The Heir apparent

Three

Caelum gripped the worn strap of his duffel bag as he stepped away from Rowan’s birthday party.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses slowly faded until it was just a soft buzz, but Seraphine’s cruel words still stung him.

He reached the base of the grand staircase when her cruel voice broke through the stillness. “Hey, soldier-boy! Where do you think you’re going with that trash of a bag?”

Caelum stopped, his boots making a dull sound on the shiny stone floor. Seraphine was leaning against the fancy railing, wearing a cream cashmere coat over her shoulders. Her eyes were full of spite. A few guests stood nearby, some distant Dray relatives and a Morrow family business partner—who stopped talking to watch.

“There’s no room for you here,” she said, her voice was so loud that the servants polishing silver in the next room could hear her. “Take your garbage to the boys’ quarters.”

She looked at a footman standing near the stairs, who looked nervous and unsure. “Escort him. Make sure he doesn’t wander where he doesn’t belong.”

The footman hesitated, his eyes flicked to Caelum’s scarred hands, then he gave a stiff nod. “This way, sir,” he muttered, pointing toward the servants’ area. Behind them, the guests tried to hide their laughter, but it felt as cold as a winter breeze.

They stared at Caelum’s old cheap shirt and worn-out shoes. A woman in a bright blue dress whispered something to her friend, who covered her mouth and laughed.

Caelum’s face remained a mask, but his grip on the duffel tightened until his knuckles whitened. “I know the way,” he said, his voice low and stuttering, cutting through the mockery. “And this bag’s worth more to me than your diamonds.”

Seraphine’s smirk faded for a moment, her eyes showing a flash of anger or maybe surprise. Then her smile returned, cold like the marble floor. “You’re just a guest here, Dray. Nothing more. Leave.”

Caelum turned away, with the footman following behind him awkwardly. They walked through the fancy halls to the boys’ quarters, a plain, hidden part of the house behind the servants’ rooms. His room was bare: just a small bed with a thin blanket, an old wooden dresser with scratches, and one window looking out at the dark yard where rain fell on broken concrete.

He dropped the duffel by the door and sank onto the bed’s edge, the springs groaning under his weight.

His mind kept spinning, Seraphine’s harsh words, the guests’ laughter, and how his own parents looked right through him. Five years ago, he took the blame for Rowan, a brother not even related by blood, because Augustus Dray called him “strong enough” to handle it. Now he was back, and they still treated him like a tool, not a son.

A soft knock broke his reverie. The door creaked open, and a young maid—her name tag read “Lila”, stepped inside, balancing a tray with a simple plate of bread and stew. Her dark hair was tied back, and her eyes flickered with something like pity, though she kept her movements brisk. She set the tray on the dresser, her hands steady but gentle.

“Master Caelum,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re invited to the family dinner tonight. You should come.” She hesitated, glancing at the door, then slipped a folded napkin onto the tray. “It’s not my place, but… you don’t deserve how they treat you.”

Caelum looked up, surprise showing on his tired face. “Dinner? With them?”

Lila nodded, her eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the floor. “Yes. Please.” She turned and left quickly.

Caelum stared at the napkin, unfolding it to find a scrawled note in smudged ink: “You’re not alone. Be careful.” His jaw tightened, a spark of resolve igniting in his chest. It was a small gesture, but in this house of snakes, it felt like a lifeline.

He tucked the note into his pocket, the paper crinkling against the platinum band he’d carried since the trial, a promise that meant nothing.

In the Dray master study, behind locked oak doors, the air was filled with cigar smoke and old leather.

Augustus Dray poured three glasses of bourbon, the golden-brown drink shining in the lamp’s light. The room was filled with books and family portraits, their painted eyes seeming to watch silently.

Clarissa Morrow sat across from him, her diamond earrings sparkling like bits of ice.

Isadora Dray stood by the window, her silver dress bright against the dark glass, her face calm, like she was always planning something.

“The waterfront project is bleeding us dry,” Clarissa said, her voice clipped, each word precise. “The Morrows need Dray capital to secure it, or we lose our foothold in Meridian. Seraphine’s marriage to Caelum is the only way.”

Augustus’s eyes narrowed, his broad shoulders stiff. “The Dray estate demands a legitimate heir. Caelum’s our blood. The boy we raised—” He paused, glancing at Isadora, who didn’t meet his gaze. “Rowan can’t inherit. Not legally.”

Isadora’s lips pressed into a thin line, her pearls glinting as she turned. “Caelum secures the birthright. Once he marries Seraphine, we ensure it passes to her. The families unite, the waterfront deal closes, and the Drays dominate Meridian’s skyline.”

Clarissa smiled coldly, her thoughts cruel: “Caelum will sign his birthright to Seraphine, giving us control of the Dray empire’s key assets. Then she divorces him, marries Rowan, and the Morrows hold the reins.”

“Seraphine knows her role,” she said aloud, her voice smooth as silk. “She’ll play the loyal fiancée for the public. After, Rowan takes his place as the true heir.”

Augustus raised his glass, the bourbon glinting. “We announce the engagement at dinner tonight with the family only, no press. The prodigal son returns, the Morrows and Drays unite. The shares stay ours, and the waterfront project seals our legacy.”

Isadora nodded, with her eyes distant and sharp. “Caelum won’t fight it. He never has.”

Clarissa’s smile tightened, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “He’d better not. The Morrows don’t tolerate loose ends.”

The dining hall was grand and fancy. A long mahogany table shined with expensive china and silverware. Crystal chandeliers hung on the ceiling, casting a soft light over the family gathered around the table. Their faces showed polite smiles, but you could tell everyone had their own secret agenda.

Caelum sat at the far end, purposely alone near the head of the table sat Seraphine, acting like a queen. She glanced at Caelum with a look that mixed dislike and worry. Rowan was next to her, dressed perfectly in a navy suit, smirking.

Opposite Clarissa sat Augustus and Isadora, their expressions hard to read. The rest of the table was filled with cousins and uncles, their quiet talking creating a soft background noise.

The meal began in tensed silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the occasional murmur. Caelum felt the weight of every glance, and whisper. Lila served quietly, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment.

He kept his head down, the stew tasteless despite its richness.

Augustus stood abruptly, raising his glass, his voice cutting through the silence. “Tonight, we welcome Caelum back to the family. And we announce his engagement to Seraphine Morrow. This union strengthens our families and secures our future.”

Polite clapping filled the room, but it felt empty, like the sound of a door quietly closing. Rowan’s smirk grew longer, and his eyes sparkled with victory.

Seraphine stared at Caelum, her look stuck between confidence and a hint of doubt. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass.

Isadora sat up straighter, with her pearl necklace catching the light with a cold shine. Clarissa smiled like a hunter watching her prey, her eyes fixed on Caelum, as if she were sizing him up for a trap.

He said nothing. What was there to say? He was the biological son, but treated like a stranger— a tool. They’d decided his engagement without him, like he was some pawn to be moved across the board. No choice nor voice. Not a son, not a man, just a name to sign where they pointed. A humiliated son, now being shaped into a convenient son-in-law. And all he could do was sit there, pretending it didn’t cut.

After dinner, as people slowly left, Caelum stayed in the dark hallway. His boots made no sound on the marble floor. Then he heard a voice—Lucan, Rowan’s cousin, talking on the phone near the stairs. His tone was quiet but clear.

“Rowan’s meeting the Brandons next week,” Lucan said. “If Caelum doesn’t cooperate, he’ll sell the waterfront contracts. If that happens, the whole family is finished.”