The Heir apparent

Two

The Bentley's engine went quiet. Caelum Dray stood at the start of the long driveway leading to the Dray mansion. His boots sank into the gravel, and his old, damp military uniform stuck to him, still wet from the rain outside ICEBOX.

The duffel over his shoulder held everything he owned, its weight a reminder of the nothing he’d brought back. The mansion loomed ahead, white stone pillars and stone lions guarding a world that never wanted him. Fairy lights twinkled through iron gates, and from within, piano notes mingled with the clink of glasses and soft laughter.

Caelum held his duffel bag tighter. He had spent five hard years in the military—long marches, cold beds, and being betrayed by men who’d sold him out for Rowan. But this place still felt the same, the air smelled like wealth and old hatred, just like the day they sent him away.

A servant showed up, glancing at the scar on Caelum’s wrist and his worn-out boots.

“Master Caelum,” the servant said quietly, reaching for the bag. “They’re in the ballroom.”

Caelum let the bag drop to the steps. The servant froze, then straightened, leaving it where it fell.

“For Rowan’s birthday?”

“Yes, sir.” The servant hesitated, then added, “It’s starting now.”

He climbed the steps, boots silent on polished stone, a butler led him through a corridor, past portraits of Augustus Dray’s stern jaw and Isadora’s cold beauty. No picture of Caelum, just an empty space where one might’ve been.

The ballroom doors swung open. Warmth, light, and the hum of Meridian’s elite hit him like a wave. The crowd gathered around a long table, where golden candle stands lit up silver trays of roast lamb and wine worth more than Caelum’s whole life. Eyes turned—some wide, some cruel, most slipping away to murmur behind jeweled hands.

Isadora stood near the table’s head, her silver dress gleaming, with hair pinned tight. Her blue eyes flicked to Caelum, sharp as glass, then moved to Augustus. Broad-shouldered, grey hair swept back, Augustus lifted his glass a fraction. “Caelum,” he said, voice low and empty. “You made it.”

Caelum nodded. “Father.”

Isadora’s pearls caught the light. “Five years,” she said, words flat. “You’re back. Stay out of trouble. You’ve done your part for Rowan.”

A command, not a welcome. Be invisible, be useful. That was his place.

Rowan held court at the crowd’s center, navy suit tailored sharp, hair tousled just right. He laughed, accepting a set of car keys from a cousin, his charm filling the room like smoke. His eyes met Caelum’s, flashing triumph, then turned back to his guests, raising a glass in a mock toast.

Caelum stood at the edge, empty-handed. Seraphine had bought Rowan’s gift at ICEBOX—diamond bracelet, Cuban link chain, glittering on her father’s dime.

He had nothing to give, just the sting of her slap and the memory of her voice: “You worthless orphan”. The crowd parted as guests lined up, offering Rowan gifts—keys to a yacht, a vintage watch, a contract for Dray shares. Each one a reminder of Caelum’s empty pockets.

Rowan’s voice got louder, clear and smooth. “Thank you all,” he said, lifting his glass. He looked sharp in his custom-made suit, smiling perfectly. “Your support means everything.” He didn’t look at Caelum, instead, his eyes found Seraphine across the room. She gave a small nod. “I’m lucky to have you all,” he finished.

Cheers broke out, glasses clinking, gifts piling high, gold, leather, and contract. Seraphine glided closer, her heels snapping on marble. “No gift, Caelum?” she called, loud enough to turn heads. “What, the military didn’t teach you to show up prepared?”

Laughter cut through, quick and cruel. A man in a tux even spilled some wine from laughing.

Caelum tightened his jaw, keeping his face still. “You handled Rowan’s gift,” he said quietly.

Her eyes narrowed, her smile cold. “Rowan deserves more than your sorry excuses. Five years of training, and you’re still nothing.”

Augustus and Isadora stood at the table’s head, silent, their faces blank. Augustus’s grey hair gleamed while Isadora’s pearls caught the light. They didn’t look at Caelum, their true heir, left to fade in Rowan’s shadow.

Rowan leaned on the table, his grin sharp. “What, brother?” he said, voice carrying. “No present? Did the military only teach you to march in circles?”

The laughter grew, biting. Caelum gripped his empty glass, its stem cold. “I’ve got nothing for you,” he said, steady. “Just a favor to ask.”

Rowan’s brows shot up, mocking. “A favor? On my birthday?” He glanced at Seraphine, smirking. “Go on, stray. What’s it this time?”

“I want to see Mother’s greenhouse,” Caelum said. “Behind the south wing. It’s locked. Let me tend it.”

The room fell quiet. The request sounded small against the yachts and watches at Rowan’s feet. Seraphine’s laugh sliced through, loud and cruel. “The greenhouse?” she said, voice echoing. “You want to dig in dirt like some servant?”

Rowan’s grin twisted. “Always loved the mud, didn’t you, Caelum?”

Laughter erupted. A cousin clapped, another’s perfume sharp as she passed with a sneer. Augustus and Isadora stayed silent, their wine glasses still, eyes elsewhere.

Caelum stood firm, the room’s heat heavy with cologne and cake. A servant brushed past, slipping a note into his pocket. He didn’t check it. Later, he’d see the words: “Stay in your place”.

A cousin bumped his shoulder, deliberately, her laugh low like he was filth. Another followed, sneering. Caelum didn’t move, his eyes locked on the candelabras’ flicker, burning like his shame.

Rowan tilted his head, grin fading just enough for the smugness underneath to shine through. “You always wanted what wasn’t yours, brother. Some things never change.”

Seraphine leaned in, voice a hiss only he could hear. “Next time, bring something real. Or don’t come at all.”

He didn’t answer her. Didn’t answer anyone. He turned, stepped through the wall of silk dresses and gold cufflinks, and pushed the ballroom doors open again.

He hadn’t made it five steps before a voice purred, sweet as venom.. Clarissa Morrow, Seraphine’s mother glided up, her gown sparkling, diamonds flashing at her throat. She looked at him like dirt on her heel. “You’re here,” she said, lips thin. “How… brave of you to show, considering.”

He didn’t answer. Clarissa didn’t wait.

“You know,” she went on, fanning herself lazily with a gilded invitation card, “I told Seraphine she was too soft-hearted. Waiting all these years. Any other sensible girl would have moved on. Rowan would have made a lovely match, don’t you think?”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She drifted off, catching the elbow of a family friend, who glanced back at Caelum with faint amusement before they melted into a pocket of murmurs and forced laughter.

He turned away.

The corridor ahead was empty. At the front door, the same servant stood waiting, still as before. Caelum’s duffel sat exactly where it had been dropped, untouched, forgotten.