Claimed By The Coldhearted Sterling Heir

Claimed By The Coldhearted Sterling Heir

Youran Qianwu

5.0
Comment(s)
4
View
153
Chapters

I was kneeling on the warped linoleum of my trailer, packing my life into a trash bag, when the predatory purr of a luxury SUV echoed through the thin walls. I thought it was a raid, but it was something much worse. Julian Sterling, a federal prosecutor in a charcoal suit, stepped into the mud and bought me from my alcoholic stepfather. He didn't use cash; he used a list of felonies and a legal settlement to trade my freedom for my stepfather's silence. "Throw it away," Julian ordered, pointing at the bag containing everything I owned. I watched my sister's stuffed bear fall into an oil puddle as he forced me into a world of cold leather and silence. By the time we reached Boston, Faith Vance was dead. He forced me to sign papers changing my name to Elara, erasing my past to fit a narrative of Swiss boarding schools and high-society breeding. The horror didn't stop there. The family patriarch, Arthur Sterling, looked at us with hawk-like eyes and issued a command that turned my blood to ice. To avoid scandal, Julian and I were to be introduced as "Brother" and "Sister." Julian's jaw tightened until a vein throbbed in his temple, and when he finally called me "Sister," the word sounded like a curse. I was a prisoner in a mansion with bars on the windows, caught between a "brother" who loathed my existence and a cousin who tried to assault me in my own room. They dressed me in silk armor and expected me to be a doll, a manageable piece of a legacy I never asked for. I sat at a dinner table worth more than my hometown, swallowing oysters that tasted like salt and iodine, while Julian created a physical barrier between me and the wolves. Under the tablecloth, I reached out and squeezed his clenched fist. His fingers uncurled and captured mine in a grip so crushing it felt like a pact signed in the dark. I have a jagged shard of glass in my pocket and five thousand dollars a month to hoard. Julian says the law is a weapon that breaks weak people, but he's about to find out that I'm not a lamb. I'm a survivor, and I'm ready for the casualties.

Chapter 1 1

Faith Vance knelt on the warped linoleum of the trailer, her knees pressing into the grit that never seemed to sweep away. The air inside smelled of stale beer and damp insulation, a scent that had coated the inside of her lungs for nineteen years. She shoved a faded flannel shirt into the black garbage bag, her fingers trembling so hard she nearly tore the plastic.

Outside, a low rumble vibrated through the thin aluminum walls, shaking the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. It wasn't the rattling cough of a pickup truck. It was deeper, smoother. A predatory purr.

The neighbor's dog, a mange-ridden beast named Buster, started barking. It was a frantic, terrified sound that cut through the humid West Virginia heat.

Faith crawled to the window, careful to keep her head below the sill. She peeled back a single slat of the yellowed blinds.

Three black SUVs sat on the gravel road like hearses waiting for a funeral. They were massive, pristine, and completely alien against the backdrop of rusting siding and overgrown weeds. The mud on the tires looked like a mistake, a blemish on perfection.

The door of the middle vehicle opened.

A man stepped out. He didn't look at the mud pooling around the sole of his Italian leather shoe. He stood tall, adjusting the cuffs of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the entire trailer park. He wore sunglasses that hid his eyes, but Faith could feel the weight of his gaze even through the dark lenses.

Julian Sterling.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a painful, erratic rhythm. He looked like salvation wrapped in a warning label.

The trailer door groaned open behind her. Faith flinched.

"Who the hell is that?" Her stepfather, Ray, stumbled into the small living space. The neck of a whiskey bottle clutched in his hand was the only clean thing about him.

Faith scrambled up, clutching the garbage bag to her chest. "Don't go out there, Ray."

"I'll go where I damn well please. This is my property." Ray pushed past her, kicking the screen door open. It slammed against the metal siding with a gunshot crack.

Faith followed, her bare feet sinking into the damp earth of the front yard.

A large man in a suit-a bodyguard-stepped in front of Julian, his hand hovering near his waist. Julian didn't flinch. He just raised a hand, a small, dismissive gesture that stopped the bodyguard in his tracks.

Julian took off his sunglasses. His eyes were the color of a winter ocean, cold and indifferent. He looked at Ray, then at the trailer, and finally, his gaze landed on Faith.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just assessed her, like an appraiser looking at a house with a cracked foundation.

"Miss Vance?" His voice was a low baritone that seemed to suck the sound out of the air around them.

Faith nodded. Her throat felt like it was filled with sawdust.

"I'm Julian Sterling. Per Arthur Sterling's instructions, I am here to collect you."

Ray took a step forward, swaying slightly. "You ain't collecting nothing unless you got cash."

Julian looked at Ray with an expression of clinical boredom. He didn't snap his fingers for money. Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a folded legal document.

"Mr. Vance," Julian said, his voice slicing through the humidity. "This is a sworn affidavit detailing three counts of child endangerment, one count of distribution of controlled substances from this premises, and tax evasion spanning the last decade. I am a Federal Assistant United States Attorney. I don't carry cash for bribes."

Ray froze, his eyes darting between the document and the armed men behind Julian. The whiskey bottle lowered.

"However," Julian continued, signaling his assistant, Liam, who stepped forward with a clipboard and a modest check. "The Sterling Family Trust is willing to provide a relocation stipend to ensure you do not impede Miss Vance's departure. This is a settlement, legally recorded. Sign the release of guardianship and the non-disclosure agreement, and you stay out of federal prison. Refuse, and the DEA raids this tin can in twenty minutes."

Ray looked at the check, then at the legal threat. The fight drained out of him instantly. He snatched the pen, scribbling his name with shaking hands. He didn't look at Faith. He didn't say goodbye. He just grabbed the check and retreated inside the trailer, closing the door on her forever.

Faith felt a cold hollow open up in her stomach. She had been sold, not for cash, but for her stepfather's freedom.

"Let's go," Julian said. He turned toward the car.

Faith hesitated. She looked back at the small window where her little sister, Patty, would be hiding.

"She stays," Julian said, not turning around. He knew exactly where she was looking.

Tears pricked Faith's eyes, hot and stinging. "She's only ten. I can't leave her with him."

"The agreement was for one," Julian said, pausing with his hand on the car door. He glanced back, his expression unreadable. "However, Child Protective Services has already been anonymously tipped off regarding the conditions here. A case worker is ten minutes out. If you take her now, you become a kidnapper in the eyes of the law. If you leave her, the state takes custody. It is the only legal path to safety for her right now."

Faith stared at him. It was cold comfort, but it was a plan. "Get in," Julian said. The interior was cream leather, spotless and inviting.

Faith gripped the neck of her garbage bag tighter. It contained two shirts, a pair of jeans, a photograph of her mother, and a stuffed bear with one eye. It was everything she owned.

She walked toward him, the mud squelching between her toes. She reached for the door handle, but Julian blocked her path.

His eyes dropped to the black plastic bag in her hand.

"Throw it away," he said.

Faith froze. "What?"

"The bag," Julian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Throw it in the ditch."

"These are my clothes," Faith whispered. "It's all I have."

"Sterling House does not accept refuse," Julian said. He leaned in slightly, and she smelled sandalwood and something sharp, like ozone. "And frankly, that bag is a biohazard. If you want to survive where you are going, you cannot smell like this place. Leave the contamination in the dirt."

Faith looked at the bag. Then she looked at the open door of the car. The air conditioning wafting out felt like a promise of a different world. If she stayed, she would die here, just like her mother. If she left, she had a chance.

Her hand trembled. She loosened her grip.

The bag dropped. It hit the mud with a wet thud, tipping over. The stuffed bear spilled out, face down in a puddle of oil and rainwater.

Faith let out a small, strangled sound.

"Get in," Julian ordered.

She stepped over the bag, over the bear, and climbed into the car. The door slammed shut, sealing her in a vacuum of silence and leather.

Continue Reading

Other books by Youran Qianwu

More
His Other Woman, My New Life

His Other Woman, My New Life

Romance

5.0

This Valentine's Day, I finally convinced my boyfriend of ten years, Ethan Hayes, to take me to that trendy new restaurant, the one with a six-month waitlist. It was our tenth anniversary, a big deal, and I thought maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. We had just sat down when his phone rang. It was Ashley Cooper. I heard Ethan say, "Don't be silly, you're more understanding than her. I'll be right back." He walked out and never returned. I sat there alone until the restaurant closed. He sent a text later: "Ashley isn't feeling well. I need to get her home safely. Take a cab home. Text me when you get there." I saw Ashley's social media post with pictures of them, new and old, captioned, "Never learned to grow up, but thankfully, there's always someone to tolerate my whims." Later, back at our apartment, I saw two figures getting into the elevator with Ethan. It had to be Ashley. He texted, "I'm tired. I don't want to fight tonight." I felt a crushing weight. After college, I had turned down a fantastic job offer to follow Ethan, giving up my dreams for his. I lost touch with most of my old friends. Now, I truly had nowhere to go. I had spent ten years waiting for him, helping him build his life and his business. I had been "understanding" and "obedient," always putting his needs first, only to be compared to Ashley, the woman he truly desired. Why did I sacrifice everything for him? That night, I picked up my phone and sent him two texts: "I don't want to be understanding anymore. Ethan, we're over." It was time to find out who Chloe Miller was without him.

The Unwanted Supply

The Unwanted Supply

Horror

5.0

Returning to my Chicago office after maternity leave, I craved the familiar rhythm of marketing and the comfort of normalcy. But on my very first day back, a strange woman from accounting, Brenda, confronted me with a bizarre, unsettling demand. Convinced my breast milk was the miraculous cure for her 19-year-old developmentally disabled son, Kevin, she insisted I provide it, "directly and on demand." My polite refusal ignited a terrifying, obsessive campaign of harassment. Brenda's actions escalated from chilling threats to physical confrontations, culminating in a horrifying ambush in the company lactation room. She deliberately tore my clothes, began filming, and shamelessly urged her large son to assault me for my milk. Even after this grotesque attack, HR downplayed it as a mere "workplace dispute," paralyzed by Brenda's expert manipulation of Kevin's disability and her theatrical victimhood. Police, overwhelmed by her counter-accusations and her son' s condition, offered no arrests, only warnings. I was left reeling, violated, and utterly betrayed by a system designed to protect employees. Brenda's smug victory, coupled with subtle, continued threats, pushed me to the brink. How could I be safe when my workplace allowed such depravity, bending to one woman' s deranged obsession? With official help impossible and my personal safety compromised, I realized I had to fight back on my own terms. My retired Marine Sergeant father and powerful football-player nephew became my unexpected allies. Brenda had declared war; I decided it was time to find my own weapons.

You'll also like

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I Slapped My Fiancé-Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Jessica C. Dolan
4.9

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book