Elijah couldn’t believe what was unfolding before him. Young master? What do they mean by young master? The way hundreds of bodyguards bowed in unison, showing utmost respect, was beyond anything he had ever seen. He had always been invisible, blending into the shadows, unnoticed and unimportant. Yet, here he was, the center of attention in a way he never imagined. People passing by stopped in their tracks, eyes wide in disbelief, watching the surreal display. Even cars slowed, some drivers rolling down their windows to catch a glimpse of what looked like a scene out of a movie. What was even more baffling was that all this grandeur was directed at someone like him—a man who wore secondhand clothes and barely made ends meet. Elijah clenched his fists, unsettled by the absurdity of it all. “You must be mistaken,” he said, his voice sharp as he turned to Alfred, the leader of the group. “I think you've got the wrong guy.” Alfred remained calm, his expression unwavering. “Young mast

Morning came faster than expected, and Elijah found himself riding his worn-out scooter through the busy streets of New York, heading towards Windsor Company’s branch office. Despite the hustle of the city, Elijah couldn't help but notice the towering structure of Windsor’s building in the distance. Even though it was just a branch, the architecture was breathtaking—something straight out of a prestigious architectural magazine. The glass windows shone brightly under the rising sun, making the building look sharp and modern. Its clean, smooth lines gave it a powerful appearance, like it was built for only the most important people. Elijah, standing outside in his scuffed shoes and old, worn jacket, looked completely out of place. This was the kind of place where the rich and powerful belonged, and it looked like he didn’t fit in at all. After parking his scooter in a spot he barely managed to find, Elijah stepped off and let out a deep sigh. Glancing at the time on his watch

Elijah clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he stood in the hospital corridor. There were a thousand emotions running through his mind, and they were all drenched in grief, garnished by anger. The muffled hum of distant voices was drowned out by the pounding of his pulse. He couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t think straight. A tight knot formed in his throat, as if an invisible hand had wrapped around it, squeezing in a way that made it hard to breathe. “Take me to her,” he spoke, his voice low, maybe hoping they made a mistake, and she was awake and well. The doctor shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Mr. Stone, I… I don’t think that’s wise right now. You’re upset, and—” “Don’t waste my time with excuses!” Elijah snapped, his voice rising. “I want to see my mother. Now.” The doctor hesitated but eventually nodded, motioning for Elijah to follow. The walk to the morgue felt like it took hours, every second passing was filling him with ev

Morning came slower than usual, the soft light of the sun poured through the small cracks of the curtains. The morning was quiet, but to Elijah, it was anything but peaceful. He was sitting at the edge of his bed, his hand fastening the buttons on his shirt. He couldn’t sleep last night, the thoughts that clouded his mind made it almost impossible. The conversation he had with Alfred last night over the phone was still present in his mind. Marylin Kingsley. The only female grandchild to Matthew Kingsley, the head of Kingsley Enterprises. She was the recipient of the heart that was supposed to be Esther’s, according to Alfred, she had no apparent involvement in the exchange. Of course she didn’t, she was too sick to think. Vengeance was on his mind, but it was the last on his list. Success was first. His reflection in the mirror stared back, stray locks of his black hair fell over his face. Esther’s voice occasionally rang in his mind, her exact words to him. ‘“You can’

Elijah sat at his desk, examining some reports placed on his table by Alfred. The morning sunlight that bled through the window cast a soft glow on his desk. It has been a week since what happened in the Stone mansion that night, maybe that was part of the reason as to why he began to exhaust himself in work. He was quickly starting to adjust into his role, and everything seemed to come naturally. The New York Windsor branch reflected positively over the week, Profits were higher, the promotional aspect was going amazing, and the company operations were running smoothly. But it seemed like all these sudden changes were beginning to sprout rumors. Local New York magazines began to speculate, asking questions no one knew the answer to. Headlines such as “Rumor In Town: Does the Windsor family have an heir?” and “Latest Gossip: Some whispers have revealed the possibility of a secret heir to the Windsor bloodline.” were circulating through town. It was kind of suspicious that the