Silas stepped out onto the marble terrace, the echo of celebration fading behind the heavy French doors. The night air was cool, carrying a hint of jasmine from the gardens below and the distant pulse of string instruments slipping through the windows. He spotted Mat leaning against a column beneath an amber lantern, his silhouette half‑lit by the soft glow. Silas’s chest tightened—every muscle tensed for confrontation.He took a steadying breath. “Mat,” he said, voice low.Mat turned, a wry smile curving his lips. In his hand, he held two crystal tumblers and a silver flask. “Silas,” he greeted, “you look… tense. Come have a drink with me.”Before Silas could even respond, Mat uncapped the flask and poured amber liquid into both glasses. The spirits caught the lantern light, glimmering like molten gold. Mat handed one to Silas and raised his own. “We’ve always been brothers, you know, even though we just got to meet recently” he said, his tone gentle, almost wistful. “Not by bloo

Across the city, the Lancaster ceremony was impossible to miss. Gigantic LED billboards atop skyscrapers flickered to life, bathing streets in radiant white and gold: “Silas Lancaster—Heir to the Lancaster Dynasty.” Drivers slowed at intersections, rolling down their windows to hear the broadcast’s opening fanfare echo from speakers mounted on lampposts. Even in taxi cabs and buses, overhead monitors switched to live coverage, and radio DJs paused their playlists to read breaking news bulletins, their voices crackling over the airwaves.On a bustling avenue near the financial district, clusters of office workers spilled onto the sidewalks, cell phones in hand. They craned their necks toward the mammoth screen on the side of a glass tower. “So that’s him?” one young banker muttered, eyebrow raised. “Silas Lancaster—who used to be Lilian Lawson’s husband.” Her friend, a marketing executive, nodded, sipping her latte. “I always felt sorry for the guy,” she admitted. “Always stuck

The first pale fingers of dawn slipped through the blackout drapes, tracing silvery lines across Silas’s bedroom floor. He stirred beneath the crisp linens, mind still humming with the afterglow of last night’s triumph. A gentle rap at the door pulled him from sleep.“Come in,” he mumbled, voice thick with drowsiness.The door opened to reveal Mrs. Okoye, the housekeeper, poised and immaculate in her crisp uniform. She bowed, a warm smile lighting her eyes even though her head remained respectfully lowered. “Good morning, Master Silas,” she greeted, her voice soft but bright. “Congratulations again on your presentation last night. The chef has prepared your breakfast, and Mr. Isaac is downstairs, ready to drive you to the office.” Silas blinked awake. “Thank you, Mrs. Okoye. I’ll be down in a minute.” She inclined her head once more, then slipped out. Silas swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor waking his senses. He strode toward the adjoining bathroom—a mot

Morning sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lancaster headquarters as Mat stepped out of the elevator onto the 42nd floor. The quiet hum of white-noise machines and the soft click of heels echoed in the corridor. Mat paused outside Silas’s office, took a breath, and knocked once. “Come in,” Silas’s voice called. Mat opened the door and entered, finding Silas behind his massive teak desk, poring over a stack of folders. He looked up, and the two men met in the middle of the spacious office for a firm handshake. “Mat,” Silas greeted, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Good to see you. How are you finding your first day as heir?” Mat asked.Silas chuckled, tapping the edge of a folder. “Managing. The staff have been incredible—gracious, efficient. I couldn’t ask for a better welcome.” Mat’s eyes rested for a moment on the panoramic city view behind Silas before he looked back. “Glad to hear it. I came by to make it even easier. What can I help you

The Lancaster Headquarters was already alive with movement and purpose. From the legal department to the financial wing, each corridor hummed with quiet energy. Keyboards clicked in rhythmic unison, phones buzzed intermittently, and clipped conversations filled the air as staff bustled with their morning tasks. Inside the sleek, spacious corner office on the top floor, Silas Lancaster was buried neck-deep in a maze of paperwork. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened. The early sun filtered through the massive glass windows behind him, casting a golden hue over the desk piled high with documents awaiting his attention. He reached for another file, eyes scanning numbers and legalese, when the soft creak of the door opening reached his ears. Without lifting his gaze, he sighed. “I really do not want to be disturbed this morning, Nancy,” he said flatly, assuming it was his PA again. “Good morning to you too.” The voice stop