12. Zara #2
A half-truth. I'd been planning to stop by the country club later today, to see if Tara would let me pick up shifts again, even after everything. I hadn’t officially quit, but it felt like Sterling had pulled strings behind my back, because one day my name just disappeared from the schedule.
No warnings. No confrontation. Just silence.
A closed door I hadn’t been brave enough to reopen.
Not until today. Not until I’d convinced myself that maybe Tara didn’t know what really happened.
“Not anymore,” he said flatly. “You’re starting at Saint Bipal University today. Just like you’d always dreamed.”
My stomach twisted, pulse spiking. Of course he knew.
He’d been sitting at that table when my father declared it, even promised he’d take me himself.
But hearing it from Sterling’s mouth made it real, like chains tightening around my ribs.
He made it sound like a gift. But it wasn’t.
Not when he was the one who’d stripped away every other option.
It had been a dream once. A long time ago. But dreams didn’t survive men like him. And they sure as hell didn’t pay rent.
I hadn’t even told him I was planning to talk to Tara. That I’d been up all night, wondering if I could swallow my pride, and ask for a few shifts. Maybe if I showed up in person, if I worked hard enough, I could prove I still deserved a spot.
But now that door was gone too.
And that didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like a cage lined in gold.
The command was silent but clear. With a reluctant sigh, I climbed in, the door shutting with a weight that settled deep in my chest.
The air inside was thick, tension coiling like a live wire between us.
The faint scent of leather, and Sterling’s cologne, wrapped around me, intoxicating and suffocating all at once.
I pressed myself against the cool window, willing the space between us to stretch farther, but Sterling’s presence dominated the car.
We pulled up to the university and got out. Sterling held open the door for me. He ushered me into a community hall that directed us to what area we needed to be in.
Inside the student center, enrolling felt almost ceremonial.
The walls were lined with gold-framed portraits of distinguished alumni, their gazes a silent reminder of the legacy Saint Bipal upheld.
The registrar's office was sleek and pristine, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and paper, as I sat stiffly beside Sterling, my fingers curling against the armrest of the chair.
The woman across from me barely lifted her eyes from the computer screen, as she processed the paperwork, using a quick scanner to make a laminated university identity card, her tone clipped and efficient as she handed it to me.
"Here is your ID. Your class schedule has been completed, and orientation is next week. Welcome to Saint Bipal University."
I forced a nod, my stomach tight with unease. This wasn't my choice, not really. It was another decision made for me, another thread of control Sterling had tightened around my life.
I stepped out of the office, my shoulders tense, my new student ID clutched tightly in my hand.
The grand hallway buzzed with energy, the air thick with laughter and murmured conversations.
Students moved in effortless synchronization, their designer outfits immaculate, their presence radiating wealth and prestige.
The scent of expensive cologne and freshly pressed silk lingered in the air, a constant reminder that I didn’t belong here.
Beside me, Sterling walked with a calm confidence, his presence commanding attention, even among the privileged.
Every step I took felt heavier, like I was sinking deeper into a life that had been decided for me.
My name was now inked into the institution’s records, binding me to this world in ways I hadn’t asked for.
As we neared the exit, I exhaled, trying to steady myself. But just as we reached the heavy double doors, a voice I hadn’t heard in months curled through the air, smug and unmistakable.
"Zara."
My breath caught. I turned sharply, my heart thudding against my ribs, as Chadwick Worthington strode toward us, his smirk lazy and knowing. "Missed me, baby?"
Sterling shifted beside me, his posture deceptively relaxed, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. Chadwick’s smirk widened as he reached a hand out, as if he might tuck a strand of hair behind my ear or touch my waist the way he used to.
Without a word, Sterling stepped in. He caught Chadwick’s wrist mid-air, stopping it inches from my arm. His grip was precise, twisting just enough to make Chadwick flinch, not enough to draw attention.
Controlled. Calculated. Lethal, without breaking a sweat.
My breath caught. I should’ve been scared. But I wasn’t.
Chadwick’s smirk twitched. “Easy, man,” he muttered. “Just catching up with an old friend.”
Sterling didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
“If you ever reach for her again,” he said, voice low, steady, deadly, “I’ll remind you who she belongs to. And it won’t be with words.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was dangerous. Heavy.
Chadwick froze, the color draining from his face, like someone had sucked the oxygen out of him. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. Sterling just stared, all that power coiled tight beneath his skin, radiating like heat off blacktop in the middle of July.
Then, Sterling released him, not with violence, but with intent.
Chadwick stumbled back anyway, catching himself on the wall, hands curling at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t even look at me again.
He wouldn’t dare. Not with Sterling standing between us, like a living wall.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Because the part of me that had frozen under Chadwick’s weight?
It melted under Sterling’s.
I hated it. Hated how my body betrayed me.
How the sight of Sterling’s broad back, blocking Chadwick, felt like a shield.
Like safety.
Like possession.
My fingers trembled at my sides, tingling with something I couldn’t name. Not quite fear. Not quite want. But both, tangled. Sharp and hot and shameful.
Run.
My instincts screamed it. But my feet didn’t move.
Sterling turned to face me slowly, body shifting just enough to fill my view. Still calm. Still quiet. But everything in him hummed with danger. With control.
Sterling didn’t say anything as we walked, his body half a step ahead of mine, his presence eclipsing everything in the corridor. The farther we got from Chadwick, the more I felt the tightness easing in my chest. Like I could finally breathe, but I didn’t want to know what that made me.
At the end of the hall, just outside the arts building, he stopped.
Turned.
Waited.
I didn’t realize my hands had balled into fists, until I felt my nails scratching skin. I forced my shoulders up, chin tilted like I still had pride.
“I wasn’t going to let him touch me,” I muttered. “If that’s what you think.”
His eyes didn’t soften. They sharpened.
“You shouldn’t have let him near you,” he said, voice level, biting. “Not then. Not now.”
The words bruised, as if I’d invited the belt myself.
Yet what cut deeper was the change behind Sterling’s eyes: anger collapsing into arithmetic.
His pulse slowed, shoulders settling, predator calm.
A single breath, then he slipped his phone from his pocket and tapped once.
No glare, no promise, just logistics. Frankie would be coming.
Chadwick’s clock had started. I tasted iron on my tongue, and understood: Sterling had moved from jealousy to judgment day, and nothing, not love, not my shame, would slow the math now.
My stomach dropped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Don’t I?”
I looked away. “It wasn’t-” My voice cracked. “Chadwick wasn’t always like that.”
Sterling took a slow step closer.
“You’re still defending him?” His voice dropped, dangerous again, but this wasn’t about Chadwick anymore. This was about me.
I shook my head, too fast, too frantic. “No, I’m not-”
But I was. At least, that’s what it looked like. And maybe a part of me was still doing what I’d always done, pretending the past was cleaner than it was. Easier to carry.
“I’m trying to tell you-”
“Then say it.” His words were low, almost a dare. “Say what he did. Say why I found you frozen like a cornered animal, the second he looked at you.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
The words stuck in my throat like glass. Not here. Not in this hallway. Not with everything shaking loose inside me.
Sterling saw it. All of it.
And what he saw must’ve twisted something in him, because his voice turned even colder.
“You think I’ll let him near you again?” he said, quiet enough to drown me. “You think I’ll watch him touch you like you still belong to him?”
“I don’t-” I tried, but it was too late.
“You belong to me now , little Hummingbird,” he said, stepping close enough for his breath to brush my skin. “And I don't share.”
My heart punched against my ribs. My voice had vanished. The space between us shrank, until it was thick with everything I hadn’t said, and everything he refused to ignore.
“Clear View. His eighteenth-birthday lounge,” I rasped. “He made me crawl.”
Sterling didn’t blink, and the hallway seemed to shrink.
“He took his belt off, called me a pig, shoved me on my knees…” the words tore free, copper-sharp, “and when my tooth caught his cock, he hit me, and forced himself inside me anyway.”
Silence detonated.
“I never told anyone, because my father needed the deal, and no one saves the scholarship girl.”
Sterling’s pupils pinned me, lethal and glassy. The air between us tasted like gunmetal.
“Now you know,” I whispered, shaking. “So do whatever kings do to traitors.”
He said nothing more, but I could see the fury in his eyes. He was shaking with it, and I couldn’t tell him more. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to live that again.
So, I went to class, and ignored the bomb waiting to go off inside of Sterling.
For twelve weekdays, the driver dropped me at Saint Bipal’s limestone gate, while two plain-clothes guards shadowed every lecture.
Gossip spread faster than syllabus sheets; heiress under house arrest, yet still chasing credits.
When paparazzi breached the quad on day thirteen, Sterling ordered my immediate withdrawal, and I wasn’t sure where I stood.
But, I was living my dream, I guess. Yay.