20. Zara
ZARA
T he first thing I learned about being Sterling Kingsley’s wife was that control was an illusion. I didn’t own my time. I didn’t own my choices. I barely owned my breath.
It had been six weeks since the secret wedding, and I was still processing the weight of my new reality. I wasn’t just Zara Ellis Johnston anymore, I was his.
Saint Bipal University was supposed to be my escape.
A place where I could sink into textbooks and lectures, where my pregnancy wasn’t the whispered subject of every room I walked into.
But now, even as I sat in the back of my ethics class, my fingers poised over my laptop keyboard, I could feel the weight of Sterling’s control, pressing into my skin like a brand.
His driver had dropped me off that morning. I wasn’t allowed to take public transportation anymore. Not that I had before, but now it wasn’t a choice. I wasn’t allowed to walk alone.
It wasn’t just about control anymore, I was undeniably pregnant.
At around seventeen weeks, my body had transformed in ways I couldn’t ignore.
My lower belly had rounded into something noticeable, no longer just a suggestion of weight gain, but a clear sign of the life growing inside me.
My uniform, already tight before, was now impossible to button properly.
The waistband of my skirt dug into my hips, and even with adjustments, the fabric strained around my curves.
The once-loose blouse now clung to my fuller chest, making my blazer useless as an attempt to conceal what was becoming obvious to everyone.
Sterling noticed. Of course he did. Every morning his eyes lingered on my stomach a little longer.
His hand would settle there when I wasn’t expecting it, his possessiveness growing in ways that made my skin burn.
He wasn’t just protecting me anymore, he was guarding something larger than both of us.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
For what, I didn’t know. But I didn’t trust it.
“Your safety is my priority.”
That was the only explanation he gave me when I complained.
The man didn’t even try to make me feel like I had a say.
A sharp tap against my desk jolted me from my thoughts. I blinked up at Dr. Harrington, my professor, whose tired eyes narrowed with mild disapproval.
“Miss Kingsley, I asked for your thoughts on the reading.”
Kingsley. The name hit me like a slap. The entire class had gone still, eyes darting between me and the professor.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. “Could you repeat the question?”
A few students snickered, and heat crawled up my neck.
Dr. Harrington sighed, adjusting her glasses. “We were discussing moral obligations in power dynamics. Do you believe someone can justify manipulative behavior, if they believe it’s for another’s benefit?”
My stomach twisted.
Yes. That’s how I ended up here.
“I think,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “that justification doesn’t erase consequence.”
The professor nodded approvingly. “An interesting take. We’ll circle back to it later.”
I sank into my seat, gripping my pen between my fingers. The irony of this conversation wasn’t lost on me. Manipulation. Power. Justification. It was my entire life now.
By the time class ended, I had barely touched my notes. I was gathering my things when I felt the unmistakable prickle of someone watching me. My pulse jumped.
Sterling.
I didn’t have to turn around to know he was there. He was always there.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my spine to stay straight, as I slid my laptop into my bag. When I finally turned, he was leaning against the doorframe at the back of the lecture hall, arms crossed, dressed in a black-on-black suit that screamed danger.
The other students gave him a wide berth. Smart.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, walking towards him, keeping my voice low.
His eyes dragged over me, slow, assessing. “Picking up my wife.”
I stiffened. “You don’t need to.”
“I disagree.”
I let out a sharp breath, shoving past him, and walking toward the exit. He fell into step beside me easily, his presence too large, too consuming.
“You’re making a scene.”
His lips twitched. “I haven’t even done anything.”
“Exactly. You don’t belong here.”
His hand slid to my lower back as he guided me outside. "I belong wherever you are."
Before I could respond, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.
My breath caught, my steps faltering, as he flipped it open with one hand.
Inside, a heavy, antique gold ring sat nestled against black satin, the Kingsley crest engraved into its center, flanked by dark onyx stones, that gleamed under the afternoon light.
My chest tightened. I glanced around quickly, scanning the crowd of students pouring out of the university buildings, and the staff moving in and out of the administrative offices. Anyone could be watching.
"It's yours," he said simply, plucking the ring from the box. "It’s been in my family for generations. And now it belongs to my wife."
I stared at it, at the symbol of power, and legacy, he was trying to wrap around my finger like a shackle. My heart pounded against my ribs as he took my hand, his grip firm, unyielding.
"You’re not wearing your wedding band yet, and that doesn’t sit right with me," he murmured, sliding the ring onto my finger before I could protest. The metal was warm from his skin, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been.
“I figured a non traditional claim for the world to see, to show them you’re mine. ” He growled.
I swallowed hard, flexing my fingers. It fit perfectly.
My stomach flipped at the casual possessiveness in his tone. Damn him.
I didn’t want to wear it, but it was better than showing the K on my ass. The ring he’d bought me was so gorgeous. The sapphire was so pretty, I didn’t wear it out to school. I was worried about losing it.
His gaze flicked to my stomach, his jaw tightening. He hated that I was trying to hide.
Before I could pull my hand away, he took the ring and slipped it off my finger, his touch slow, deliberate. For a moment, I thought he might relent, let me give it back, but then I saw it, his knowing smirk.
"Fine," he murmured, pulling something else from his pocket. A thin, delicate gold chain gleamed between his fingers. "Wear it around your neck instead."
I hesitated. "Sterling-"
"It’s still yours, Zara," he cut in smoothly, undoing the clasp and moving behind me. His hands brushed over my collarbone as he draped the chain around my neck, his fingers lingering too long as he fastened it. The ring settled against my skin, a constant reminder of the life I couldn't escape.
"There," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the back of my ear. "Now you don’t have to worry. No one will see unless you want them to."
A chill ran through me. I swallowed against the lump in my throat, knowing damn well that was a lie. He wanted me to feel it, to remember who I belonged to.
Gaslighting at its finest.
The car was waiting by the curb. He opened the door, waiting. I hesitated, eyeing him. “I could’ve just taken a cab.”
“Could’ve,” he agreed. “Not going to.”
I hated him. I really did.
I slid into the seat, folding my arms as he got in beside me.
The ride home was silent, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.
By the time we arrived at the estate, I was exhausted. I barely had time to kick off my shoes before Sterling grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the dining room.
I scowled. “I’m not hungry.”
“Tough.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the scent of food made my stomach betray me. A large dinner was spread across the table; herb-roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and grilled vegetables.
Sterling pulled out a chair. “Sit.”
I hesitated. I should fight him. I should resist.
But I didn’t.
Not this time.
I sat, picking at my plate as he watched me. Always watching.
When I finally spoke, my voice was quiet. “You don’t have to do all this.”
His brow lifted. “Do what?”
“Pretend to care.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “You think this is pretend?”
I pushed my food around, not answering.
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, moving around the table until he was beside me. He knelt down, his fingers skimming my knee. “Zara.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
His hand slid up, resting just beneath my belly. Over our child.
“This is real,” he murmured. “You. Me. Our family.”
My breath shuddered. He was winning.
I hated that I let him.
His lips brushed my forehead before I could move away. A soft kiss, almost gentle, like he was trying to rewrite history, reshape our reality into something softer.
“Come upstairs,” he commanded.
I hesitated. Not because I was afraid, but because I was starting to believe him. He led me, holding onto my hand tightly, and I was entranced. There was something different about him.
Softer, maybe.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
We went into our shared bedroom, because Sterling now refused to use any other.
He didn’t say a word when we entered the room. Just moved toward the bed, where something waited; a long, leather case, unmistakable in shape.
I froze.
Not because I didn’t know what it was.
Because I did.
He turned to me, his expression unreadable, but softer than I’d ever seen it. “You never touched one again. After me.”
“What is this?”
Sterling didn’t answer at first. He moved behind me, hands to my hips, voice soft but firm.
“Open it.”
The case creaked as I did. Inside was a dark maple violin. Familiar and foreign all at once. My fingers trembled.
“You think this makes things okay?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “This doesn’t fix anything. I don’t deserve to hear you play. But I want to.”
I turned to him, eyes wide. He shrugged, his jaw flexing, like the admission cost him something.
“It’s selfish. I want to hear the music you used to make. The music I stole.”
He reached for my hand, but didn’t touch me. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just… let me be the one who gives it back.”
I didn’t touch it.
But I didn’t walk away either. I stood in place, frozen from the gesture, not really knowing what to do. I couldn’t move my muscles.
Not even when he broke and pulled me close to him. My body moved robotically as Sterling touched me sensually. His eyes never left mine. I couldn’t take it.
It was so intimate, I had to look away and disassociate from his loving touch. My mind flashed back to the memory of him forcing me.
I lashed out, trying to get away from the maniac sexually assaulting me.
“I can’t wait to keep you pregnant, baby,” he rasped, palm sliding to the slight swell he’d already claimed. “You, me, no emptiness between us ever again,” he groaned in my ear, as he fucked me even harder.
I cried out terrified. “No, please. Stop, I don’t want your baby inside of me! I’m not on birth control.” I didn’t even think about the fact that I was already pregnant.
He smiled widely, like I’d agreed with him, and thrust his hips harder, snapping against mine.
“You’re going to make a great mom. I’m going to fill you up with my cum and you’ll be right as rain.” His voice was deep but floaty, like he wasn’t even in the same room as me.
“No, you’re about to be my step-brother. What will they say when they see the bruises? Get the fuck off of me!” I tried to shove him away, even as my pussy clenched down on his cock in rebellion.
“Fuck, yes, my little hummingbird. Anything you want,” his lustful voice murmured into my ear. He didn’t pull out. He pushed deeper inside of me, and I couldn’t help but cry out, in shock and pleasure.
My body was betraying me in the worst way, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. He shoved himself as deep as he could inside of me, groaning his pleasure above me, as I came right along with him.
Shame raced through my veins, as soon as my orgasm died down, and I looked away, not wanting to see any more evidence of my second sexual assault by the same man. It didn’t matter if I came. I said no, and I meant it.
He gave me a gentle kiss.
I stood naked before him, trying to feel less vulnerable, blinking away my sleepiness, while he was still fully clothed. He helped me down onto my back. My lips parted, as that was where his gentleness ended.
He ate me out like I paid him for the service. Like he had a point to prove, or maybe this was his way of saying sorry. I wasn’t certain.
“Please,” I whispered.
My hand grabbed onto his head, and I pushed his face harder against my pussy. My legs spread wider, and I couldn’t help the moans that came out of my mouth, as he had himself a sloppy snack.
His grunts and growls rumbled against my cunt, and I shrieked when my orgasm raced up my back unexpectedly. He didn’t stop. He kept sucking my soul from between my legs, as I tried to push his head away.
He didn’t move away, so focused on my pussy, he didn’t even touch himself. When he finally lifted his head, his lips were soaked, his eyes wild, like a man drowning, who’d just remembered how to breathe.
“Come again for me, my little hummingbird. Come on your husband’s fucking tongue.”
That shouldn’t be hot at all, and yet my pussy throbbed, and as he sank back down to resume his meal, I felt his fingers playing in my behind. I almost tensed up, but I remembered my promise not to fight him.
Instead, I relaxed, and his thumb slipped inside my ass. My legs squeezed his head so hard, I thought it was going to pop off, as another orgasm crested.
I choked, “Oh God, yes!”
His hand popped up and grasped my neck. Not squeezing, just putting pressure there. “Not God, baby. Call me the man you hate fucking, even though you know I’m your husband now.”
“Oh shit,” I moaned. I couldn’t help myself. The forbidden words he was growling did something to me once I was out of my head. “I’m going to cum, Sterling,” I whispered, feeling it coming.
He lifted his head. “Come again, my little hummingbird? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
I cried out what he wanted to hear, “I’m coming, husband!” at the top of my fucking lungs, as my entire body seized up, and the hardest orgasm I’d ever had hit my system. My eyes rolled back into my head, and all I heard was a dark, “Good girl,” before I passed out.