Novels by The Heirless

Rafe finally stood up and dragged himself toward the sink and splashed cold water on his face, watching the pink-tinted drops fall into the basin. His reflection stared back, hollow eyes, bruised lip, jaw tight with exhaustion.He had almost died a few minutes ago.He pushed away from the mirror, pacing.It wasn’t just humiliation anymore. They actually wanted him gone.Then, a faint chime.The air in the room seemed to hum. Rafe froze. The reflection in the window flickered, then the System appeared again, lettering glowing faint blue across the glass.[SYSTEM ALERT: USER EXPOSED TOO EARLY] Threat Level: Critical. Observation Detected – Multiple Entities.Recommendation: Relocation Required.Rafe blinked hard, his breath catching. “What do you mean exposed?” he muttered. “You’re saying people know… about you?”The text pulsed.System: “Attention has been drawn to your sudden rise, Rafe Miller. Visibility threatens continuity.”Rafe rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think. His

London had a strange way of going quiet after midnight.The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still glistened under the orange lamplight, slick and reflective like sheets of glass.Rafe crossed the bridge toward South Bank, the faint hum of the Thames beneath him.His new suit hung perfectly, the expensive fabric hugging his shoulders, a small, quiet reminder that the man walking home tonight was not the same one who once bowed to the Li family’s insults.He felt lighter somehow.Not happy, just… focused.Every step brought him closer to something he couldn’t yet name.His phone buzzed in his pocket.[Sub-Alert: Unusual Movement Detected.]Rafe frowned. “Unusual movement?” he murmured.He stopped at the end of the bridge and glanced behind him. The street was mostly empty, a delivery van passing in the distance, a couple huddled under an umbrella, a lone cyclist gliding past.Everything looked normal.He shrugged it off and kept walking.By the time he reached the narrow str

The bell above the door chimed softly as Rafe turned toward the voice.Jacob Levi stood near the entrance of the luxury store, grinning like he owned the place. His navy suit was crisp, his tie knotted perfectly, and his eyes carried that same glint of entitlement Rafe remembered too well.“Rafe Miller,” Jacob drawled, walking closer with that slow, confident stride of someone who never once doubted the ground beneath him. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Lost, are we?”Rafe didn’t respond. He simply adjusted the jacket he was holding, his fingers brushing the fine wool fabric.Jacob laughed, shaking his head. “You always were full of surprises. From begging your wife for lunch money to browsing Hartmann suits? What’s next, a yacht?”Rafe exhaled through his nose, calm. The insults didn’t sting anymore. They just sounded small.“I heard about you,” Jacob continued, stepping closer until their reflections shared the same mirror. “The disgrace of the Li family. Raising a small dying cafe

Rain returned the following morning.It always did in London, falling in slow, apologetic sheets that blurred everything into grey.Rafe sat by the window of his modest South Bank flat, the glow of his laptop screen reflecting off the mug of black coffee beside him. The city outside hummed faintly, buses growling, footsteps splashing through puddles, a siren in the distance.On his screen, a spreadsheet blinked back at him.Company names. Stock prices. Notes scribbled like scattered thoughts.Finance for beginners, the title of the tab read.He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared about the importance of a portfolio. Now, he was consuming everything he could, equity, valuation, market trends, leverage ratios.Not because he suddenly adored numbers.But because numbers were the language of those who had ridiculed him. Those he wanted to crush.Clara’s father had once scoffed across their dinner table, his voice dripping with disdain.“You wouldn’t last

Rafe cursed under his breath, “Who the hell are you?” and chased after him.The rain hit the pavement in silver sheets as he burst through the cafe door.“Rafe? Where are you going?!”He ignored Amara’s calls, his attention drilled to one person. The system user.“Hey!” Rafe called out. The man didn’t stop.He moved fast, dancing through the crowd like smoke, slipping between pedestrians and puddles with so much precision.Rafe followed, shoving past people, ignoring their protests. His shoes splashed through puddles, breath clouding in the cold air.The man turned down a narrow side street, glancing back once, his eyes glowing faintly blue.Rafe’s pulse spiked. He really is a System user too.“Stop!” Rafe shouted. “You— you know about it, don’t you?”The man didn’t respond. Instead, he darted across the street as a car honked, brakes screeching inches away.Rafe barely cleared the next lane, his jacket sleeve brushing against a side mirror. His lungs burned, but adrenaline drowned mo

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving London wrapped in a grey haze.The streets glistened, buses hissed through puddles, and Rafe moved quietly among the crowd, just another face in the city that had already forgotten him.He stopped by a lamppost to check his phone.A faint blue flicker appeared in his vision.[SYSTEM MISSION #2: PROVE YOUR WORTH]Objective: Earn £10,000 profit in 48 hours without using System money.Reward: unknown.Penalty: Balance deduction – £1,000,000.He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, huh?”Two days. No System funds.Just him, and his brain.And honestly comparing it to what he faced in the Li’s house, it was nothing.By afternoon, he wandered through South Bank’s quieter streets, the ones where old shops clung to life between shiny glass towers. Thaat’s when he saw it: “CLOSING DOWN SALE – 3 DAYS LEFT”, printed across the dusty window of a small café.He paused. The place looked dead — lights dimmed, furniture stacked near t

Marcus spent the night surrounded by evidence of his own destruction.The conference room had become his war room. Victor had left him alone around midnight with a promise to return at dawn. The cork boards on the wall were no longer just documentation—they were a battle map. He'd rearranged photos, drawn new connections in markers, and identified weaknesses in his enemies' armor.The Bradfords weren't just cruel. They were sloppy. Desperate. And desperation made people careless.When Victor returned at six AM with coffee and bagels, he found Marcus standing in front of the wall, still wearing yesterday's suit, eyes red but focused."You didn't sleep," Victor observed."Couldn't." Marcus accepted the coffee gratefully. "I kept seeing different patterns and connections. The Bradfords think they're so careful, but they're not. They're bleeding from a thousand cuts and trying to hide it with expensive suits and charity galas."Victor set down the bag of bagels and studied Marcus's additi

The next day at exactly seven forty-five PM , Marcus stood in front of a full-length mirror in the conference room bathroom, gazing at himself. "You look like you're preparing for war," Victor said from the doorway.Marcus glanced at him. "Aren't I?""That depends on what you want”.Marcus turned from the mirror, looking at the card on Victor’s hand. "The Velvet Room. What is it?""It's a private club in Midtown. Victor handed Marcus the small card. "Show this to the host and he'll take you to your father's private room."Marcus put the card inside his pocket. "Will you be there?""I won't be inside. Your father said you should come alone, and he'll know if I'm there. But I'll be nearby. If things go badly..." Victor pulled back his jacket slightly, showing the gun he placed at his hip. "If things go badly, I'll know."Marcus straightened his tie one final time. "I spent five years believing I could escape him. I was wrong about that.""Were you?" Victor asked. "Or were you just f

"They were always going to frame you," Victor corrected. "That was part of the plan. The divorce was step one. Step two was supposed to be this: file criminal charges, have you arrested, and use the scandal to distract from their own financial crimes. With you in prison and disgraced, nobody would look at Bradford Industries' real problems.""When?" Marcus asked. "When were they planning to do this?""According to the communications I intercepted, they were going to wait a few months. They want you to feel comfortable. Then, they'd strike when you least expected it." Victor's jaw tightened. "But Cameron's visit this morning might have accelerated their timeline. If he reports back that you refused their offer and assaulted him—""I didn't assault him.""You put your hands on Bradford. That's all the story they need." Victor gestured to another stack of papers. "These are pre-written police reports, witness statements from Bradford Industries employees who'll swear they saw you acting

The Mercedes moved through Queens but Marcus barely noticed. His mind was still processing Victor's words, turning them over like puzzle pieces. “Daniel, my brother, seduced my wife”."Where are we going?" Marcus asked."Somewhere private," Victor replied, his eyes on the road. "Somewhere we can talk without interruption. Your father owns a building in Tribeca. He uses it for... sensitive meetings.""Does he know you're taking me there?"Victor's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "He knows I found you five years ago, Young Master. He ordered me to watch but not interfere. What he doesn't know is that I've been compiling my own records of everything that's happened to you against…”.Marcus looked at Victor in the rearview mirror. "Against what?""Against..." Victor paused, choosing his words carefully. "Against the possibility that you might need leverage against your own family.""Why?" Marcus asked. "You're loyal to my father. You've served him for thirty years."

Marcus woke up to the sound of sirens.They were distant, probably three or four blocks away from his small studio apartment in Queens. The walls were thin enough that he could hear Mrs. James next door arguing with her daughter about college applications. Below him, someone was playing salsa music at six-thirty in the morning. Marcus lay still for a moment, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a bird in flight. The wine-stained shirt lay crumpled on the floor where he'd dropped it. Marcus's phone buzzed on the milk crate he used as a nightstand. He'd received seventeen calls since last night. Five from blocked numbers. Three from Victoria's lawyer. Nine from Bradford Industries' HR department.Checking his phone, the text message from last night sat in his phone like a bomb with an unknown timer. “Welcome home, Young Master”.Only a handful of people in the world would call him that. And only one would have the audacity to send that message last night

The champagne flowed like water through the Bradford mansion, and Marcus Chen stood in the corner watching his marriage die to the sound of laughter.He'd positioned himself near the marble pillar by the east wing entrance, far enough from the crowd to be forgotten, close enough to fulfill his purpose for being there. The pillar was cool against his shoulder , a small comfort against the suffocating heat of two hundred people in the hall.Designer dresses swished past him. Expensive cologne mixed with the scent of imported roses that Judith Bradford had flown in from Ecuador for the occasion. Everything in this house was excessive. Everything except his worth."More champagne, sir?"Marcus glanced at the young server, who couldn't be more than twenty-two, probably working his way through college. "No, thank you," Marcus said quietly.The server nodded and moved away, and Marcus returned his attention to the dance floor where his wife—soon to be ex-wife—swayed in the arms of another