The Chosen Heir

Chapter 19: He was in control

Brooklyn’s office was silent the moment she left.

Her scent still lingered in the air, faint but mocking, like a reminder that she had come into his space, listened to his offer, and spat it back in his face without hesitation. Brooklyn’s jaw worked as he stared at the closed door. No woman had ever walked away from him like that, least of all the wife of a man like Ash.

He moved back to his desk slowly, lowering himself into the leather chair as though anchoring his fury. He steepled his fingers, tapping them against his lips, eyes narrowed.

Ash. Always Ash.

It wasn’t enough that the man had nothing, no wealth, no influence, nothing to his name. Somehow, he still carried himself like someone who mattered. Worse, he had her. A woman who should have chosen better, chosen him. Brooklyn had offered her a way out of struggle, out of poverty, out of shame. He had practically handed her a lifeline on a silver platter. And she refused. For what? Loyalty to a man already drowning?

The rejection didn’t sting because she said no. It stung because she chose Ash. She'll regret it.

Brooklyn exhaled slowly, pushing back his irritation until it cooled into something sharper. If she wanted to stay with her husband, fine. Let her see what kind of man Ash truly was when stripped bare of whatever false pride he carried.

He picked up his phone and dialed. It rang once before a voice answered.

“Sir.”

“Get on his phone,” Brooklyn said, his voice smooth, calculated. “Now.”

The line was silent for a beat. Then: “Asher’s?”

“Yes.” Brooklyn leaned back, spinning his chair just slightly toward the city skyline that stretched beyond his office window. “He’s using some outdated trash, isn’t he? No encryption, no proper security. It should take you less than five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brooklyn ended the call without another word. His pulse had steadied, the sting of humiliation already dulling under the satisfaction of action. This was how power worked, not in begging, not in pleading, but in control. And control, he would have.

Minutes later, a notification pinged.

Access granted.

Brooklyn’s lips curved. His techs were the best, loyal, discreet, and efficient. He opened the shared access link and suddenly, Ash’s life unfolded in front of him.

The screen was pitiful: cluttered texts, endless spam, half-broken apps barely functioning. A man too poor even to manage a decent device. Brooklyn scrolled with a mixture of disgust and anticipation. Messages about overdue bills.

Pathetic.

“So this is the man she chose,” he murmured, shaking his head. His thumb flicked lazily, flipping through the chaos that was Ash's digital world.

Then he saw it.

A notification slid across the top of the feed:

Application Approved. Funds will be deposited shortly.

Brooklyn’s eyes stilled on the words, drinking them in like a fine wine. Slowly, his smirk widened, cruel and amused.

“Oh, Asher” he whispered, leaning back in his chair. “So this is your salvation? Borrowed crumbs. Five thousand dollars to stitch your broken pride together.”

He chuckled, low and cold, the sound vibrating in the quiet office. He imagined Ash somewhere out there, clutching his phone like it held the keys to a new life, unaware that Brooklyn was watching every move.

And the best part? With one swipe, one forwarded screenshot, he could expose Ash to the world. He could let everyone see the man’s desperation.

But not yet. No, this was sweeter. Watching. Waiting. Letting Ash stumble deeper into the pit he thought was a ladder.

Brooklyn locked his screen and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. The game had shifted. He wasn’t just jealous anymore, he was in control.

And Ash…

Ash would never see it coming.