had conspired with Chadwick, preparing for my undoing. The chilled air made goosebumps rise upon my skin. He waited, sprawled arrogantly across a chaise, a king presiding over a kingdom he had yet to earn.

“There you are,” Chadwick drawled, finally looking up with a slow, calculating smile. “Thought you might make me wait forever.”

I shivered, hearing the veiled menace beneath his charm.

I approached him carefully. "You didn’t say to hurry."

He turned his head, a slow, amused smile curling at the corners. "Then let me not waste any more time. It’s my birthday, Zara. Time to stop playing innocent. I have expectations that you need to meet."

My stomach turned violently, fear and humiliation swirling in a toxic blend. I wanted to run, to scream, to fight, but duty chained me tighter than any rope ever could.

I froze. "We agreed. Six more months."

He stood, looming over me in one smooth motion. "I’m done waiting."

“I’m not ready for sex yet.”

His hands bit into my upper arms as he jerked me closer. “You didn’t even get me a birthday gift.”

“The party is your gift,” I countered.

“And it sucks,” he roared into my face.

The heat and alcohol on his breath made me dizzy. I prayed that someone would interrupt us. Chadwick was volatile on a good day. A drunk Chadwick made the devil seem reasonable.

“I’m sorry,” I replied quietly. “I’ll get you something else.”

His face changed, the handsome mask slipping to reveal his truth. "There is only one thing I want from you, Zara.”

When I shook my head, he shoved me away.

Despite the dress and the heels, I managed to keep my footing… barely.

“On your knees then,” he demanded, as he collapsed into the sofa. “Show me why I keep your oinking ass around." He leaned back and unzipped his pants. “Crawl to me. You know I love that shit.”

No one questioned Chadwick Worthington’s demeaning desires. Not the girls who swooned over him at school. Not the parents who wanted their daughters married off to power.

And certainly not me.

I had been raised better, after all.

And I had learned long ago that powerful men had darker tastes.

My body froze, paralyzed between instinctive rebellion, and the conditioned obedience that had been drilled into me since birth. My mind screamed to escape, but fear held me still. Every second stretched unbearably long, each heartbeat a painful reminder of how powerless I was.

A few rooms over, our friends and family were celebrating his birthday.

His expression flickered with irritation, and impatience.

“Chadwick…” My voice came out too soft, too careful. “Please…”

He sighed, shaking his head like I was disappointing him. "Then we’re done, Zara. I don’t date teases."

The weight of his words hit like a wrecking ball, knocking the air from my lungs.

Done ?

That should’ve been a relief. But all I could think about was how my father would react. Without Chadwick, I was no longer useful. And a daughter without value had no place in a home built on appearances.

Our relationship was not a love match to begin with.

The only reason I bothered with Chadwick was because his attention had gotten too hard to avoid.

I had initially said no to his advances, but once Chadwick got our families involved, the decision was taken out of my hands.

My father didn’t just encourage the relationship, he enforced it like law.

Told me it was a miracle a man like Chadwick would tolerate my hips, my skin, and my mouth.

If I ruined the connection, he swore he’d beat me until I learned how to act like a woman deserving of legacy.

And so, I became what they wanted: silent, smiling, and easy to shape.

But I knew the truth. Chadwick’s obsession with me stemmed, not from my beauty or personality, but because of his rivalry with Sterling. And now that Sterling was gone, Chadwick’s patience was waning.

My eyes welled. I thought again about my father, who only tolerated me these days because of Chadwick’s family connections.

I had spent years molding myself into Chadwick’s perfect girlfriend; the right dresses, the soft voice, the carefully calculated steps of a girl meant to be a wife.

I had literally put my dreams on hold, to play sweetheart to an arrogant, philandering prick, and now he was throwing me away?

It’s not like he didn’t get any gratification from me. His abusive ass put his fucking cock in my mouth at least once a week. But men like him were never satisfied, were they?

Chadwick’s gaze darkened.

“Or, are you going to crawl to me like I told you?”

I shook my head.

He pulled out his phone.

I knew what was coming.

“Maybe your dad will have an opinion on this,” he sneered.

I lowered myself to my knees, gracefully.

He smirked in victory, and tossed aside his phone to pull out his pathetic penis.

I began the trek over to him.

“That’s it. Crawl to me, bitch,” he mumbled drunkenly. “You know your place.”

As I moved across the floor toward him, on my hands and knees, I remembered all the degrading things he made me do the last couple months, as he became more and more unhinged.

Bile rose in my throat.

Our last time alone together was the worst yet, with him making me lick his gooch and asshole, ordering me to root in him like I was a hog. He even demanded I make snorting noises.

The reminder made me hate myself even more.

When I reached Chadwick, he wasted no time tangling his fingers into my hair, close to the scalp, and forcing his erection toward my mouth.

But being the sloppy drunk that he was, he did not align himself correctly, which caused his shaft to scrape against my teeth.

He roared in fury and pain, and his fist connected with my head. I tumbled back, as he shot to his feet to inspect the damage. He then reached down and smacked me again, before snatching my curls and jerking my head up to see him.

“You fucking cunty, pick-me, arriviste! You drew blood!”

I was so shocked by his words that I froze.

While the degradation made it pretty clear he looked down on me, the accusation that I was using him for social status left me completely floored.

I wasn’t using him for shit. He was the one who wanted to date me, not the other way around.

Our families wanted this relationship, while I wanted none of it.

“You fucking owe me now.” He dropped down in front of me.

“No! No!” I cried, as he tore at my dress.

My limbs turned to rubber, as heat rushed out of them. The chandelier’s crystals swung, tick, tick, tick, like a metronome timing my shame. I tasted copper and panic, while the carpet blurred beneath me. If I stayed very still, maybe I could climb back into my skin after he was done.

He smacked me again. “Stop fighting me, Zara. You brought this on yourself.”

There was something in the way he said it that made me still. Maybe I did bring this on myself. While I wasn’t using him for prestige, my father was. Why not add another layer to the suffering I endured, for the sake of blood.

I was only stalling the inevitable.

With my dress unceremoniously bunched at my waist, the fucker tore my panties off, then, wasting no time, forced his cock into my dry hole. I shrieked in distress, and tried to move away.

He slapped a palm over my mouth, and re-secured his position.

I squealed beneath his hand. I couldn’t breathe.

It was only when I stopped wiggling, that he loosened his hold on my nose and mouth. Sobbing, I lay there while he penetrated me.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He reached beneath my ass to tilt my hips up, allowing him deeper thrusts.

“Yeesss, that’s it. That’s my little fucking piggy,” he whispered. “Take this big, fat cock.”

Vomit bubbled into my throat. I wasn’t a small twig, but my weight did nothing to soften the assault. I felt like I was breaking beneath his thrusts.

“Fuck, this was almost worth the wait.” He began pumping into me hard and fast. “Never been hogging before,” he grunted. “Used to skinny bitches.”

I tuned him out, as he had his way with my body.

My mind floated somewhere above us, watching the assault, as he ignored all my protests, and took something I wasn’t willing to give.

My ancestors above were probably watching, with tears running down their faces. A river of sorrow trailing behind them.

Chadwick’s body seized, as he silently found his pleasure. He then rolled over and passed out.

When he rolled away, Mom’s Sunday school whisper floated up: Good girls stay quiet. The ripped strap dug into my shoulder, hot and damp, and I catalogued every bruise, like crime-scene evidence. Somewhere inside, a little girl promised she’d scrub herself pure. Somewhere else, I knew she was lying.

I used to think being good was enough. If I smiled, stayed quiet, played the part... they’d leave me intact. But good girls don’t survive places like this. Only obedient ones.