The Forsaken Heir

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The iron bars creaked softly as the cell door opened. Heavy steps echoed in the prison corridor. The usually boisterous inmates suddenly fell silent, turning their heads with curious gazes. In the doorway stood a middle-aged man in a well-tailored black suit, his face polished with a falsely thin smile.

Edmund Blackwood.

Her uncle.

"Adrian..." Edmund's voice was flat yet sweet, like honey drizzled over poison. He entered, followed by two prison guards who looked subservient to him. "It is sad to see you in a place like this."

Adrian looked up from the iron bench, his face still bruised from the beating a few days ago. But his gaze was cold and wary.

"Why did you come here?" he asked softly.

Edmund let out a long breath, as if he felt his nephew's pain. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After your brother and your father left, I felt obligated to look after the only Blackwood blood left."

That sentence made Adrian's blood boil. The only Blackwood blood? Edmund didn't deserve to call himself the family guardian, he was the mastermind of this whole mess.

But Adrian knew that showing anger now would only satisfy his uncle. So he bowed his head, putting on a tired face as if he had already given up. "I can't fight back, Uncle. Everyone believes that I am guilty. They even call me a failed heir." Her voice was hoarse and broken.

Edmund smiled smugly, his eyes shining coldly. He patted Adrian's shoulder, feigning encouragement. "Perhaps you should accept your fate. The business world is too cruel for a kid like you. Just leave everything to me. I'll take care of the Blackwood Group while you spend your time here."

Those words were like a gold plated knife.

Adrian held back the faint smile that wanted to break out at the corners of his lips. He knew very well that Edmund had not come to comfort him, but to drive his despair deeper. Let it be. Let him believe that Adrian was broken.

"Thank you, Uncle." Adrian said softly.

Edmund got up, straightened his suit, and walked out with triumphant steps. The watching inmates looked at each other, some chuckling at the sight of the "heir" bowing so low before his uncle.

But only Adrian knew that the mask was only the beginning of a long plan.

---

Later that evening, when Adrian returned to his cell, a group of prisoners were waiting. They weren't just any guys - big muscles, tattoos all over their bodies, with bloodthirsty gazes. Their leader, a man named Vargo, grinned widely.

"Little rich guy, your time is up," he muttered, gripping a blunt iron bar.

Adrian knew this had to be Edmund again.

Without warning, they beat Adrian up. Punches slammed into his stomach and face. His body staggered, blood flowing from the corners of his lips. But this time, he had no intention of taking it for granted.

His cellmate Lucas, a former street fighter had taught him a simple technique. use agility, not strength. Attack weak points, not hard muscles.

As Vargo swung, Adrian ducked quickly, then slammed his elbow into his opponent's ribs. A "crunch" sound was heard. Vargo groaned in pain.

The other inmates advanced, but Adrian moved quickly. He dodged, kicked his opponent's knee, sending the man to the ground screaming. Two more tried to choke him from behind, but Adrian elbowed one of them hard in the face, then bent the other arm until it was almost severed.

Screams and shouts filled the cell.

For the first time, the prisoners saw Adrian not just as a spoiled heir who had fallen from a golden throne, but as a man who could fight back.

Vargo staggered, his face covered in sweat and blood. "You... asshole..." he muttered.

Adrian approached, looking into the man's eyes. "Tell Edmund." his voice was calm yet sharp, "That I will not die easily."

But after everything calmed down, Adrian lay on his narrow bed, staring at the rusty ceiling. His body ached, riddled with new wounds. However, underneath the pain, there was a small fire that kept burning.

It brought him back to his childhood memories.

He remembered being ten years old, standing in the backyard of Blackwood Manor. His father, Richard Blackwood, was teaching him how to use a wooden sword.

"It's not about how hard you hit, Adrian," Richard said with a smile, looking at his eager son. "It's about how you stand back up after falling down. That's the honor of a Blackwood."

Little Adrian nodded, although his hands trembled as he held the wooden sword that was too big for him.

Richard patted his son's shoulder. "Remember this, son. The world will always try to bring you down. Stocks may crumble, reputations may be ruined. But the Blackwood name our family honor can only be lost if you give up."

The memories pierced Adrian's heart. Now, his father was gone, but the message resonated stronger than ever.

With his hands clenched, Adrian whispered to himself in the darkness of the cell.

"Father... I swear. I will revive the Blackwood name. They may call me a failed heir now, but I will return. And when that time comes. Edmund will pay for his sins."