Adrian Cole; Return of the Lost Heir

Chapter One

The smell of grease clung to Adrian Cole’s hands no matter how hard he scrubbed them. Steam curled around him as he bent over the sink, muscles straining with the rhythm scrape, rinse, wipe, stack. It was menial work, the kind that left his back aching and his pride buried, but at least it kept him busy, he just wanted to be done and go home to his wife for their wedding anniversary.

He moved like a machine, until the sound of sharp heels cracked against the diner’s worn floor.

Adrian turned his head and saw a woman appear.

The woman stepped into the dingy backroom like she had walked out of another world. Her dress was cut to perfection, her presence radiating authority, her beauty too polished for the sour air of grease and detergent. She didn’t belong in a place like this, and there was no way she had come here to eat.

Her eyes found him instantly, and the weight of her stare was enough to still his hands.

“Young Master,” she said. Her voice carried command, but beneath the steel, it trembled with something dangerously close to relief. “Finally… I’ve found you.”

The plate slipped from Adrian’s fingers and clattered into the sink. His chest tightened, but he forced a laugh, sharp and bitter.

“Do I know you? Who's your young master?”

She stepped closer, her perfume slicing through the stench of detergent and damp. Every move she made screamed control, yet her eyes betrayed urgency.

“My name is Isabella Reyes,” she replied evenly. “And you… you’re not supposed to be here scrubbing dishes. You are Adrian Cole, the chairman of Cole's Conglomerate. One of the most powerful men in this country.” Her voice caught for the briefest second. “I’ve been searching for you for three years.”

Adrian stared at her, the words hitting like a punch to the ribs. Then, he shook his head and let out another laugh, because it sounded funny to him.

“Woman? You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m nobody. Just a dishwasher. See?”

But Isabella didn’t waver. She reached into her bag and pulled out two things: a black card that gleamed under the flickering light, and a ring—ancient, etched with time, clearly treasured.

She extended them toward him.

“This card is yours. Check it yourself—the password is your birthday. And this ring… it belonged to your mother before she passed away. It was her most cherished possession. And it belongs to you now.”

Adrian didn’t want to look at them, but something in her tone left no room for argument. With a quiet sigh, he took the card, more to end the conversation than out of belief. The ring felt heavier, colder, and for a long moment he stared at it in silence before curling his fist around it.

He swallowed, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “Keep your fairy tales, Miss Reyes. You’re wasting your time here. I’m not who you think I am.”

But even as he dismissed her, the weight of the ring in his hand unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Three years ago, he had been nothing but a broken body. He remembered opening his eyes in a strange bed, the world around him blank, his past wiped clean. It was his wife’s father who had found him then—lying on the roadside, half-dead, locked in a coma for weeks. The man had nursed him back, given him a roof, a family, a place to belong. Adrian owed everything he had to that moment. And because of that debt, because of the loyalty he now carried, he had never once questioned the life he lived.

But her words clung to him like smoke, but he shoved them away, forcing himself to believe the life he knew—the wife waiting at home, the debt he owed her father—was the only truth that mattered. The ring weighed in his pocket like an accusation, but he scrubbed harder, daring himself not to feel it.

When Isabella finally left, the quiet of the diner pressed back in within minutes.

“Ridiculous,” Adrian muttered under his breath, plunging his hands back into the sink. “Chairman of a conglomerate? Me?” The black card dug against his chest pocket, but he attacked the dishes like he could scrape her words away.

But the sound of polished footsteps came again. Different this time, but familiar colognes.

When Adrian turned, his breath caught.

His wife, Elena, stood in the doorway. She was elegance wrapped in silk and authority, her beauty sharpened by success. And beside her was a man Adrian recognized instantly—Lucas Brown, the arrogant heir to one of the city’s four great families. His suit alone cost more than Adrian’s yearly wages.

“Elena?” Adrian’s voice cracked against the steam-thick air. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes softened at the sound of his voice, but only for a heartbeat. Then steel settled over her expression. She stepped forward, pulling a crisp folder from her bag.

“Adrian… we need to talk.”

The words carried a weight heavier than any plate he had scrubbed. What did she have to say that she can't wait for him to get home? She's never come to his working place to discuss no matter how important it was, not alone coming with Lucas. This twisted his gut, before she even dropped the folder on the counter.

“Divorce papers.”

Adrian stared at them, his chest tightening until every breath hurt. “Divorce? Elena, what are you saying?”

Lucas stepped in smoothly, his tone laced with disdain. “She’s saying she’s outgrown this pathetic life. She’s a CEO now—do you really think a dishwasher fits by her side? She wanted to move on with someone who suited her status, and that person is me.”

Adrian’s fists clenched, the sting of the words slicing deep. But it wasn’t Lucas' words that broke him—it was Elena, her gaze unwavering, her voice calm but final.

“We’re no longer suited, Adrian. Our worlds… they don’t match anymore. You’ve done so much for me, and I’ll never forget that. But it’s time to let go.”

She reached into her bag again, her hand trembled as she slid an envelope across the counter. “Take this, Adrian. It’s compensation. At least you won’t leave empty-handed.”

Adrian stared at it. His chest constricted, like all the air had been ripped from him. His voice came out low, feeling so hurt. “Compensation?”

Her brows knit together, pained. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, just take it. Start over somewhere else.”

Slowly, Adrian pushed the envelope back toward her. His hand didn’t shake this time. His voice, though quiet, cut like glass.

“No. If you’ve decided to leave, I won’t stop you. But don’t try to buy what we had. We weren’t a transaction, Elena.”

He picked up the pen with a trembling hand and signed his name.