The Ruthless Heir

Judge’s [POV]

I instruct Paolo to keep an eye on Theron as he moves out of my mother’s cottage and into his own. Mercedes is on strict watch as well. Her freedom has been curbed, and I know she’s pissed about it, but I don’t trust Theron. She’s left word with Lois that she needs to speak with me, but I haven’t seen her in four weeks. I go to work early. Get home late. Long after everyone has gone to bed. Because I can’t trust myself around her.

Paolo is one of the few people who knows what happened five years ago. He was here. Carried me to the car to drive me to the private clinic where my grandfather paid god knows what amount of money for my injuries to be treated. My life was saved. Discreetly, of course.

I could have died in the back of the car. I wonder how he’d have covered that up.

My secretary left a few hours ago, and although I should be home, I’m still here, holed up in my office. I drink a long sip of scotch as I remember how it happened. It was Theron’s twenty-fifth birthday. The day he would have gained access to a large portion of his inheritance. My mother was at the house. That itself was rare. By then, my father was long gone. My grandfather had gone out of his way to prepare for the celebration.

Theron had sensed grandfather’s distance, his dislike of him, for years by then. I’m sure of it. I’d known the truth since I was sixteen. Ten years. I hadn’t realized what my grandfather was planning. I should have, maybe, but I didn’t. Maybe I’d stupidly thought he wouldn’t hold Theron responsible for his mother’s actions. Or naively thought he’d loved him.

I’d been away at school a lot those years, and when not at school, I traveled quite a bit. Perhaps I’d have known how far things had deteriorated if I’d been home.

Lois had prepared a special meal, and the four of us ate it in near silence, the tension almost a tangible thing. The papers would be signed after dinner. The funds were released by morning. I still remembered when it had been me the year before. I remember the exhilaration of it. Independence, true independence, for the first time.

After dinner was cleared, the cake was set in the center of the table, the papers laid out, and a fountain pen was purchased for the occasion that Theron would keep laid on top, uncapped. I still had mine.

My mother may have suspected. I remember how anxious she’d looked.

My grandfather was overly jovial. Not himself.

And then he did it. He gave his speech about family, duty, about blood, and handed Theron the pen.

I still remember Theron’s face before I couldn’t look at it any longer. It makes me sick to this day to think of the extent of my grandfather’s cruelty. Makes me sick to know he had a hand in creating the beast my brother has become.

Because as he read the words, as he saw the birth certificate naming his true biological father, as he saw the amount of money he would receive and the condition on which he’d receive it, I watched something snap in him. And as we stood there, darkness surfaced from inside him. It expanded, touched the very edges of him.

Theron’s eyes landed on me while my grandfather explained that his inheritance since he wasn’t truly blood, had been transferred to me. That he would receive a small portion of those funds with the agreement that he goes away. That he leaves the family. The grounds. The Society. That he’d be allowed to keep the name for the sake of appearances. And that he’d never show his face to my grandfather again.

But my grandfather miscalculated. He thought Theron was weaker than he is. Thought he’d be easily bought. Manipulated. Cowed.

And before my eyes, my brother changed. As he watched me, he funneled his hate, and he became something different.

He never did sign anything. He came to me instead. He trusted me before that. We were supposed to be close.

I swallow the scotch in my glass as I force myself to remember what followed. As I remember when he asked me if I had known the truth. If I had known that he was a bastard.

I didn’t have to say a word for him to see the answer on my face. And he just stared at me for such a long time before smiling that smile that I saw again last night. He hugged me. And he buried the knife that would have sliced his cake in my back.

A knock on my door startles me. I am jarred from my reverie, grateful and shaken at once.

“Judge.”

Fuck.

I clear my throat and stand. “Enter.”

Santiago opens the door, and for a moment, we remain facing one another in uneasy silence. I think of Mercedes. Of her beneath me. Of what I did.

“You’re working late,” he says. “I stopped by the house, but they told me you were here.”

“I had to finish some things. Come in.”

He does, closes the door behind him, and glances over the surface of my desk. “My sister’s friends.” He picks up the paper where Solana Lavigne and Georgie fucking Beaumont have taken out a full-page ad in a local paper asking if anyone’s seen her. They know her as Mercedes Rosa at least. A slight difference from her real name. Enough to keep out of IVI? We’ll see.

I hand him a scotch and take my seat behind my desk. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How?”

“Leave it to me.”

“That’s the thing, Judge.” He swirls his scotch in his glass. “Something’s gotten back to me, and I know the fucking rumor mill those Society ladies can be. But I need to make sure it’s not true.”

I clear my throat. Wait.

“You were seen kissing my sister the night of the party.”

“Ah. Well, it wasn’t quite like that. Mercedes was upset when I dragged her out of there. And her friends were watching.”

“Go on.” He drinks a sip of his scotch.

“She is impulsive.”

He snorts. “Always has been. Too emotional for her good. The kiss?” His posture is casual, but his gaze is intense, and he doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“She kissed me just as we reached the vehicle. I wasn’t expecting it, so there was a moment when I can see how it may have been perceived as us kissing, but I can assure you it wasn’t that. Those women were relishing Mercedes’s… predicament, and she decided to show them up.”

He nods.

“So she kissed me to do exactly what’s happened. Stir up the rumor mill to her advantage.”

“So you didn’t kiss her back?”

“No.”

“And you explained it would not happen again.”

“Yes.”

He studies me. “Is there anything between you two? You need to tell me now if there is.”

“I know my duty, Santiago.” Fuck. God. I’m a piece of shit. “Mercedes is a beautiful, alluring woman, no doubt, but I know the rules.”

“Good. She cannot be compromised.”

“I know that.”

“I’ve heard you haven’t been to the Cat House.”

“Well, not sure if you’ve also heard that Theron is back.”

“Ah.”

“Babysitting him has taken up much of my time.”

“Why did he leave in the first place? Your brother? I never heard that story.”

“Bad blood between him and Grandfather.” It’s true at least partially.

“And now that the old man is dead, he’s back to take what he thinks is his due, am I right?”

“You are right.”

“My sister will not become a part of that due, will she?”

“I’ve warned him to stay away from her, or he’ll be cut off for good. Men like Theron’s answer to money. He’ll do as he’s told.”

“Good.” I’m not sure if my guilt has me imagining his gaze lingers overlong. “I will match Mercedes to a man deserving of her rank. A man who can handle her. Perhaps even tame her,” he says, and I feel my gut clench. “But Theron is not that man. He cannot ruin her. As you said, she’s impulsive.”

“He will not touch her.” Because I, the friend you trusted, already have.

“Good.” He stands. “I need to get back to my wife. Good night, Judge.”

“Good night.”