The Dark Heir

Brandon's Plan

The Hartwell dining room felt cold that morning.

The long mahogany table was laden with breakfast dishes that had barely been touched. The aroma of black coffee still lingered, but none of them were truly enjoying it.

Celline sat at the side of the table, her back straight. Her hand held a small spoon, turning it slowly on the plate. Her eyes occasionally glanced at Brandon—silent, his jaw tight, a cold aura clearly emanating from him.

Maxel sat opposite her. His face looked calm, but the veins in his neck were tense. He knew this was no ordinary morning.

Brandon set down his coffee cup with a soft thud—too soft to be called rough, but enough to silence all other sounds.

"I want you to leave this house," Brandon said flatly.

Celline was shocked. Her spoon stopped.

Maxel looked up. "What?"

"You heard me." Brandon stared straight ahead. "This is the Hartwell house. Now I am the rightful owner. You have no right to live here."

Maxel laughed short, bitterly. "Are you kidding? I've lived here for years."

"That was before everything changed."

Celline held her breath. She could feel the tension in the air. This wasn't just a family argument—it was war.

Maxel leaned back. "You want to kick me out just like that? In front of—" his eyes glanced at Celline "—the guests?"

Celline reflexively wanted to defend him, but Brandon was quicker.

“She’s not a guest. And that’s irrelevant.” His tone was cold. Cruel.

Celline looked down, her heart beating faster. The Brandon Hartwell she saw now was different from the man whose photo was often featured in business magazines. This was a wounded—and dangerous—Brandon.

“I’m not leaving,” Maxel said firmly. “You can’t force me.”

Brandon stood up.

His chair scraped sharply. "I can hire people to make sure you leave today."

Celline gasped. Her eyes widened.

Maxel stood up too. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Silence.

Finally, Maxel took a deep breath. "Give me time. I'll find a place to stay."

"One day."

"That's crazy."

"That's your problem."

"Seven days," Maxel interjected quickly. "Seven days, Brandon. For Rose. For your mother."

That name made Brandon freeze for a moment.

Rose Hartwell.

Celline saw a small change in Brandon's face—almost imperceptible, but there. An old wound that had not yet healed.

"...A week," Brandon finally said. "No more."

Maxel nodded, then walked away.

Celline was still transfixed.

And when Brandon sat back down, their eyes met.

For the first time, Brandon really saw Celline.

That night, Celline did not go straight to sleep.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, remembering Teresa's words—Mama.

"You don't have to sell yourself. Men like Brandon are more easily won over by someone who makes them feel they're not alone."

Celline took a breath. She wasn't wearing a revealing dress. No excessive makeup. Just simple pyjamas—white, soft. Her hair was left loose.

She knocked on Brandon's door.

It didn't open immediately.

A few seconds later, the door opened halfway.

Brandon stood there with his shirt unbuttoned, looking tired, his eyes dark.

"What is it?" he asked coldly.

Celline swallowed. "I... can't sleep."

Brandon sighed. "That's not my problem."

He was about to close the door.

Celline spontaneously said, "I'm also an outcast."

That sentence stopped everything.

Brandon stared at her sharply.

"What do you mean?"

Celline looked down. "I have no one but Mama Teresa. I know what it's like to have our home taken away from us."

Silence.

Brandon opened the door wider. "Come in," he said briefly.

Celline did not sit close. She chose a chair in the corner.

Not clinging. Not begging.

She was just... there.

"Do you hate me?" Celline asked softly.

Brandon laughed crookedly. "I don't even know you."

"That's enough," Celline replied softly. "Men like you never really know anyone."

Celline stood near Brandon's bedroom window. The curtains were half-open, the afternoon light falling thinly onto the floor.

Brandon sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched, staring at his phone screen without really reading anything.

"Have you... eaten?" Celline finally asked.

Brandon nodded briefly. "Yes."

That was all.

Celline clasped her hands together. She tried again. "Breakfast earlier—I didn't expect it to turn out like that."

"That's how it should be," Brandon replied flatly.

Celline turned her head. "What do you mean?"

Brandon shrugged. "Those who have no right, leave."

His tone was cold, almost emotionless. As if Maxel were just an object out of place.

Celline wanted to say something—about Mama Teresa, about home, about the guilt that came from nowhere—when the door to the room opened loudly.

There was no knock.

Maxel just walked in.

Celline reflexively gasped, turning quickly. Brandon didn't even stand up.

Maxel walked straight towards the bed, his face stern but... strangely, there was a slight smile at the corner of his lips.

Without a word, he threw a brown folder onto the bed.

The folder fell right next to Brandon's thigh.

"Look at that," Maxel said briefly.

Brandon finally looked up. He slowly opened the folder. Several official documents were neatly arranged inside.

Land certificates.

Brandon read one line, then the next.

His eyebrows furrowed.

Celline stepped closer without realising it. "What... is that?"

Brandon lifted the document slightly. "The back house certificate."

Celline froze.

The back house—a small mansion separate from the main building. Where the security guards and maids lived. A building that had always been considered just an additional facility.

"In whose name?" asked Brandon, his voice low.

Maxel crossed his arms. "In my name."

Silence.

Brandon looked at the name on the certificate again. Then the date.

His face hardened.

"The date is a week before Mum died," he muttered.

Maxel nodded. "She transferred the certificate. I still have the right to live here."

"Not here, in the back mansion!" Brandon interrupted.

"Whatever, the point is I'm not leaving."

"So?" he asked coldly. "Are you happy?"

Maxel exhaled deeply. "I thought he was giving me this house. The main mansion. Turns out it's just a small piece of land with a tiny building."

He laughed briefly, hollowly. "But at least I don't have to sleep on the street."

Brandon stood up. "The back house is still Hartwell property."

"And the certificate is in my name," Maxel cut in quickly. "I'm not disturbing your main house. I'm not bothering you. I'll just stay there."

Brandon stared at him for a long time. "The week still applies," Brandon said finally. "After that, you move there. Don't ever enter this house without permission."

Maxel nodded. "I don't intend to." He left Brandon's room without glancing at Celline.

Celline took a deep breath. "Do I have to leave this house too?" she asked. Of course she had to leave, because she was Teresa's daughter, but somehow the question just slipped out of her mouth.

Brandon looked at Celline. "Do you want to stay in this house?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Huh? What? I was just talking nonsense earlier." Celline stammered.

"You can stay in this house, on one condition."

"What?"