Page 13 of The Cruel Heir

Every inch of me screamed: don’t go back.

Not to the hallway. Not to the dryer.

Not to the memory of his cum dripping down my legs like ownership.

But my brain reminded me that I had bills to pay.

Rent didn’t care about trauma. I couldn’t save enough to leave this hell hole. I certainly couldn’t afford a trip to the clinic. And the stress of my life meant that I was late. In my bag, my birth control only had three days left on it, even though I think I may have missed a pill, so I really needed to refill my prescription as soon as possible. Those reasons had me signing up for another humiliating shift at the country club.

“I’ll come,” I said.

My voice didn’t sound like mine. I was spiraling, thinking of going back to that place. But I had no choice now, just like I had no choice then.

Tara’s voice buzzed in my ear like static.

“It’s a wedding,” she said. “Beachfront. They’re doing it last-minute, because their venue dropped out.”

I had to do this. Even with the memories echoing in my mind, I needed to get as much money stacked as I could, so I could get away from here. Maybe I could go to college, or something bigger. My dreams could be endless once I got myself out of this hell hole.

My body still ached. But I needed the money.

“Great,” I muttered. “So we’re babysitting rich drunks?”

“You’ll be outside most of the time,” she replied. “There’s extra security.”

I almost laughed.

Security didn’t stop Sterling last time.

Sterling Kingsley was above security.

He could walk into any room like he paid for the oxygen, and suddenly it belonged to him. Like I did. Like I always had.

But I had bills. Rent. A body still healing from burns and bruises. A soul that hadn’t stopped shaking.

So I told Tara I’d come in.

Not because I was okay.

But because being broke was worse than being branded.

The day rumors exiled Sterling to Europe, I found him alone by the senior fountain. I told him I hoped Switzerland would swallow him whole, and that no one would remember his name. He studied the water, then murmured,“Careful. Sometimes prayers get answered,”before walking off. I thought it was closure, but it was only the breath between acts.

We weren’t strangers, Sterling and I, far from it.

The man who had taken me, who had claimed me as his, wasn’t just some shadowy figure in my nightmares. He was the boy I’d known since I was young. The heir to a rival empire, whohadsomehow made himself an unshakable part of my life.

I didn’t feel like a person. Not really.

I felt like something he’d marked.

I moved anyway.

Because there was no other choice.

A black girl, born with a silver spoon, finds out fast that pain demands payment. Mercy never arrives unbought. Softness becomes a myth. Second chances carry a price tag. Instead, commands echo through empty rooms. Be strong. Push through. Pretend it never mattered.

And maybe that’s what survival was;acting.