21. Sterling
STERLING
T he summons had come at dawn. The board wanted a meeting.
Pulling myself from Zara’s warmth had been a test of will I barely passed.
She was still curled in our bed when I woke, her soft breaths even, one hand resting on the slight swell of her belly.
Mine. The thought echoed in my head, as I traced my fingers lightly over her hip, tempted to let my morning plans slip away, in favor of staying right there, watching her, touching her.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, pressing closer to the warmth I’d left behind. My jaw tightened. Leaving her felt wrong. But power demanded sacrifice, and today, that sacrifice was time I wanted to spend with my wife.
My eyes landed on the gift I gave her. Maybe it wasn’t enough? I kept the violin in our room on purpose. No music room. No pedestal. Just there. Waiting.
It had been over a week since I gave it to her. Long enough for the silence to stretch between us, thick with all the things we wouldn’t say.
Sometimes I left the case unlatched. Shifted the bow slightly. Brushed dust off the chin rest. Subtle things. Just enough to make her wonder.
I didn’t ask her to play. I didn’t have to. She’d feel the weight of it. I needed to hear her again. Not because I missed her. But because when she played, I didn’t feel like a monster.
For three minutes, I could breathe. It was why I humiliated her. She shouldn’t have had such power over me. I couldn’t help but force her into a dark place. But my wife was strong, resilient in ways I myself was not.
I forced myself to step away from my obsession, dressing quickly, though my eyes lingered on her a moment longer. She’d still be here when I returned. She was mine; my wife, my future, my legacy. And soon, she’d have to face that truth in front of the world.
I sat beside Frankie in the back of the car, arms crossed, as the city blurred past the tinted windows. His sharp gaze flicked to the windows every few seconds, always alert.
"You think they’re gonna try to back you into a corner?"
I smirked. "They can try."
I knew what the summons was about, before I even stepped foot into the building. Whispers had been circling for weeks, concern over my priorities, over my focus. They wanted reassurances. They wanted to know that I was still the man they invested in.
The board had always been made up of men who thought they ran this world, wealthy investors, powerful CEOs, old-money families who had their hands in every major decision.
They had groomed my father, kept him on a tight leash, ensuring that he played by their rules.
But I had never been the son who followed orders.
I was Kingsley blood, but I wasn’t their puppet.
When I took over, they expected me to be malleable, young, reckless, easily influenced.
They underestimated me. I had spent years ensuring I was indispensable to them, building alliances they couldn't untangle themselves from. Every investment, every financial move, every deal had my fingerprints on it. They needed me more than they realized, and today, I’d remind them of that.
They wanted a Kingsley heir to cement their power. I had already secured one.
They wanted me to marry for influence. I had married for dominance.
This meeting wasn’t about my personal life, it was about them trying to regain control. And I wasn’t about to let that happen.
As I stepped into the boardroom, my presence alone shifted the balance. These men had built an empire on legacy, and I had just ripped their script to shreds by choosing my own path. Today, they would either accept that, or learn the hard way why I wasn’t a man they could corner.
The boardroom was already full. A row of older men sat at the head of the long, polished table, their expressions carefully neutral.
An intern came racing in, eager to prove himself, and handed me a file with shaky hands.
I took it and placed it on the table, ignoring it for now.
A clear dismissal of the guy whose name I didn’t know.
I sat in my place at the head. Frankie stood behind me, arms crossed, silent but watchful.
Langford, the board’s unofficial voice, cleared his throat. "Sterling, we’re pleased you could join us. There have been… discussions regarding your future."
I leaned back in my chair. "Discussions?"
"Concerns," another board member interjected. "You’re in a unique position now. The Kingsley name carries weight, but with your father gone, we need to ensure stability. That includes your personal life."
Langford leaned forward slightly, his gaze calculating. "We’ve taken the liberty of preparing a shortlist of suitable candidates. Women from bloodlines that bring power, wealth, and insurance to our interests."
An intern in a black suit stepped forward, placing a sleek black folder in front of me. I didn’t open it. Instead, I exhaled slowly, fingers drumming lazily against the wood, as Langford continued.
"First, Isabella Montclair. Her family owns a banking empire with international ties. Marrying into it gives us leverage with the European Central Bank, and a back door into IMF discussions."
"Next, Amelia Royce. Her family controls most of the state’s energy grid, and has lobbyists on every committee worth knowing. A marriage there turns policy into profit."
"Then Selene Vasquez. Her father controls the port authorities across four South American coastlines. With her, our imports remain uninterrupted, and we cut out the middlemen."
I leaned back in my chair, unimpressed. "You’ve been busy."
"It’s our responsibility to protect the Kingsley Family Trust," Langford said. "You need more than a name, you need a dynasty."
I smirked, and finally reached for the folder, then closed it. Pushed it away.
"I’m already married."
The room stilled.
Langford blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I leaned forward. "I’m married. And at the next society event, you’ll meet my wife."
Shock rippled. A younger member coughed, eyes darting.
Langford wasn’t amused. "Marriage isn’t private in our world. Who is she?"
I smiled. "Zara Kingsley. My wife. And the mother of my heir."
Absolute silence.
Frankie chuckled. I didn’t break eye contact with Langford.
"Your stepsister?" Langford said. "You married Zara Johnston?"
"I married Zara Kingsley."
Unspoken glances passed around the table. They knew who she was. And what she wasn’t.
Langford exhaled. "Sterling, you realize how this looks?"
"How does it look?"
"Emotional. Weak."
"I don’t do emotional. Zara is mine, and she carries my child. This is about legacy."
Murmurs stirred, but no arguments came. They knew better.
Langford tried again. "We’ll need background, lineage-"
I sighed and gave a subtle nod.
The door opened. Malachi walked in, followed by Isaiah, both dressed in black. Isaiah carried a flat case wrapped in blood-red silk.
He set it before me.
Gasps ricocheted off walnut paneling.
I unwrapped the silk bundle; blood-spotted wedding sheets, and laid them across the conference table like stock certificates.
“Lineage verified,” I said. “Vote the dividend increase, gentlemen, or explain to shareholders why you ignored proof of a Kingsley heir.”
Legacy secured; scandal weaponized.
And every wrung-out breath in that room told me the empire was mine.
Greer scoffed. "We’re supposed to accept some little nobody, just because you decided to breed her?"
Silence.
I drew my weapon and fired.
Greer collapsed forward, skull shattered.
Blood sprayed across the boardroom. Men recoiled. Langford twitched, but stayed seated.
I holstered my weapon. "Let me make something clear. I don't need your approval. Zara is my wife. That’s not up for debate."
Langford exhaled, stiff. "We understand."
"Good. Then we’re done here."
I’d already mapped this reaction in my risk memo: four votes hostile, three wavering, two too afraid to speak first, exactly the leverage I required.
Langford’s jaw ticked. "This complicates things."
"No," I said. "This secures everything."
As I buttoned my jacket, he looked resigned. "We expect to meet her."
"You will."
Frankie held the door. "You really do know how to clear a room."
"She’s my wife." I shrugged.
In the elevator, Frankie whistled. "That went well."
Isaiah was waiting outside of it when the doors opened. “I brought the cleaners,” Isaiah said.
“The boardroom will be spotless in ten minutes,” Malachi added. “Want us to bag the head?”
"Make it disappear," I said. Then to Frankie, "They’ll fall in line. They always do."
"You gonna tell Zara?"
I looked at him. "She’ll find out soon enough. Being my wife isn’t a title, it’s a duty. One she won’t walk away from."