15. Sterling
STERLING
T he drive back to the estate was suffocating, the silence between Zara and me stretching tighter with every passing mile.
Each street lamp cast flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the tension in her jaw, and the way her lips pressed together in a thin, unyielding line.
Her fingers knotted and unknotted in her lap, a restless energy vibrating through her entire body.
She was wound so tight, I half expected her to shatter like glass.
She pressed herself against the door, her shoulders hunched, as if she could disappear into the leather seats. Her breath was uneven, chest rising and falling in quick succession, but she refused to look at me.
I didn’t need her to.
Her silence screamed at me louder than words ever could. She was afraid, not just of the truth, not just of what she was carrying, but of me. The knowledge stung in a way I hadn’t anticipated, but I pushed it down, locking it away with the rest of my feelings she didn’t need to see.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles aching with the force of it.
Chadwick. The name burned in my skull, each syllable searing with rage.
She thought throwing his name in my face would make me believe it?
That I wouldn’t notice how she had flinched when she said it?
That I hadn’t memorized every single reaction she had ever given me?
She had been mine for years, whether she admitted it or not. I had taken her apart, and put her back together, more times than I could count. I knew her body better than I knew my own. And yet, she thought she could lie to me?
The second the car stopped in front of the estate, Zara stared at the enforcers.
Before Zara could open the door, Frankie was there, calm and careful, as he offered her his hand.
She hesitated, then took it, shaky, like her legs might give out.
Her voice came soft, barely audible. “Who are they?”
I followed her gaze.
Isaiah and Malachi, my new enforcers, stood to the side of the SUV, dressed in all-black, sharp and silent as blades. Not watching us, watching everything else. That was their job.
“They’re mine,” I said simply. “You don’t have to be afraid of them.”
But she should be afraid of what happens if someone tries to touch what’s mine.
She didn’t answer. Just looked at them again, with the kind of caution you only learn after surviving monsters.
I got out and fixed my suit jacket, about to walk around and offer her my arm when she said, “Bodyguards?”
Her questioning lilt made me want to chuckle, but I held it back.
“Enforcers,” Frankie corrected her. She looked at them again, her chest rising and falling rapidly in panic.
I knew she was going to take off inside once she saw them. Their presence was menacing to say the least. She knew her freedom was gone, so I let her go. Let her think she still had any control left, that she had choices. Let her run, for now.
Because soon, she would realize she had none.
I exhaled, staring at the house, the weight of what I had to do settling in my bones.
I needed to marry her.
The thought hit me with a force I hadn’t expected, but the more I considered it, the more it made sense.
It was the only way to keep her safe, to keep our child protected.
And it would ensure that no one, not Chadwick, not our parents, not anyone, could claim her as theirs.
I’ve brought this up before, but now was the time to make it a reality.
She was mine. And now, she always would be.
The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside me. I needed to handle Chadwick first. I needed to erase his name from her lips, from her thoughts. From existence.
Isaiah’s phone buzzed where he stood at the edge of the drive. He answered without emotion, murmured something short, then passed the phone to his twin brother, Malachi. They spoke like soldiers; quick, clipped, efficient.
Malachi stepped forward, his voice low as he addressed me. “Wyatt just called. Said Chadwick’s still at the club. Drunk. Running his mouth about a girl he claims won’t leave him alone.”
My jaw ticked. “Does he know if he’s talking about Zara?”
“No, sir. He’s just loud. And sloppy.”
I exhaled through my nose, the weight of the fury settling behind my eyes.
“Tell Wyatt to keep him there. Make sure no one else hears his bullshit. If he sobers up and tries to leave, stop him.”
Malachi gave a single nod, already relaying the command.
I glanced back at the house, where Zara’s silhouette hovered in the front window. Fragile. Watching me.
Chadwick didn’t realize how close he was to disappearing.
The club was buzzing with bodies, music pulsing through the air like a living thing, but my focus was singular. The second I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. People instinctively moved out of my way, conversations dying mid-sentence as they sensed the impending storm.
Chadwick perched at the bar, a lazy smirk on his lips, oblivious to the fact that his world was about to collapse.
His blazer was slung over the stool, and his drink was nearly empty, condensation dripping onto the polished counter.
He was talking to some girl, blonde, unimportant, but the second he saw me, his grin faltered.
"Sterling," he greeted, trying to sound casual, but his voice wavered. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. "Step outside."
He chuckled, feigning bravado, but I caught the flicker of unease in his eyes. He lifted his drink to his lips, but his fingers trembled against the glass. "Man, no need for theatrics," he said, his tone forced. "If this is about business, let’s talk like men."
The moment he spoke, something inside me snapped.
I lunged before he could finish the sentence, my fingers closing around his collar, yanking him off the stool so fast the barstool crashed to the floor behind him.
His drink slipped from his grasp, shattering against the polished wood.
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the club, but no one moved to help him. They knew better.
I didn’t stop at one punch. The first one rocked him, the impact sending a sharp jolt through my knuckles, but it wasn’t enough.
The second punch sent him reeling, his back slamming against the pool table.
The third had his knees buckling, his body sagging against the bricks, as blood dribbled from his split lip, pooling onto the floor below.
He groaned, but I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him upright before he could collapse completely. His eyes, unfocused and glazed with pain, darted around, searching for an escape. There was none.
"You really thought you could approach what was mine in public?" I snarled, slamming him back against the wall. "You thought I would forget? That I wouldn’t come for you?"
He whimpered, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. "Sterling-" he croaked, but I wasn’t interested in his excuses.
I drove my fist into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He folded over, coughing violently, blood splattering onto his expensive shoes. I let him fall to his hands and knees, watching as he struggled to breathe, shaking like a cornered rat.
Kneeling down beside him, I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at me.
"If I even hear a whisper that you so much as breathe in her direction," I said, my voice deathly calm, "I will destroy your entire lineage with one phone call.
Your father, your uncle, your cousins, I will erase your family like they never existed. "
His breath hitched, his swollen eyes widening with something beyond pain. Fear. Real, gut-wrenching fear.
"Okay," he rasped. "Okay! Just, please-"
I shoved him onto his back, standing over him like the insignificant piece of filth he was. His entire body trembled, his blood dripping to the floor.
"Frankie," I called, wiping my knuckles against my shirt. "Make sure he remembers."
Frankie’s smirk was slow, deliberate. "With pleasure."
By the time I got back to the estate, the adrenaline had worn off, but the decision in my mind remained firm.
The tension coiled in my muscles refused to dissipate, the remnants of my anger still simmering beneath my skin.
My knuckles ached, the sting a dull reminder of what I’d just done, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
The house was silent, blanketed in the deep quiet of the early morning hours. The heavy scent of polished wood, and faint traces of lavender, curled around me as I moved through the hallways like a shadow. Each footstep was deliberate, my breathing even, despite the storm raging inside me.
When I reached my room, I expected emptiness; the cold sheets, the untouched pillows. But then I saw her.
I took a slow step forward, standing beside the bed, the scent of her wrapping around me like a vice.
Warm, soft, untouched by the chaos I had left in my wake.
The hunger twisted inside me, a dark, unrelenting ache.
I clenched my jaw, shoving my hands into my pockets, before I did something reckless.
I shouldn’t. Not again, but my cock was rock hard, and I just needed to have her. I removed my clothes as silently as I could, and slipped into bed beside her. She tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable again. All while I lay there, breathing in her luscious scent.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, where I almost came over her face twice, she finally settled down. I should just go to sleep. Wasn’t it wrong of me to want her while she was sleeping? But if it wasn’t, why was she laid out like a beautiful sinner, waiting to be devoured by her devil? A temptation.
My little hummingbird. Soon she wouldn’t even be that. Soon, she would have the title of my wife.
So, I told myself, I would just take a taste, and then I would go back to bed. I slid my hand up her thigh and pulled her body closer to mine, reveling in the fact she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
I rubbed her nub slowly, until she got wet. Her filthy moans in her sleep drove my cock insane, and the blood had long rushed out of my head.
Before long, I slowly slid her onto my cock until she was impaled, and no longer moving. I kept up the pace of flicking her clit. I had just enough room on my cock to rub it out inside of her.
Her walls contracted, and I was embarrassed to realize how close to coming I was, after all the bloodshed tonight. I moved my hand faster, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a noise, as I jerked messily inside of her.
Her legs widened as she moaned deeply, pulsating on my cock. I groaned and came right after my seductress, and worked my cock up again.
After all, she couldn’t sleep on it if it was soft, right? I curled my arms around my little hummingbird, who was soon to be my wife, with a small smile. Life wouldn’t be so bad with her by my side.
For once, I wanted that perfect future with Mrs. Zara Kingsley.