The Ruthless Heir

Judge’s [POV]

The next two weeks pass quietly. To anyone who was to only look into my house, that is. It may appear peaceful even. If not for the near-catatonic woman who is my houseguest.

Since her outburst after her punishment, Mercedes has barely spoken two words to me. She hasn’t looked at me. She’s refused to eat a morsel of food that Miriam brings her, and I admit, it’s forced my hand, so I’ve let her eat with Lois in the kitchen. I didn’t like to see how gaunt she was becoming. How quickly she was losing weight.

She’s stubborn to the point that she will hurt herself, and I need to figure out how to get through to her.

But this isn’t just being stubborn. Something broke in her the day I punished her. And I hate myself for it. For not having understood what a humbling as great as that would do to her psyche.

She’s depressed.

And I’m worried.

I haven’t talked to Santiago about it yet, but I will need to very soon.

Each morning at five o’clock, I knock on her door to find her dressed and sitting on her bed ready to go to the stables and do her work. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t answer me when I say something. Just obediently gets to her feet and walks ahead of me to the stables as if she were the prisoner and I were her guard.

Seeing her sitting on the bed is unnerving. I still haven’t given her her makeup so her face is still free of it, but where before she was taking care of herself, showering, brushing her hair, changing her clothes, everything is different now.

If I don’t tell her she needs to shower and stand there to watch her do it, she doesn’t. She simply strips off her clothes-the same jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she’s worn every fucking morning to clean the stables-and gets back into bed to sleep until the evening when Lois can get her downstairs to eat the little bit she’ll eat. The only time she changes into clean clothes is when Lois or Miriam takes the dirty ones to wash.

Her hair is losing its gloss. I’m not sure when she last brushed it. I have tried to, but she screams bloody murder when I go near her, so I stopped. Her skin too, for as much sleep as she’s getting, has grown sallow, dark circles appearing under her sad, distant eyes.

A part of me, the one that sounds exactly like my grandfather, tells me it’s fine. That she’s trying to manipulate me with this little show of rebellion. This is the voice that worries me. That has made me swear to never marry. And watching Mercedes come undone so completely, it’s just evidence that I’m right. Proof of what I can do. What I’m capable of.

I call her my little monster. There’s a certain affection that comes with that. I don’t know if she realizes that.

But what I am? Inside me lives the real monster, the true beast. And I need to keep a very tight hold of the reins because I cannot be allowed to breathe. It’s why I’m so disciplined in every aspect of my life.

It’s Sunday evening, exactly two weeks after the night of her punishment. I carry two large boxes into the house. A rush order. My peace offering. She’ll probably think it comes from the money Santiago is paying me to look after her, but the truth is, there is no money, no payment. I refused it. I’m wondering now if I should have told her the truth about it. Or at least not let her believe an untruth. But it was another way to keep her at arm’s length, and I need all the help I can get with that when it comes to Mercedes.

I enter the house and climb the stairs. I hear Lois and Paolo talking in the hallway. They’re both on their knees, looking closely at something when I approach.

“Evening, Judge,” Paolo says casually. He’s been back to work for the last week.

“Evening. What are you doing here on a Sunday night?” I ask him. He usually only works during the week, and even though he lives in a cottage on the property, I try to respect his time.

“I’d come to check on the hounds, and Lois mentioned a repair, so I thought I’d get a head start.”

“Repair?” I ask Lois.

“I noticed it this morning. It’s small enough, but…” She trails off and touches a spot on the hardwood floor close enough to the runner that I’m not even sure how she found it.

I set the boxes down and crouch to examine them. There’s a divot in the hardwood, a small depression.

“How did you see it?” I ask.

“I was vacuuming, and it caught my eye. I’ve told the girls to let me know about things like this, but well, you know how that goes. They mean well, but their heads are on their phones half the time.”

I touch it. My first thought would be a woman’s heel. I’ve seen it before, especially when the rubber at the end of the heel has worn down and it acts like a nail on the wood, digging divots into it with each step. But this isn’t that. For one thing, it’s a perfect half-circle. No breaking of wood, more of a pushing-in. For another, it’s too big to be a heel.

“I’m sure I can repair it, sir. Don’t you worry,” Paolo says?

I straighten. Think. I remember the comment Mercedes made about Miriam throwing a paperweight at her. It sounded so ridiculous, so outlandish. So unbelievable.

“Sir?” Lois says, holding on to the banister to stand.

“Sorry, what?”

“Dinner’s almost ready. Will you eat with Ms. De La Rosa tonight?”

Was she telling the truth? No. Why would Miriam throw a paperweight at her? It makes no sense.

“I’ve made Italian. Her favorite. And tiramisu for dessert.” She’s worried. I see it on her face, in her eyes. “Maybe she’ll eat a little more tonight. If you’re there, perhaps-”

“No.” I swallow down a lump. “Let her eat with you. I think she’d prefer that. I’ll eat later. Just take care of her.”

She sighs and nods.

“Has she eaten anything today?”

“Just a few bites of an apple and tea.”

“Thank you.”

I pick up the boxes, thoughts swimming in my head. Lois’s and Paolo’s voices fade into the distance as I knock on Mercedes’s door. As usual, there’s no answer, so I open it and enter. It’s unlocked now. Has been for two weeks. But I’m not sure she’s left it apart from when I take her to the stables in the morning or when Lois comes to get her for dinner in the evening. Miriam still delivers breakfast and lunch, which Lois prepares, but those trays go back untouched.

“Good evening,” I say as I enter. I set the boxes down on the table by the door.

Mercedes has a chair pulled up to the open window and is sitting with a heavy sweater wrapped around her, her knees tucked up under her. She doesn’t bother to turn around or acknowledge me.

It’s raining and colder than usual tonight. It’s been raining for the past few nights, and the prediction is for more wet, gloomy, and cold weather in the next few days.

“It’s too cold to have your window open,” I say when she shudders at a gust of wind. I move to close it. “If you want fresh air, let’s get a jacket on you, and we can go for a walk.”

I look down at her, waiting for her to reply. And it takes all I have to tamp down whatever the fuck it is that seems to be creeping up from my gut to my chest, casting a shadow over everything.

“Mercedes? Would you like to go for a walk?”

She blinks, slowly, so slowly. She drags her gaze from the window to me as if she’s just realized I’m here. Just noticed I closed the window. She takes a breath in, looks away, and shakes her head. She gets up, makes a point of walking in the narrow space between the chair and the wall to avoid having to pass close to me, and gets into bed.

“It’s early for bed,” I tell her.

“I’m tired.”

“You need to eat dinner.”

“Tomorrow.” She turns her back to me and pulls the blankets up high.

I pick up the boxes and walk around to the other side of the bed so I can see her face. “I have a gift for you,” I say, trying to inject a smile into my words.

Nothing.

I set the large, embossed gold boxes down on the bed. They’re from a specialty shop in town. I’m sure she recognizes them, but her eyes are still blank.

“I didn’t see any riding clothes in your closet, and since you used to enjoy them, I thought I’d order you some. I hope I got the size right. And if you don’t like something, we can, of course, exchange it. They’re specially made for you.”

Nothing.

“Would you like to open them?” I ask, irritation creeping into my voice.

“Tomorrow.”

“I went to a lot of trouble, Mercedes.”

She closes her eyes.

I stand, hands clenching, unclenching as I pace. “What do I have to do to get you back?” I ask, my voice low. Calm.

Nothing. No acknowledgment at all.

“What do I have to do, Mercedes?” I move to stand right over her bed and look down at her.

“I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.”

“At least open your gift.”

Mercedes is a clothes horse. She loves fashion. Loves high-end clothes. Has a million designers, specially made dresses, shoes, bags, jewelry, you name it. More than any woman can ever need. In another life, I think she’d be over the moon to receive the gift I have for her but this version of Mercedes? Nothing.

“Goddammit!” I rip the bow off the box and hurl the top across the room, tearing the tissue paper as I lift out her jacket, the pants. “At least look at it!” I yell, throwing her covers off and grabbing her arm, startling her. Finally. Finally fucking startling her enough to get a reaction. Any fucking reaction.

Her eyes fly open as I drag her up to sit, and she opens her mouth to scream when I realize what I’m doing and let her go. I turn from her, stalking away, hands pulling at my hair.

“What the fuck do I have to do to get you back?” I ask, no longer calm or quiet.

She’s watching me, and it takes all I have to remain where I am. To not go to her and shake her out of this catatonic state.

“This has to stop. You have to get out of bed every morning. You have to wash. You have to brush your hair. Dress in clean clothes. You have to fucking eat.”

She blinks, then looks down at the clothes, the jacket half in the box. She touches it. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

I nod.

She gathers the blankets up and lies back down. “I’m tired now. I’ll try them on tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Fuck tomorrow!”

She doesn’t seem to care, though. She just closes her eyes again. Closes her goddamn eyes.

“Tomorrow, I’m calling Dr. Barnes. Hell, I should have called him a week ago.”

At that, I get a reaction. “No.”

“If we need to put you on medication to get you out of this, so be it.”

She shakes her head and pulls herself up to a seat. I see the effort it takes her, and I hear my grandfather’s voice in my head. My hand’s fist.

She’s manipulating you. Take control of her.

I know what he’d do. I know exactly how he’d take control.

I dig my fingernails into my palms. Let myself feel the pain of it as I recall her scars. Someone has already taken control of her in the past. I won’t repeat history.

“If you don’t want the doctor to come, then I need something from you. I need you to give me some sign that you don’t need him.”

She looks up at me. Meets my gaze and holds it, although the fire that used to burn in her black eyes isn’t there. Not even close.

“I need my Mercedes back. The Mercedes who fights. The one who doesn’t back down. The Mercedes who has given me a run for my money since she got here.”

She blinks. Rubs her face and just looks like she wants to sleep. Like all, she wants in the whole world is sleep.

There’s a knock on the door, and Lois opens it to peer around. I’m sure she heard me lose my temper.

I drop my gaze to the carpet, take a deep breath in, and slowly exhale.

“Dinner’s ready, dear. And the boys are anxious to see you,” Lois says to Mercedes after a sad little glance at me.

Mercedes nods and look at the boxes, the second one which contains her boots is still closed. For a moment, it’s like she’s not sure how to get out of bed and moves to the other side to climb out. I notice she’s barefoot. And I’ve seen those yoga pants about a dozen times already.

Angry, I cut her off on her way to Lois.

She stops and looks up at me. One hand wraps around the footboard of the bed, and I’m not sure if it’s to steady herself or not back away.

“You’re going to eat every bite of your dinner tonight. And you’re not going to throw it up. Do you hear me?” Because she’s done that the few times I’ve forced her to eat. “Lois made you your favorites. You’re not going to waste it.”

She looks over my shoulder at Lois, her eyes dull. She’s not even crying anymore. Not that I’ve seen at least. Like the effort of tears is too much.

“Come on, dear,” Lois says, stepping closer.

Mercedes takes a step around me, and I lose it. I just lose my shit. I grab her hard and give her that shake. “Do you fucking hear me?”Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

Her head flops on her neck, and she cries out.

Something. Finally, some fucking reaction. I do it again.

“Judge!” Lois’s voice is alarmed. She puts a hand on my arm.

I lean my face close to Mercedes’s. “Do. You. Fucking. Hear. Me?”

Tears spring from her eyes. Again. Victory. I’ll take it.

She nods.

“Sir. You need to let me take her now.” Lois’s hand on my arm tightens. “You don’t want to hurt her.”

Fuck.

No, I don’t.

I loosen my grip a little. I can’t let go just yet, though.

“You’ll stay with her after. Until she’s asleep. Make sure she doesn’t make herself vomit.”

“I will. She won’t do that. I know it,” Lois says. Although she doesn’t know it at all, I can hear that in her words.

“Or I’ll have Miriam watch her.”

“I’ll be here with her. It’s no trouble.” Her tone is gentler when she next speaks to Mercedes. “Let’s go see the boys, dear. They’re hungry. Come on, come with me. Just you and me.”

Lois takes her hand, and I’m forced to step away. And I watch from my place as she walks across the room with Lois, her steps slower than the older woman’s. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer Lois even as Lois prattles on, and when they’re gone, I sit on the edge of her bed, my head heavy in my hands.

I have fucked this up so royally. I have more than lost control. Never before has this happened. But Mercedes? She’s under my skin, and I am fast losing control of the situation.

A few minutes later, I get up. I set the riding clothes on the bench at the foot of her bed. Maybe if she sees them laid out, it’ll inspire something. I don’t know. I’m on my way out the door when something catches my eye. On the desk in the corner is a paperweight. A solid wood paperweight.

I tilt my head. It’s probably been here for years, and I wouldn’t have noticed it except for what Mercedes said about Miriam. When I thought she was lying. I pick it up, weigh it. I take it with me when I leave and head to my study to read through the staff applications and their files and learn what I can about Miriam, whose last name I can’t even recall.