Page 56 of The Cruel Heir

I let her cling to etiquette while I did the real math.

Forty-six hours until the board votes on my expansion.

Forty-six hours to prove I’m not a liability but a dynasty.

So I softened my tone, even as plans slotted into place like bullets in a clip; hush money for the pastor, a Cayman registrar, a honeymoon no paparazzo could track.

“Fine,” I lied, thumb circling the sapphire on her hand, “we’ll let the dust settle.” She’d call it mercy. I called it containment.

Her relief was instant, but not complete, as she nodded her consent.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “But make no mistake, Zara. You still belong to me. I don’t need the world to clap when I claim what’s already mine.”

She stiffened. “You don’t own me.”

“Oh, baby,” I murmured, brushing her curls back from her temple. “Every inch of you was bought and paid for, the momentyou let that trust fund baby put his hands on you. I’m just the one writing the final check.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No. I’m necessary.” I leaned in. “Men like me don’t beg. We build. We protect. We take. And we don’t apologize for preserving our bloodline. For keeping our empire tight. You’re not some wild flower I plucked for joy, Zara. You’re a resource.”

She recoiled like I’d slapped her.

“Don’t act surprised. You knew the game when you stepped onto the board.”

“I never had a choice.”

“You had one.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “You just didn’t make the right one.”

The pastor cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed?”

She didn’t move.

I took the pen, held it out.

She looked at it. Then at me.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why make it legal?”

I stepped in close. “Because the Kingsley Family Trust needs proof of your purity. They want signatures. Legalities. A compliant vessel for the next generation. They don’t care if you’re happy. They care that your womb is under contract.” My mouth curved, but there was no softness in it. “You thought I meant I’d spare you? No, Zara. I only meant I wouldn’t announce it until it was done. Until you were mine on paper. They can’t stop this. No one can.”

Her breath hitched.

“This isn’t about love, Zara. This is about order. Control. You’re not marrying me because of some storybook fantasy. You’re marrying me because I’m the only man who looked at your ruined name and saw a future.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just took the pen, with fingers that shook, like they remembered every bruise that got her here.

And signed.

I followed suit. Quick. Brutal.

“It’s done,” Reverend Cross announced.

I turned to her. “You’re a Kingsley now. They can’t touch you.”

“They already did,” she whispered.

I kissed her. Not soft. Not sweet. Final.