TOO LOW TO BE HIS.

THE LONELY HEIR

LEO ARCHER-VANE’S POV

“Enough, Leo! For God’s sake, sit down!”

Cass’s voice sliced through the heavy, jazz-filled air of the lounge, but it sounded miles away. His palms were on his face in frustration. He had tried to keep me in check the whole time, but you can’t keep a drunk man in check, or can you, huh?

I didn’t sit, I couldn’t help myself. My head was spinning faster than the ceiling fans. I gripped the edge of the mahogany bar, my knuckles white, my vision blurring into a smear of gold and velvet.

“Why?” I slurred, the word tripping over my tongue, “why is it enough, Cass? Because the heir to the Archer-Vane throne shouldn’t be weeping into a three-thousand-pound bottle of Macallan? Because it’s uncivilized?”

“Because you’re making a scene,” Cass hissed, grabbing my shoulder.

He looked polished, even at 2 a.m., while I, on the other hand, felt like a structural collapse.

“She’s a b***h, Cass.

a gold-digging, Birkin-bag-collecting bitch.”

I let out a bark of a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

“Do you know what she said, while she was packing the jewelry I bought her? She didn’t even look at me, she just asked if the ‘relocation fee’ had hit her account yet. Fifty thousand pounds, that’s what I was worth to her, a wire transfer.”

I slammed my glass down, I thought it would break, but it didn’t, I would have paid for it, it it broke anyway, and I had more than enough money.

The sound echoed through the elite silence of the club. A few heads turned, Botoxed faces and judgmental eyes, but I didn’t care, I didn’t give a single care in the world.

“I gave her everything!” I shouted, my voice cracking as I burst out laughing. “I opened the vaults, I showed her the real me, and she ran the second the gold stopped flowing.

They all do, every single one of them. They don’t want Leo, they don’t give a f**k about me, they want the ‘Lord Leo Archer-Vane.’ They want the ‘Legacy,’ they want the ‘Land,’ they want the heir.”

I leaned heavily into Cass, my breath smelling of peat and desperation. “I just want to be seen, Cass, is that too much to ask? For one woman to look at me and not see a walking ATM? I crave it, I crave a connection that doesn’t have a price tag.

I’m so damn tired of being the ‘Perfect Son’ for a father who only sees me as a brand, and a mother who…” I paused, my mother, her face flashed in my mind, she had been sick.

“I’m a disgrace,” I whispered, bitterness coating my throat, “I’m the only child, the only hope, and I’m drowning in a glass of scotch because I can’t find one person to love me for free.”

“Leo needs real love, oh Leo Archer needs love,

hahaha, how pathetic.” I sang as I danced around the table.

“Leo, look at me,” Cass tried, his voice softening, but a mean, feminine voice cut him off.

“He is more than a disgrace, Casper, he’s an embarrassment to our entire circle.”

I turned my head slowly, standing there was Lady Beatrice, one of my mother’s “Inner Circle” daughters. She looked at me with the kind of disgust you’d reserve for a stray dog in a five-star hotel, not surprised, after all, we are the elite, we aren’t supposed to be vulnerable, right?

“I’m telling your mother about this, Leo,” she snapped, adjusting her pearls. “She’s at home, fighting for her life, and you’re here acting like a common drunk, you are a stain on your father’s name.”

I looked at her, dead in the eyes, and I started to laugh, it began as a giggle and turned into a full, hysterical roar that made my ribs ache.

“Tell her!” I wheezed, pointing a finger at her. “Tell her the ‘Perfect Son’ is broken, tell her the Archer-Vane bloodline is ending in a Mayfair gutter. Go on, Beatrice, run and tell the Queen that her Prince is a drunk.”

She turned on her heel and marched away, her heels clicking like a death march.

I slumped back against the bar, the laughter dying instantly, I felt empty, completely hollow, like a ghost in a very expensive suit.

“I’m tired, Cass,” I whispered, closing my eyes, “just… take me home.”

I didn’t notice the bartender, he looked suspicious, his eyes darting toward the door to make sure the manager wasn’t watching. He leaned over the counter, his phone hidden in the palm of his hand.

"Click."

The flash was so subtle I thought it was just the alcohol playing tricks on my eyes, but the damage was done, my face, tear-streaked, red, and defeated, was now a digital file.

The heir was down,

and the world was about to watch him bleed.