The Ruthless Heir

Erica’s [POV]

People like to say time heals all wounds, but it’s a lie. Wounds don’t heal. They fester inside you, turning everything rotten. I should know. Because I must be pretty fucking rotten to deserve the never-ending parade of betrayal that colors the landscape of my life.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

It’s been two weeks since Judge uttered his confession so callously and opened my eyes to the truth. I was foolish before. Naive enough to believe we could have something. Stupid enough to believe I meant something to him. I clung to that desperate want in a hopeless situation. But I’m not the same woman now that I was then.

I’m completely and utterly broken. Empty. Emotionally bankrupt. Yet I’m wiser for the pain. Because I know now that Judge was right about one thing. You can’t trust anyone. Especially him.

Tarring him with the same brush as the rest of The Society men would be too gracious. He’s worse. His lies have shattered every ounce of trust I had in him. His betrayal and complete rejection of me have made me feel worthless, but that’s what they want, isn’t it? That’s how these powerful men keep women in the tidy little cages they have designed for us.

Don’t be too outspoken. Don’t think for yourself. Don’t dare have a sexual appetite before you’re married. And if you do any of those things, then be prepared to face a reality you never wanted to see. You’re disposable. If you break the mold, if you step outside of your tidy little cage, you’ll no longer be granted a sugar-coated existence. It doesn’t matter what your status is. It doesn’t make a goddamned difference what your last name might be. If you break their rules, they’ll find a way to break you.

I see it now. I can’t unsee it. This is what my life will be like in Society, no matter who I marry. Love and loyalty are the bullshit they spoon-feed us to keep us tame, but every woman knows there’s no such thing. Men will be men, and women are expected to turn a blind eye. This is the false sense of security Society’s daughters cling to in their marriages. They busy their days with activities designed to make them feel as if they’re important. As if they matter. All the while, their men disappear and only come home to sleep in their beds at night or grace them with the occasional appearance at an event.

I’m never going to be able to do that. I’ll never feel okay with drowning in silence while my husband inevitably disgraces me behind my back at every opportunity. This might be the life I was born into, but it isn’t the life I signed up for. And right now, more than anything, I want out.

Yet I know Judge will never let me go freely. This choice is not mine to make. He’s imprisoned me in my room, not even allowing me out to clean the stables. Once a day, Lois comes to get me for lunch, but that’s the extent of my freedom. I eat the rest of my meals alone. I sleep alone. I stare out the window… alone.

At times, I wonder if I brought this on myself. Because Judge warned me. Over and over, he warned me. He told me he wouldn’t marry. He told me I didn’t want to know him this way, and now I understand why. His words were clear, but it doesn’t change what I feel. And I do feel… too much.

I wanted to believe I was simply seeking comfort from him. But the truth is, I wanted something that could never be. I didn’t care about his warnings. I felt something with Judge I’ve never felt with anyone else in my life. There has always been a yearning there. One I’ve tried to ignore, tried to stifle. But it lived on, and he breathed life into it with every look, every touch, every moment of connection he offered, as rare as they may have been.

I can’t put a label on what these feelings are. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because it doesn’t matter how I feel. He’s proven that, and it’s time I grow the fuck up and start listening. He’s shown me who he is, and now I have to accept it.

My heart is heavy with sadness as I sit by the window and contemplate what I have to do. The prospect of leaving everything I’ve ever known behind is terrifying, but the alternative is slowly dying inside if I don’t.

It won’t be easy. There’s no doubt in my mind they’ll try to drag me back. But Georgie and Solana will help me. They will harbor me until I can figure out how I’m going to survive in a world I’ve never really been a part of.

I spend a week putting the pieces together. Admittedly, a part of me still thinks Judge will come to me. He will knock on my door and tell me it’s all a lie. He will find a way to prove he didn’t willingly take a butcher knife to my heart. But I would die holding my breath if I was waiting for that to happen.

It’s a Tuesday evening when the opportunity I’ve been waiting for finally arrives. I’ve thought of all my options, exhausting them completely, and the one I settled on is the one that hurts the most. Because it means I have to manipulate my only friend in this house to get what I need.

When Lois comes to deliver my dinner, I lie and tell her I’m not feeling well, complaining that I’m hot and nauseous. She takes pity on me, as I knew she would, and unlocks the smallest window, cracking it open to let some fresh air in. I thank her and pretend to go back to sleep, guilt eating at me as I consider that she might get in trouble for this too. But all I can hope is that Judge won’t blame her.

I wait for a few minutes until the sound of her footsteps in the hall disappears entirely, and then I get to work, stripping my bedsheets and tying them together to fashion a makeshift aerial silk out of them. In my closet, I find an additional set of sheets that I use to supplement the length, and then I secure the knots with pillowcases, praying to the gods it will hold up.

As I tie one end to the foot of the armoire, I’m very aware of all the ways this could go wrong. But I don’t care. If I die trying, then at least I can say I did something.

I wrap the sheet around my leg and pull my body through the narrow gap in the window, which is a challenge in itself. Lois probably assumed I’d be crazy to try to fit through there, but that’s the benefit of being flexible. The fabric dangles beneath me as I pull it through my fingers and inch it closer to the ground below. Once I’ve done that, I use it the same way I’d use my silks in class to shimmy down. I’m not afraid of heights, and I’m accustomed to being suspended in precarious positions. But the silks I use in class are more reliable than the knotted sheets I’m currently relying on.

The first knot begins to stretch under my weight, the fabric slowly giving way. I pick up my pace, moving faster, trying to narrow the distance between myself and the ground. The second knot starts to groan too, and then abruptly the whole design gives way, dropping me in a tangled mess of sheets before my body jars against the ground. The fall knocks the wind out of me, and when I stand, my ankle hurts like hell. But I don’t care. I’m one step closer to freedom. And this time, I’m determined to get the hell out of here.

I dart across the lawn, hissing in pain as I head for the wooded area behind the house. I know where the property line is now, and I feel like I have a better idea of the areas to avoid. Unlike last time, I have no intention of going near the cottages, so I take the alternative route, the one that passes through the old outbuildings Judge warned me to stay away from.

I walk for about fifteen minutes, checking over my shoulder often to be sure I’m in the clear. My heart is pounding, and I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched, though I’m sure it’s just paranoia. That is until I hear a twig break somewhere in the distance.