The Ruthless Heir

Erica’s [POV]

I apply my crimson red lipstick with a shaky hand, feeling strangely at odds with the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I still recognize her beneath the makeup, but she feels like someone from another life.

The routine I used to fall into so easily every day, applying my armor before I stepped out into the world, now makes me feel like a stranger in my skin. When Judge sent Lois to give me back my makeup bag this morning, I knew it wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart. Neither is his agreement to let me see my friends. I would be a fool to believe that for even a second.

The reality of it is I’m his hostage, and this is a negotiation, much like everything else in my life. I have no doubts Georgie and Solana have been making a lot of noise about my absence, and Society won’t like that. Judge has certainly let it be known that he doesn’t either. Today isn’t about allowing me to spend time with my friends. It’s about showing proof of life to keep them quiet.

A deep wave of grief moves over me, and my lipstick clatters into the sink, smearing red across the white porcelain. Goddammit, I’m so sick of crying. I wave my hands in front of my face, forcing the tears back before they ruin the makeup I’ve spent the last twenty minutes applying. I can’t do this. Not today.

Just when I think I’ve succeeded in pulling myself together, a door slams from somewhere down the hall, and it makes me jolt. My chest pulls tight, my throat squeezing as my heart knocks against my rib cage at a frantic pace. A cocktail of hormones floods my body, and I have to grip the sink hard to keep from passing out.

It’s just a fucking door, I tell myself as I close my eyes and drag in some steadying breaths. But even so, it takes me several minutes to come back to myself. And I hate that I’ve become so weak. The Mercedes De La Rosa I know never showed fear. She didn’t startle over the slightest unexpected noise or jump whenever someone came into the room. She didn’t cry for no reason at all, and she certainly didn’t let a fucking man wound her pride.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I know I don’t like whatever it is. To make things worse, everyone is looking at me like I’m a delicate little doll, handling me with kid gloves to make sure I don’t break.

Today will have to be different. I will need to make sure of it, for Solana and Georgie’s sake. They need to see the Mercedes they know and love. They need to leave here with nothing less than confidence in my assurances I’m okay, for their safety. I don’t need Judge to remind me of that.

With a shuddered breath, I pick up the fallen tube of lipstick and cap it, returning it to my bag and zipping it up. Then I stare at my reflection as my fingers move to the knot of my robe, lingering with hesitation. I haven’t looked at any of the marks other than the one still fading on my wrist. I haven’t been brave enough. But I know if I want to return to myself, it’s time to face it. I need to see the fresh scars left by another man’s anger for me to bear for all of eternity.

I close my eyes and unknot the belt slowly, forcing the material off my shoulders until it slides over my body and pools at my feet. My legs feel far too stiff as I pivot, turning my head over my shoulder and sucking in a sharp breath before I force my eyes open.

A second passes, followed by another, and confusion melts over me as I examine the flesh I was certain would be forever ruined. Except, there is only one faint mark that’s nearly healed, a light pink line across my left thigh. And I can’t make sense of it. I don’t understand.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

My trembling fingers move over the skin for confirmation as I wonder if I’m hallucinating. But clearly, I’m not. I can feel nothing but smooth skin where I was convinced there were deep cuts. My mind drifts back to that night, and I shake as I recall the time that passed afterward.

They kept me drugged, but why? Was it for the pain, or something else?

“Oh.” Lois’s soft voice startles me, and when I meet her gaze in the mirror, I can see the concern etched into her features.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to-”

“There aren’t any scars,” I murmur dazedly.

She hesitates on the threshold of the bathroom, her empathetic eyes shining with the answer I didn’t want to see.

“No,” she says softly. “There aren’t any new scars.”

“So I was drugged because…” The words trail off when I can’t bring myself to admit I lost my grip on reality.

“It was for your protection and your peace of mind.” Lois takes a careful step forward. “Judge didn’t want you to suffer.”

I trace the length of the faint pink line where Theron used the cane. “How much of it was real?” I whisper. “How much was in my head?”

Lois comes to me, reaching down to grab my robe and gently drapes it over my shoulders before she turns me to meet her gaze.

“Sometimes the past has a way of dragging us back,” she explains delicately. “And sometimes, we’re trapped between that past and the present. The pain you felt was real, Mercedes. You didn’t imagine that.”

I understand what she’s telling me. It was real to me, no matter what it looked like on the outside. Because in my fragile state, I was trapped in a memory. A time when my wounds seemingly wouldn’t heal. When the split skin twisted and snarled and embedded itself so deep into my psyche, it won’t ever let me go.

“You must think I’m insane.” I bring my fingers to my temples and press, hoping to keep the emotion at bay.

“No.” Lois’s voice is firm but kind. “I think you’ve been through hell, sweetheart. And what happened to you isn’t any less traumatic just because it didn’t leave visible scars this time. Some of our most painful experiences are the ones that leave scars nobody can see. That doesn’t make them any easier to live with.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “For being so nice to me.”

“You deserve nothing less.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t forget that, dear.”

It would be tempting to argue that notion, but Lois is too sweet to see anything other than good in the people around her. And for that, I can be grateful, even if I don’t truly deserve it.

“Now.” She offers me a lighthearted smile. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?”

Just a little past six o’clock, my bedroom door creaks open, alerting me to Judge’s presence. I don’t have to look up from my book to know it’s him. The energy changes the moment he appears as if he sucks all the oxygen from the room. But when I bookmark my page and glance up at him, it would seem, for only a moment, I might possess some of the same magic too.

He’s staring at me with unmistakable heat in his eyes as they take in the red pencil dress that hugs every inch of my body. I can see I’ve caught him off guard, but I don’t know why he’d expect anything less. This is the Mercedes he’s always known before he decided to strip me bare.

His gaze trails over the square neckline, over the gentle curves of my cleavage, and down my hips to my black Louis Vuitton heels. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, muttering a curse before his gaze darts back to mine.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

I don’t reply. I’m not in the business of thanking men for compliments after they’ve discarded me. But there is something about the tension in Judge’s body that sets me on guard. I noticed it this morning during our brief interaction when he reappeared. His mind was somewhere else, and I couldn’t help wondering where exactly that was.

I heard him leave late last night as I lay in my bed, staring at the wall with my back to him. He’s still sleeping in my room, which I don’t understand. But I suppose he needs to make sure I don’t off myself in his care and ruin his precious reputation.

That’s what I choose to believe because he’s shown me who he is, and he showed me again last night. When his phone received an incoming text long past reasonable business hours, he didn’t hesitate to answer it before he got up and left.

I stood by the window and watched his car disappear down the long driveway, wondering who it was he was going to see. Which courtesan has so captured his attention that she can call him to her in the middle of the night?

As much as I hate to admit it, reality still chokes the air from my lungs. It burns my skin and makes me wish I could forget the feeling of his hands on my body. The feeling of him inside me. I gave something to him I can’t ever give anyone else, and he chose to stomp all over it.

“Your friends are here,” he informs me. “We’re going to have dinner together.”