9. Sterling
STERLING
T he month had gone by so fast. It was almost time for Thanksgiving.
Zara thought walking away from breakfast meant she was free of me for the day.
She couldn’t be more wrong. I found out her secret pretty early on, but if she wanted to stick her head in the sand about her pregnancy, who was I to stop her?
She said she hated me, but hate was next to love. It meant I was under her skin, as deeply as she’d ingrained herself beneath mine.
I watched her disappear down the hallway, her spine stiff, her defiance palpable. I let her go, for now. There was no need to drag her back when she had nowhere to run. The Kingsley mansion was as much a prison as it was a sanctuary. And she would realize soon enough that her cage had no door.
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and leaned back in my chair.
My mother hadn’t come down. Probably still nursing the last dregs of champagne and control after her whirlwind shopping trip.
Across from me, John, the man who called himself Zara’s father, took a sip of his coffee, pretending not to notice the power play unfolding in front of him.
“She’s a stubborn one,” he finally said, setting his cup down.
I smirked. “She gets that from your side, I assume.”
I didn’t mind the fire in her. She was still trying to convince herself this wasn’t what she wanted; me, this house, this life.
But it was written in the way her throat tightened when I spoke, how her pulse fluttered when I got too close.
She didn’t say it out loud, not yet. But her body remembered what her mouth refused to admit.
His chuckle lacked warmth. “She needs guidance. You’ll handle her?”
Handle. As if Zara was some problem to be managed, rather than the woman I had already claimed.
“I always do.”
John nodded once, satisfied. As if this conversation was settled.
It wasn’t.
After Zara fled upstairs, I had other matters to tend to. I made my way to my father’s office, ensuring no one was watching, before pressing a hidden panel on the wall. A biometric scanner appeared and I pressed my finger against it. The lock disengaged with a quiet click, allowing me inside.
The room smelled of old leather and wealth, the ghosts of my father’s legacy woven into every inch. I settled into his chair, the weight of power and responsibility pressing down. I had inherited everything. The companies, the properties, the money.
But my mother was up to something.
I began digging through files, scrolling through encrypted archives. I knew better than to underestimate her. She was always looking for a way to secure her own survival.
To a man like Johnston at that.
Sure, Johnston had the pedigree on paper.
But the real wealth came from Zara’s mother: boardrooms glittering in her name, charity galas launched on her ambition.
When the cancer took her, he inherited the empire, and promptly ran it ragged.
I texted Frankie to meet me in here. I’d already overridden my father’s codes and replaced them with my own.
Including the fingerprint scanner recognizing Frankie.
I dug through the archives on my father’s laptop while I waited. Frankie didn’t take too long. He’d probably been hanging around, hitting on the maid. We’ve had to replace staff from bitches going crazy over his cock.
But he was an asset to The Family.
He knocked and waited for me to let him in. Even though I invited him up here, his manners were always impeccable. He limped in, his signature gait, from an old injury, making his presence unmistakable.
“Did you find anything yet?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
I exhaled, rubbing my temple. “Nothing concrete, but I know she’s planning something. And John isn’t just some desperate rich man looking for a lifeline.”
Frankie leaned against the desk, his expression grim. “His family’s name dated back generations, but everyone whispered that it was Zara’s mother who brought true capital into the fold: boardroom wins, auction-room conquests, a glittering network of allies no bank could ever underwrite.”
“That’s exactly what I need to confirm.”
Frankie pulled up a chair and started working on the laptop. “Your father had everything hidden under layers of encryption. He was paranoid as hell.”
“He had every reason to be.”
Nearly an hour later, Frankie hummed in approval. “Found something interesting. Buried deep. A second will.”
I stiffened. “That’s impossible.”
Frankie turned the screen so I could see. My father had left behind a contingency plan.
For Zara.
"This isn’t just a financial safety net," Frankie muttered, clicking through more files. "This is a contractual agreement. A binding obligation. Your father didn’t just leave her money, he tied her to the Kingsley family so she can’t escape."
My stomach twisted. "How?"
Frankie exhaled sharply. "It’s an arranged marriage contract. Signed by your father, and her mother, twenty-three years ago, to unite you both in matrimony, together."
I stilled, my fingers curling into fists. An arranged marriage?
Frankie kept scrolling. "It merged the Kingsley and Johnston families. Your father promised his first-born son, meaning you, to Zara’s mother’s future daughter. It was a power move. A way to unite their assets and influence. But, after her mother died, the agreement was buried."
I clenched my jaw. "Buried by who?"
Frankie’s tone was humorless. "Your mother and John Johnston. Madeline inked the pact the moment Zara’s mother’s health tanked, an insurance policy masquerading as charity.
Your own father paid the hush-lawyers, and Madeline buried the filings.
But legally? It’s still in effect. Zara is already yours.
This was probably why her father was throwing her at Chadwick. "
“They signed the deal long before either parent lost their shine,” Frankie says, scrolling.
“Back when Zara’s mother still hosted charity galas with your parents, and both families dripped clout.
Her mother’s fortune, and reputation, carried the Johnstons into those rooms, but when she died, her husband inherited everything and wasted it, chasing power he could never buy.
Then the Johnston fortune tanked, the widowhood headlines hit, and Madeline decided the Johnstons were bad optics.
She and John paid a fixer to bury the contract, and iced Zara out to save face.
But ink doesn’t evaporate. It just waits. ”
A slow, dark realization settled over me. This wasn’t just about control. My father had ensured that, no matter what, Zara belonged to the Kingsley empire.
"Fuck if I’d allow her to go with Chadwick. Does she know?" I asked.
"Not a chance. This was buried so deep it took me an hour to decrypt it." Frankie leaned back. "If she ever finds out-"
"She won’t." My voice was bitter, final. "I’ll make sure of it."
Frankie hesitated, then nodded. "So what’s the plan?"
I exhaled slowly, my mind already working through the possibilities. “First, we make sure she never has access to these documents. Then, we control her finances and keep her dependent."
Frankie smirked, shifting slightly in his chair. "And if she asks questions?"
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "We make sure she never finds the answers."
The weight of the revelation settled between us.
My father had been meticulous in hiding this, and for good reason.
He’d ensured that Zara wasn’t just a name in the will.
She was legally cemented into the Kingsley dynasty.
And not just as some beneficiary collecting scraps.
No, he had given her something far more dangerous. Power.
I frowned as Frankie scrolled further through the document. The text was thick with legalese, deliberately buried under layers of redundant clauses, and financial jargon.
"It’s not just an inheritance," Frankie muttered. "It’s an irrevocable trust. She has a legal claim to a section of Kingsley holdings, Sterling. A significant one."
My jaw ticked. "How significant?"
Frankie hesitated, then clicked open a secondary attachment. "Equal to yours."
The words hung in the air like a loaded gun. My fingers flexed against the armrest, a slow burn igniting in my gut.
"That’s impossible," I said, voice tight.
"It’s real," Frankie countered. "Your father locked it in place years ago. She’s untouchable, unless she willingly hands it over." He looked at me, waiting. "And we both know that won’t happen."
And yet, she stayed. Maybe because she didn’t know the full extent of it yet. Or maybe because fear was still wrapped tighter than control. I had insurance recordings, contracts, shadows of consent. I’d never use them, but she didn’t know that. And fear kept people obedient far better than love.
My stomach twisted. I had underestimated my father once again. This wasn’t just some charitable act of goodwill. This was insurance. A back door left open for Zara, giving her an escape route, a level of independence that I had no control over.
Frankie exhaled, shaking his head. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Sterling."
"I won't lose." I picked up my whiskey glass, rolling it between my fingers, before taking a slow sip. "Not with her."
Frankie rubbed a hand down his face. "And if she figures it out?"
I set the glass down, tilting my head slightly. "Then she’ll learn that I don’t just hold power. I own it."
A beat of silence. Then Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are a piece of work."
I leaned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Took you this long to figure that out?"
Frankie looked at my head and said, "Yeah, and it looks like you need a shape up, son."
I deadpanned. "I’m not your son."
"Close enough." Frankie chuckled. "Now, are we getting back to business, or are we just gonna sit here admiring your hair?"
I sighed, rolling my neck. "Let’s finish this. The sooner we secure this, the better."
Frankie wasn’t wrong. But his words dragged me back to my own bloodline.
My grandfather used to say the same thing about men with old souls.
Pops hated his own father, and I hated mine just as much.
And if my father carried on the family tradition of breaking us into manhood, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand it.
Not that I saw eye to eye with my father on anything. Hence why I had to kill him. Something that shouldn’t have needed to be done, but my father was a sick fucking bastard, and needed to be put out of his fucking misery.
There were things about my family that no one on the outside could ever understand. Things I hadn’t even told Zara.
I didn’t kill my father just because he was cruel. I killed him because he was a monster.
I mean, who the fuck breeds their daughters to keep The Family bloodline clean? The ritual of drinking their blood for wealth disgusted me, and I swore I’d end it the moment I took over.
My sister, my only other living sibling, was the one who suffered most. Father pushed her past breaking, and she lost herself completely. I hoped I could save her one day. When my empire was stronger and I could appeal to the doctors who had her.
I was the heir, and that made me untouchable in one way, but it didn’t mean I was safe. Father’s lessons came in fists and commands, as he molded me into his weapon.
I was the heir and, in his mind, he didn’t have a spare.
What use was a female heir other than for breeding? And, if she would not breed for profit until eighteen, then she would damn well breed for The Family, for purity. Those pregnancies never stuck and, slowly, it drove her insane.
“Thinking about Scarlett again, aren’t you?” Frankie asked me.
I faked a shiver. “How do you do that?”
He shrugged and looked away. “We were all best friends at one point, I know you like family.”
I used to believe that. Chadwick’s grin could pick any lock, and Frankie’s fists broke what the grin couldn’t. We skipped econ to steal the dean’s scotch, and carved S + C + F into the bleachers, like idiots who thought oak would last forever.
“Brothers before bloodlines,” Chadwick had said. I bled for that vow, but it turns out he never nicked the skin.
Frankie kept talking over my inner memories. “You get this look on your face when you think about her situation. Have you gone to see her?”
I shook my head no, simultaneously shaking off the past. “I feel like it’s my fault she’s in there. If I’d done something about him sooner, he wouldn’t have been able to hurt her one last time. Her body gave out.”
“Still, it may do her good to see you.”
“Maybe,” I murmured. It was weird Frankie kept going on about my sister, but he visited more than me, so I guess I should be grateful. I’d rather focus on this will debacle.
I was coming for my hummingbird. I hoped she wasn’t ready for me at all.
I licked my lips, thinking about how delicious she would taste again. It was too bad our parents were always around, or I’d lay her out on the table to feast on. They wouldn’t keep me away from her though. And soon, they wouldn’t be a problem.
Oh no, I was going to join her in our bed tonight, in our room, so I could celebrate her being exactly where she belonged; beneath me. For however long I commanded it. I was the heir to the Kingston legacy, and I wouldn’t be denied.