11. Sterling
STERLING
I watched Zara flee the dining room, her legs unsteady, as she stumbled up the grand staircase.
Her rich brown skin glowed under the chandelier’s dim light, her full hips swaying in that unintentional way that made my blood run hot.
Without her reading glasses, her wide, dark eyes were more vulnerable, more expressive.
Flashing with fury, and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge.
It reminded me of another time. When we were younger, she would hold her head down, and run from me.
She thought I didn’t see her.
Zara fucking Johnston.
Always acting like she had somewhere to be, head down, books hugged to her chest, like they could make her invisible. Like she hadn’t spent half her life looking at me like I was the center of her world.
She moved past me in the courtyard, pretending I wasn’t there.
Like I didn’t exist. I’d been watching her for years, long before she started shrinking into herself, before she became this.
She used to belong here. Used to walk these halls with her chin high, used to look me in the eye when she spoke, like she had every right to.
Then her father lost everything, and she changed.
My hand reached out before I could stop it, catching the back of her sweater, jerking her to a halt. Not too hard, not enough to hurt, but to remind her. I was still here. She could pretend all she wanted, but I knew, deep down inside, she still wanted me.
I was seventeen and owned Clear View Academy. People stepped aside when I walked through the hallways, listened when I spoke. I could make or break someone with a few well-placed words, and everyone knew it. Everyone respected it.
Everyone except her. She turned slow, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid. But she was; I could see it in the way her fingers locked - so tight the skin stretched taut over bone, from the harsh grip she had on her backpack.
"Where are you sneaking off to, little hummingbird?" The nickname I’d coined for her, to keep the boys at bay, rolled off my tongue like honey.
She was barely holding herself together. Her chin tilted in a challenge that made me want to chuckle. She didn’t really want this smoke, the kind that left bruises, not just bruised egos. I saw it in the way her shoulders tensed.
My gaze dropped to her mouth as it sat in a plump line. God, the things I wanted to do with that mouth.
"Now, now. Ignoring me? That hurts, Zara."
Her dark eyes locked onto mine and, for a split second, there it was, that fire. The one that had dimmed over the last year, but not enough. Not for me.
"Move," she spat out like venom.
That fucking mouth.
She had always been like this. Even before. Even when she had everything, she challenged me. She was the only one who did, and it made me want to break her, just to see what she looked like without it.
I reached for a curl, twisting it between my fingers, watching the way it bounced back into place. She slapped my hand away, quick.
Soft. She was still so soft.
"Not even a 'hi, Sterling'?" I smirked, tilting my head as I studied her. "You wound me."
Her expression didn’t change, but I saw it in the way she stood. The tension in her shoulders. The careful way she held herself. She was holding back.
"God, you're predictable," I muttered, shaking my head. "Always trying so hard to act like you're better than us. Like you're not one of us."
Because she still thought she could choose.
Still thought she could keep one foot in both worlds - the one she was losing, and the one that was waiting to devour her whole.
"You're not, you know," I said, voice dropping. "You’re just a girl playing pretend. Trying to walk between worlds, but we all know how this story ends."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but her face was too smooth. Too careful. She thought I didn’t see through her. She thought she could win this round by not reacting.
"Let me go, Sterling."
Controlled. Fake. She was tired. Of me. Of everything.
I should have cared. Maybe I did. But not enough to let her walk away. Not enough to let her keep ignoring me.
I leaned in, my voice low. "Say please."
I wanted to hear her break. To see her crack open and lose. To prove that, no matter how much she ignored me, I was still in her head. But she didn’t give me anything.
She just stood there. She would not beg. Not even for me.
I sighed, stepping back. "Fine. Be a brat about it. I was just trying to be nice."
And just when she thought I was done, just when she moved to take a step forward, I angled my foot behind her knees. She buckled and crashed to the ground, books flying, papers scattering. The sound of laughter filled the hallway.
Not from me. I didn’t laugh. I just watched. One of her books slid close to my shoe, and I nudged it further out of her reach with a lazy tap. She stayed there for a second, hands pressed against the cold tile, before she pushed herself up.
Slow. Steady. She said nothing. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t even react. She just reached for her books, ignoring me. Ignoring me like she hadn’t just hit the floor. Like she hadn’t just lost. That should have been a victory, but it didn’t feel like one.
I crouched down beside her, lowering my voice so only she could hear. "Oops. Clumsy, aren’t you, little hummingbird?"
I waited. Waited for her to snap, to fight. But she didn’t. She just picked up her books. Brushed herself off. And walked away. Like I was nothing. Like this moment meant nothing.
My jaw clenched as I watched her disappear into the crowd, shoulders squared, chin lifted, like she was still untouchable. She wasn’t. She could pretend all she wanted, but I knew the truth.
I knew her. And she would never escape me.
"You’ll never outrun me, baby girl," I said, low and lethal. "You should stop trying."
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. But I knew she heard me. And that was enough.
For now.
A satisfied smirk tugged at my lips. She was running again, but I didn’t chase. Not this time. I wanted her to stew in the aftermath of what I’d done, to lie in bed with her thighs sticky from my fingers, and her body aching with the reminder of who truly owned her.
My mother’s voice pulled me back into the present. “You shouldn’t toy with her so much, Sterling. She’s sensitive.” Her wine glass clinked against the crystal stemware, the faint ring sharp in the hush of the dining room, as she swirled the deep red liquid, her amusement thinly veiled.
I dragged my napkin across my lips, wiping away the ghost of Zara’s taste. “She’s mine. I’ll handle her as I see fit.”
John, my new stepfather, stiffened at the head of the table, his silverware pausing midair. His hawkish eyes narrowed in warning, but he didn’t speak. He knew better. Whatever power he thought he held in this house was nothing more than a borrowed delusion.
I stood, my chair scraping against the marble floor, as I pushed back from the table. “Excuse me.”
No one dared stop me as I left the dining hall, my steps measured, controlled. A stark contrast to the rage curling in my gut.
Upstairs, her scent hit me the second I reached our door.
A mix of vanilla and something warmer, muskier.
It was intoxicating, a scent I wanted to drown in.
My body reacted instantly, my cock thickening beneath my slacks, but it wasn’t just lust clawing at me.
It was something deeper, something raw, that I wasn’t ready to name.
I wanted to see her, touch her, keep her where I could watch every expression flicker across her face.
I didn’t knock. I never did. I pushed the door open, stepping inside just as she turned toward me, her wide eyes flashing with fury.
But beneath that, I saw something else, uncertainty, maybe even anticipation.
She would never admit it, but she felt this too.
The push and pull, the heat smoldering between us like a lit fuse, daring me to set it ablaze.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped, gripping the edges of her robe, as if that flimsy fabric could protect her from me.
I closed the door behind me, locking it with an audible click. “You ran from me.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Maybe because you humiliated me at the table?”
I took a slow step forward, drinking in the way she tensed, the way her breath hitched. “You didn’t seem so humiliated when you were soaking my fingers, little hummingbird.”
Her nostrils flared, her cheeks burning with shame. “You’re disgusting.”
I smiled, dark and wicked. “And yet, you let me touch you. You let me make you come, with our parents sitting not five feet away.”
She turned her back on me, her hands tightening into fists. A mistake.
I was behind her in two strides, my hand wrapping around her throat as I pressed my body against hers. She went rigid, her breath shuddering as my grip flexed, just enough to remind her of the power I held.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, Zara,” I murmured against the shell of her ear. “But your body? It fucking knows who it belongs to.”
She trembled, her pulse thudding against my palm. “Let me go.”
I exhaled slowly, drinking in the way her voice wavered. She wanted me to stop. But not really. Not deep down where it mattered. I loosened my grip, my fingers tracing down the curve of her neck, before I stepped back, granting her space.
She sucked in a breath, spinning to face me. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m just going to let you control me.”
I smirked. “You think you have a choice?”
Her eyes blazed, but this time, there was something else; resolve. “You’ve bullied me for years, Sterling,” she said, her voice steady now. “You humiliate me in front of our parents, control me at every turn, and now you think I’ll just fall in line?”
I tilted my head, my smirk never wavering. “You already have.”
She scoffed, taking a step back, but her voice didn’t waver. “You’ve never even kissed me, Sterling, never given me a moment where I could choose you back.”
That stopped me.
“You act like you own me, but you haven’t kissed me, Sterling. Not once. If you were serious, if you wanted me the way you claim, wouldn’t that be the first thing you’d do?”
I took another step forward, but she raised her chin, her gaze defiant.
“You’re not serious. You just like the game.
Because if you were serious, you’d realize how much damage this would cause.
You’d see that this would destroy everything.
The Family, the image, the business, everything you’re trying so hard to control. ”
My fingers twitched at my side, but she wasn’t finished. “And I won’t be the one to rock the boat,” she murmured. “You want to push me, but you won’t risk taking that irrevocable step. Because deep down, you know I’d be the end of you.”
Her words sank into the silence between us, a challenge laced with something darker. Something that made my blood heat in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge.
A slow smirk curved my lips. “You ran before I could ask you to dance with me, Zara.”
She frowned, confused. “What?”
I stepped closer, invading her space, my fingers grazing the pulse at her throat. “I want a dance.”
She scoffed. “Are you kidding me?”
I grabbed her hand, pulling her flush against my chest, forcing her into a slow sway. “Give me this dance, and I’ll leave our room tonight.”
I palmed a brass key, and laid it in her hand.
“It opens the suite across the hall,” I said, voice low. “Your own bed, your own lock, no guards at the door. Dance with me, claim the key, and tomorrow you decide whether I ever cross that threshold again.”
Her lips parted, hesitation flickering across her face. “That’s it?”
“For tonight,” I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear. “One dance. Then I walk away.”
She swallowed hard, but didn’t resist as I guided her across the room, our bodies pressed closer than necessary. The music was only in my head, but the rhythm was undeniable, the heat between us a force neither of us could ignore.
“You’re trembling,” I murmured, my lips brushing against her ear. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No,” she said, though her voice betrayed her. “I’m just-”
“Lying,” I finished for her, my grip on her waist tightening. “But that’s okay. Fear can be exciting.”
Her breath hitched, and I couldn’t help but smirk. I leaned in closer, my lips barely grazing her temple. “You can’t keep running, Zara. Sooner or later, you’ll have to face the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” she challenged, her voice shaking.
“That you’re mine,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Before she could react, I closed the distance, my fingers tilting her chin up as I captured her lips in a deep, possessive kiss.
She gasped against my mouth, her body momentarily stiffening before softening, her breath hitching as I pulled her closer.
Her lips were warm, hesitant at first, but I didn’t give her time to think.
My tongue traced the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance and, when she parted for me, I took.
Savoring her like I might never get the chance again.
My hand slid to the small of her back, pressing her against me, and she whimpered, a sound so delicate, so perfect, that it nearly undid me. I deepened the kiss, tasting her, claiming her, my pulse hammering with the raw, unrelenting hunger surging through me.
When I finally broke away, her breath came in brief gasps, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with something she refused to name. I traced my thumb over her lower lip, reveling in the way she trembled beneath my touch.
“That,” I murmured, my voice husky, “is what happens when you question whether I’m serious.”
I stepped back, releasing her, but the fire between us had already been set. She stood there, breathless and shaken, her fingers brushing against her lips as if she could still feel me there.
“Sleep well, little hummingbird,” I said, my smirk widening. Then, I turned and left, knowing full well that she wouldn’t forget this night, just like I never would.
She thought she’d won this round. But all she’d done was take one more step into my web.