The Ruthless Heir

Erica’s [POV]

So I kept it in. I shut my emotions off. And I learned to toe the line of being who I was always meant to be while hiding my truest self whenever I was in his shadow. I played the piano. I honed my craft. And I perfected every challenge he threw my way until the day he died.

But once he was gone, I swore I’d never play again. Until Judge asked me to. At first, I was angry. I was grief-stricken, and not just for my family or the memories that stirred when I associated them with my performances. I was also grieving for the loss of myself. The little girl who wanted to choose her path.

I told Judge no that first day and many more days after that. One night, I couldn’t sleep, and I was wandering the house when I came upon the piano by myself. When I glared down at the offending keys, I realized the only person I was punishing was me. Because the truth is told, I enjoyed it once. I loved the way my fingers flew over the ivory, whipping into a frenzy as my body swayed with the music. There had been a time before the pain when it had pleased me. That night, I told myself I would only do it once, for old times’ sake.

I sat down, and I did play once. But it didn’t give me the closure I was hoping for. It gave me something else. And oddly enough, I think that thing was peace. Because I wasn’t doing it for anyone else. I was doing it for me. The music I wanted to play, how I wanted to play it.

I stayed up until the late hours that night, and it was only when I turned to leave that I caught Judge watching me. He seemed to be ensnared by the very sight of me. Moonlight poured in from the window, bathing my skin in an ethereal glow, and I imagine in many ways, it was like watching Frankenstein come alive. I felt alive for the first time in as long as I could remember, and Judge could see it too.

After that, new sheets of music started to appear. He didn’t demand anything from me. He didn’t even ask. But every night, when I would sneak down to play, I’d feel his presence behind me, watching me from the darkness. Inevitably, those sessions crept into my daylight hours too. And now, I find myself spending afternoons in front of the beautiful instrument. Judge will ask me to play something difficult, and I don’t deny him. I’m not sure why, but this feels like something special between us. Like a secret language. A gift.

This afternoon, when I hear his footsteps approaching somewhere between Moonlight Sonata and Gaspard de la nuit, I’m expecting him to throw me another challenge. He likes to do that, and secretly, I like to rise to meet them. But instead, when I glance over my shoulder, my fingers come to a halt on the keys, and I suck in a sharp breath.

It isn’t just Judge watching me today. Standing beside him is my brother, looking so melancholy it makes me want to cry. But there’s something else in his eyes. Something I can’t mistake for anything other than pride.

“Don’t stop,” he tells me. “Finish the song.”

I give him the tiniest of nods and turn to finish, performing my all. Perhaps it’s my version of an apology. Perhaps I just need to know he still loves me. Regardless, when I finish, whatever it is I think I need from him is absent from his face.

“You came to see me?” I ask.

“Yes.” The softness disappears from his features, returning to stone. “I came to ask you about the aspirin you left in my wife’s room.”

“Aspirin?” I echo, trying to discern the meaning behind the question.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Yes,” he grits out. “The aspirin you gave her. The aspirin she used to try to kill herself and my child.”

“Child?” My voice fractures, betrayal crawling beneath my skin like insects. “You… you got her pregnant?”

The very idea of it makes me rage. And I can see now that he never wanted me gone because of what I did. He wanted me gone because he’s fallen in love with her. After promising she would pay for her father’s sins, after all his assurances that our family didn’t die in vain. He comes here to tell me she’s pregnant as if he didn’t ever plan on killing her, to begin with.

“How could you?” I sneer at him in disgust. “She’s the enemy, Santiago. What part of that don’t you remember?”

It isn’t Santiago that responds. It’s Judge. He stalks toward me, reaching out to take my face into his palm, and it completely disorients me. Because I had tried to reject the notion that I had missed his touch. That I had ached for it. But feeling his grip on me now, his power and his possession, I can’t deny it. When he leans down to whisper his threat in my ear, it sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“Behave.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady the erratic beat of my heart. I don’t understand how he has this effect on me. It makes no rational sense. A part of me is tempted to disobey just so I can guarantee more of his touch, even if it comes in the form of punishment. But not with Santiago here. Not when there are important matters to be discussed.

I release a shuddering breath and nod, and Judge hesitates to release me. When I open my eyes to meet his, it’s like nothing else exists at this moment. He overshadows everything. That is until he seems to snap out of whatever spell he’s under, and his fingers fall away from my face, leaving me cold again.

I can’t begin to unpack those feelings right now, so I return my focus to Santi, determined to face his allegation head-on.

“You think I gave them to her intentionally,” I say. “To kill herself. That’s why you came here.”

“It isn’t out of the realm of possibility,” he answers bitterly. “I need to know what other schemes you may have left unfinished.”

Emotion burns my eyes, and I dip my head to hide it before regaining control of myself. “I didn’t have any other schemes, Santi. I gave her the aspirin for pain. That was my only intention. I never meant to hurt your precious wife or child.”

“For your sake, I hope that isn’t another lie.” He turns to go, but something gnaws at me. Something else I’ve been hiding. And I want to show him I’m trying. I want to be honest, even if I know it will probably only make him more upset.

“Goddammit, wait for a second,” I blurt out. “I have something to tell you.”

He halts and turns, the uneasiness on his face an obvious sign he’s preparing for another painful blow of my betrayal. I suppose I should expect nothing more at this point.

“I’m not telling you for Ivy’s sake,” I announce, wanting to make that clear. “I’m telling you because I want to show you that you can trust me.”

“What is it?” he asks.

For a moment, my nerves get the better of me, and then my gaze drifts to Judge as if to seek his approval. He seems to understand, nodding at me silently, giving me the assurance I need to go on.

“It’s about Chambers, that doctor.” The first words are difficult to get out of, and Santiago looks pissed already. So I rush to explain everything when I have a chance.

I tell him how I started following Ivy’s brother after Santi was poisoned. I go into details about the storage unit I tracked him to several times and how it seemed suspicious. I had no way of knowing it at the time, but I suspected Abel had something to do with the attack that almost cost my brother his life. The attack he blames me for, regardless of who gave the order. I explain how I broke into the storage unit to see what he was hiding, and as I do, both Judge and Santiago glower at me in unison.

Ignoring their silent disapproval, I continue, hurrying to get the words out. I talk about the evidence of the doctor’s demise. The bloody wallet I found. All the files from his office. Abel was hiding them for a reason, and I need my brother to know that regardless of his feelings for Ivy, her brother can’t be trusted.

“He’s dangerous, Santi,” I croak. “And I overheard him say something on the phone. Something I can’t stop thinking about.”

“What was it?” His rough voice betrays his concern.

“He said he would sooner rot than let you impregnate Ivy,” I confess. “And if you did, he would cut the baby out of her himself.”