Page 48 of The Cruel Heir
After rinsing my mouth and splashing cold water on my face, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My skin had lost its usual glow, my freckles standing out starkly against the dullness. Dark circles shadowed my eyes and my curls hung limp around my shoulders. I barely recognized myself.
The sound of footsteps outside the bathroom made my heart leap into my throat. I stood frozen, gripping the edge of the sink, as the door creaked open. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Zara.” Sterling’s voice was low, almost calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a chill down my spine.
I turned slowly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. He was leaning against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. His white shirt was crisp and perfectly tailored, but the faint smudges of red on his cuffs betrayed the violent night he’d had. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and I could feel the weight of his scrutiny.
“You look like hell, little hummingbird,” he said, his tone casual, but I didn’t miss the sharpness beneath it.
“Thanks,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “Just what every girl wants to hear first thing in the morning.”
Sterling’s lips curved into a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been sick every morning for weeks now. Care to explain?”
My stomach twisted, and not from the nausea this time. “It’s just a stomach bug,” I said quickly, avoiding his gaze.
“You’re lying.” He straightened, stepping into the room, and closing the door behind him. The soft click of the latch felt final, like a judge’s gavel sealing my fate.
“I’m not,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound firm.
Sterling moved closer, his presence overwhelming, as he loomed over me. “Don’t insult me, little hummingbird. I know something’s wrong. The question is, why are you hiding it from me?”
I swallowed hard, my pulse racing, as I tried to think of a way out. But Sterling was like a predator, and I was the prey caught in his sights. There was no escaping him.
“I’m not hiding anything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
His jaw tightened and he reached out, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His touch was firm, but not cruel, his fingers warm against my skin. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ll find out the truth.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. “Why do you care?” I whispered. “Why does it matter to you?”
“Because you’re under my roof,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “That makes you my responsibility.”
I flinched at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making my stomach churn. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” I said, pulling away from his grip.
Sterling’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he took a step back. “Clearly, you do. You look exhausted, you’re not eating, and you’re throwing up every morning. That doesn’t sound fine to me.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped me. Sterling wasn’t asking. He was telling.
“We’re going to the doctor,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
“No,” I said quickly, panic bubbling up inside me. “I don’t need a doctor. It’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass.”
Sterling raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down my spine. "You have two choices, little hummingbird. Either I handle this, or our parents do. Pick one."
Before I could protest further, he pulled out his phone and started barking orders. My heart sank as I realized there was no way out of this.
The drive to the clinic was tense, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. Sterling’s presence was suffocating, his dark energy filling the car like a tangible force.
When we arrived, the receptionist ushered us into a private room, without so much as a second glance. Sterling’s reputation was clearly enough to open doors and silence questions.
The doctor, a black man in his early forties, stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Lazarus. You can call me Dr. Laz,” he said with a nod, then looked at Sterling. “I understand you’re concerned.”
“She’s been sick every morning for weeks. I want answers,” Sterling said.
Dr. Laz turned to me. “Do you want to be here, Zara?”
Sterling stiffened beside me. “She wants to be here.”
The doctor didn’t flinch. “Let’s get the basics handled.” He tapped the folder. “According to your intake paperwork, you’ve been sick a ton, and can’t remember the last time you had your period. It’s my opinion that you are pregnant, but I’ll want to test to confirm.”
