The Ruthless Heir

I set it on the nightstand and get to my feet.

She lies down and turns away from me. Long dark hair spills over the white pillow, the duvet she is clutching tucked up to her chin, leaving most of her back exposed. I reach for the blanket to cover her fully, but something catches my eye.

A mark. Something I’ve never seen because her back has never been fully bared to me. It’s a scar. Many years old from the look of it. I glimpse the edge of another, deeper one, lower. It’s hidden by the blanket.

I know what leaves this particular mark. I’ve seen it before.

When I touch the tips of my fingers to one, the skin around it tightens, and she stiffens. I stop. Now isn’t the time. It’s enough for one night. Especially this night.

So I draw the blanket up to her shoulders and watch her burrow beneath the weighted duvet, small hands like fists holding on tight. Reaching for the switch, I turn off the light beside the bed and walk toward the door. I pause there and glance back at her. But when I hear her sniffle, I walk out of the room.

ERICA’s [POV]

I broke my cardinal rule. The one absolute law I have always abided by.

Never let anyone see my scars.

In my discomfited state of mind, I wasn’t even considering it. It’s probably the first time in my life I forgot those scars were there. Nobody was ever supposed to see them. Nobody ever has, apart from the one witness who won’t utter a word.

But now Judge has. He knows, and it seems to tip the scales of inequity even further in his favor. I hate this. I hate him. I hate everyone right now.

And even though I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry anymore, that’s exactly what I do when he leaves me alone in the silent abyss of my room.

I cry at the loss of the only life I’ve ever known. I grieve for the woman I thought I was. And I grieve for the woman who almost killed my brother before I killed her. I don’t know why. I didn’t know her, other than the few times we spoke to arrange the deal we made.

When I found out she double-crossed me and nearly destroyed the last of my family, I wanted her dead. I swore it was the only punishment fit for her crime. But wanting it was one thing. Carrying out the act myself, so brutally and so unexpectedly, is another.

The weight of my guilt settles over me as the medicine soaks into my veins and makes my eyes too heavy to focus. So I close them, and inevitably, sleep drags me away for a few blissful hours when nothing else exists.

When the light of day starts to creep into my window, the reality of my situation sinks in all over again. I wake up in a bed that’s not my own, and one glance at my surroundings confirms I’m still living in a hell of my own making.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to forget, but it’s an impossible task. One complicated by the sound of my door opening. Miriam stands with a smug expression and a tray full of breakfast in her hands when I glance up.

Something about this woman rubs me the wrong way. I had a bad feeling about her from the time I stayed here before, but after last night, I know she can’t be trusted.

“Time to get up,” she announces with gleeful mockery in her eyes. She’s enjoying this far too much.

“Just leave it.” I nod at the tray. “I’ll eat later.”

“Afraid not.” She hums as she moves to the seating area near the window and sets the tray on the table. “You’ve been ordered to get up. Take a shower, and then you can eat.”

I glance at the clock next to the bed in dismay. “It’s only six o’clock.”

“Yes, and Mr. Montgomery wants you up. I suggest you follow his directives. Or don’t. I suppose you’re the one who will face the consequences, so it makes no difference to me.”

I narrow my eyes at her. One thing’s for certain. She could use a few lessons in manners from Antonia. At least our housekeeper knows when to bite her tongue.

“I’m going back to bed.” I pull the covers tighter around me and roll onto my side. “Tell Judge if you’d like. It makes no difference to me either.”

I could almost swear I hear her snort as she leaves the room, and for a second, I question what I’m doing. Am I prepared to face his wrath before I’ve even had my coffee?

On the one hand, I’m certain I’m not. On the other, he’s an asshole, and I want him to know I’m not going to make this easy for him just because he tells me to.

If he had the first clue about my schedule, he would know that I stay up late just like Santiago. I rarely rise before noon, and I have no intentions of changing that just because some egomaniac beats his fists against his chest in a display of power.

I close my eyes, and my room is so quiet that I can almost believe I was right. Judge isn’t going to waste his time coming in here this morning. Not when he has more important things to attend to, like lording over all the unfortunate souls who have to face him in court.

Five minutes pass, and then ten. With every additional second, my body begins to relax again, and my eyes grow heavy. I’m on the verge of sleep stealing me away when my door opens, and a chill moves over my spine. Without even looking, I know it’s him. I can feel the darkness of his energy pulsing through the room, obliterating the sunlight pouring in through the windows.

I don’t look at him. I lie there, frozen, my breath caught in my chest while I wait to see what he’ll do.

“Get. Up.” His order is issued in that authoritative voice that makes me shudder. But at the same time, it fuels my ire.

“No.”

“Erica,” he warns. “Do not test me. I can promise you won’t like the outcome.”

“Just leave me alone!” I yell over my shoulder, the words dying off as I catch a glimpse of him.

He’s standing there in a pair of riding breeches, boots, and a shirt that’s hanging open to reveal his bare chest, glistening with the sheen of an early morning workout. I try to swallow the knot in my throat as my eyes unintentionally move over his muscular frame. I always knew Judge was strong.

It’s not a detail you can miss in his well-tailored suits. But knowing it is an entirely different beast than bearing witness to the broad expanse of his shoulders and the cut abs with that dark patch of hair that disappears beneath his waistband.

Oh, God. I can’t look at him like this. Judge has always been my older brother’s arrogant best friend. The type you tolerate because you have to. This feels wrong.

All wrong. And I don’t know why I’m still staring at him, or why I feel a rush of heat spreading down my neck and chest.

If I had to guess, it would be because I’ve never seen a man in this state of undress. Pathetic, I know. But rules are rules.

Even when I was dating Jackson, I never once saw so much as a glimpse of his chest. I wasn’t prepared for this, and I have no idea where I’m supposed to look, or what I’m supposed to do.

“Erica,” Judge clips my name out with all the sharp delicacy he can muster.

My eyes move to his, and it’s a mistake. Because I can see the fire in them. He’s noticed me staring. He’s noticed the flush moving over my skin.

This can’t be real. Not with Judge. He’s never looked at me the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he’s about to crawl out of his skin and… devour me.

“Get up.” His voice is rougher now. “I’m not going to ask again.”

I stare at him, unable to speak. Unable to even formulate a thought. There’s a tension between us I don’t want to acknowledge. I think it’s always been there, simmering quietly beneath the surface. I always thought it was a mutual hatred, but right now, it feels like something else. Something that’s about to reach a boiling point.

“You have a way of getting what you want in life, little monster.” He steps forward with determination, and I spot something in his hand.

It takes a moment to register that it’s a riding crop. My heart slows to a heavy thud in my chest, and I try to shake my head, but it doesn’t move. I’m frozen, terrified by what he might do, and it’s a feeling I had long thought I’d put behind me.

I’m Erica fucking De La Rosa. I don’t back down from anything. I don’t bow to anyone. But right now… it feels like that’s exactly what I’m doing when he takes another step, and I bow my head to avoid his gaze.