THE HEIR THEY BURIED ALIVE

THE GRANDFATHER WHO REFUSED TO RECOGNIZE HIM

POV: DORIAN

The Ardent estate looked nothing like Dorian expected.

He’d pictured something massive, honestly. Rich people always did things big. He imagined endless security, gates, marble everywhere, some bored staff wandering polished halls. Instead, all he got was quiet. The kind of silence that crawls under your skin.

The mansion sat high on a hill, watching the city from behind dark windows. Iron gates kept the world out, security cameras slid their attention across every inch of the drive.

Dorian stared through the glass. This was supposed to have been his home, two decades ago. But he couldn’t remember a single thing about it. That stung. Probably more than he wanted to admit.

August sat beside him. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”

Dorian met his eyes. “I’ve spent twenty years not knowing who I am.” He paused, jaw tight. “I’m done waiting.”

The gates hissed open. The car rolled through. Dorian’s heart started to thump.

Somewhere inside, Octavian Ardent waited—his grandfather. The man whose blood supposedly proved he belonged here. The empire once meant for his father, then for him. But honestly, Dorian didn’t care about any empire. He wanted answers.

The car stopped under the entryway. August opened the door. Dorian climbed out.

Security officers watched, stone-faced. Nobody spoke. They all knew—or thought they knew—who he was.

He followed August inside. The place was something else: heavy wood, giant paintings, chandeliers throwing strange light, a staircase that split like a river into two wings. But Dorian didn’t feel at home. He felt like a trespasser, stumbling through someone else’s memories.

Soon they reached a study. August opened the door.

Octavian Ardent sat behind a desk. Dorian had seen photos, but pictures were nothing compared to the real thing. Octavian seemed older than eighty. Silver hair slicked back, ramrod posture, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. This was a man who controlled people and empires just by being in the room.

He looked at Dorian. No warmth. No emotion. Just cold appraisal.

Dorian stopped. The silence stretched.

Octavian finally spoke. “Leave us.”

August hesitated. “Sir—”

“Leave.”

August glanced at Dorian. Dorian nodded, and August slipped out, closing the door.

Now, just him and Octavian.

Octavian stared. Dorian broke first. “You’re my grandfather.”

Octavian didn’t react. “That’s what the DNA says.”

Dorian’s teeth clenched. “Yeah.”

Octavian leaned back. “DNA proves blood,” he said. “It doesn’t prove identity.”

That line hit Dorian hard. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Octavian’s voice stayed calm. “If you’re Cassian, there are things you ought to remember.”

Dorian frowned. “Like what?”

“Your first horse,” Octavian said.

Dorian shook his head. “What?”

“Your fifth birthday.”

Silence.

“The room you slept in.”

Nothing.

“The scar on your left knee.”

Dorian glanced down—there was a faded scar. He’d never figured out where it came from.

Octavian kept going. “The name your mother called you when no one else listened.”

Dorian’s throat tightened. “I don’t remember.”

Octavian didn’t change. “What was your father’s favorite book?”

Dorian’s fists curled. “I don’t know.”

“What did Elena sing to you when you couldn’t sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did Adrian promise you on your fifth birthday?”

Dorian’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “I don’t remember.”

Octavian eyed him, then leaned back. “Then I can’t acknowledge you.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I won’t call you Cassian Ardent—not publicly.”

Dorian let out a bitter laugh. “You’ve got my DNA.”

“That’s biology.”

“Your security chief found evidence.”

“Evidence can be faked.”

“Your own files show my birth records were erased.”

Octavian said nothing.

“And you’re still calling me a stranger?”

“I’m calling you an unanswered question.”

Anger boiled up in Dorian. He’d nearly drowned. Someone tried to kill him. He found out everything he knew about his childhood was a lie—and his parents were murdered. His identity wiped clean. Now, this man, his grandfather, demanded he hand over broken memories from when he was five.

“You want memories?” Dorian’s voice shook, pissed off. “I was five.”

Octavian’s face faltered for a split second.

Dorian moved closer. “I was five years old when someone destroyed my family.” His eyes burned. “I was five when someone took me.” His voice rose, loud now. “I was five when people decided I was better off dead.”

Octavian barely moved.

“I don’t remember your mansion,” Dorian said, pointing at the walls. “I don’t remember your horses, or your parties, or the books my father liked.” He swallowed hard. “But I remember being terrified.”

For the first time, Octavian’s expression shifted. Not much, but enough.

Dorian went on. “I remember a woman screaming.” His breath caught. “I remember fire.” His hand twisted to his chest. “I remember my mother telling me not to let anyone take my name.”

Octavian’s eyes sharpened.

Dorian reached under his shirt, pulling out a silver pendant. It caught the light.

Octavian froze. All the coldness drained away. His eyes widened. He shot up from his chair so fast it hit the floor.

“Where did you get that?”

Dorian stared. “What?”

“The pendant.” Octavian rushed around the desk, hands trembling. “Where?”

Dorian glanced down. “My mother gave it to me.”

Octavian stopped, breathing got shaky. “Elena?”

Dorian nodded slowly. “She wore it in one of the memories I had.”

Octavian stared at the pendant like he’d seen a ghost. “She gave it to you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration built again. “I was a kid.”

Octavian reached—but hesitated before touching it. Eyes watery. For the first time, Dorian saw more than authority; he saw pain.

“You wore that the night she disappeared.”

Dorian froze. “What?”

Octavian’s voice was barely above a whisper. “She put it around your neck herself.”

Dorian searched his face. “You remember?”

“I remember everything.” Octavian looked away. “She told me it was a gift for her son.”

Dorian’s heart raced. “Then why didn’t you find me?”

Octavian closed his eyes. “We searched.”

“Not hard enough.”

“We searched for years.”

“Why did you stop?”

Octavian stayed silent.

Dorian pressed closer. “Why did you stop looking for me?”

He waited. Finally, Octavian said, “Because someone told me you were dead.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Octavian met his gaze. “Someone I trusted.”

Dorian’s pulse hammered. “Who?”

Octavian didn’t answer. Instead he focused on the pendant.

“Your mother wouldn’t let anyone else touch this.” He gently took it from Dorian. Turned it over. His thumb brushed a tiny engraving.

C.A.A.

Octavian shut his eyes. “Cassian Adrian Ardent.”

This time, the name sounded different. Not a test—recognition.

When he looked up, the coldness was gone.

He saw his grandson.

“You are him.”

Dorian didn’t speak.

Octavian handed back the pendant. “You’re Cassian.”

Relief should’ve washed over him, but anger hit instead. “Say it again.”

Octavian frowned.

“Say my name.”

His jaw tightened. “Cassian.”

Dorian’s eyes burned. “Again.”

“Cassian Adrian Ardent.”

Dorian looked away. For twenty years, nobody called him that. Now the name hurt.

Octavian returned to his desk. Dorian half-expected some kind of embrace, but Octavian just picked up the phone.

“Cancel tomorrow’s board meeting.”

Dorian blinked. “Why?”

Octavian stared at the pendant. “Because if you’re alive, the people who buried you will realize their biggest mistake.”

Dorian’s voice sharpened. “What happened to my mother?”

Octavian went still. “I don’t know.”

“You said she disappeared.”

“She did.”

“You searched for me. What about her?”

Octavian’s voice got quieter. “We searched for Elena.”

“And?”

“The investigation was stopped.”

Dorian’s stomach twisted. “By who?”

Octavian’s face hardened. “Someone inside the Ardent family.”

The air in the room felt colder. “Who?”

Octavian shook his head. “I never found out.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No.”

Octavian walked to the window. “I expect you to understand something.” He turned. “Your mother didn’t just vanish.”

Dorian waited.

“Her disappearance was deliberately scrubbed from the investigation.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Octavian lowered his voice. “Someone in this family ordered my security guys to stop searching for her.”

Dorian stared. “Who had that authority?”

Octavian paused. Then he said, “Only three people had enough power.”

Dorian’s pulse raced. “Who?”

Octavian looked right at him. “Your father.”

Dorian froze.

“Your uncle.”

A beat.

“And me.”

Cold swept through Dorian.

Octavian whispered, “Your father was already dead.” He looked at Dorian. “I did not stop the search.”

Total silence.

Only one possibility left.

His uncle—Lucien Ardent.

The man who ruled the family while Dorian’s mother disappeared. The man who spent two decades living with the lie that Cassian was dead.

Dorian’s hands curled into fists.

Octavian watched, almost sad. “Now you see why I couldn’t just welcome you back.”

Dorian’s reply was ice. “No.” He shook his head. “Now I know why I need to find your son.”

Somewhere in the Ardent empire, Lucien—his uncle—was about to find out the heir he buried had finally come home.