THE HEIR THEY BURIED ALIVE

THE MAN WHO WATCHED HIS FATHER DIE

POV: DORIAN

Dorian just stared at the photograph, unable to look away.

His mom had been in that car.

So had his dad.

And someone out there had made damn sure neither of them could tell anyone what happened that night.

For twenty years, Dorian told himself he was just the unlucky survivor of some accidental family tragedy.

Now he saw it for what it was—a lie, one that had shaped his entire life.

He turned to August.

“You were there.”

He didn’t ask. He stated it.

August didn’t say a word.

Dorian’s voice sharpened. “You were there the night my parents died.”

August’s jaw tightened.

“Yes.”

The word hit hard. No dressing it up.

Dorian stepped closer. “Then tell me what happened.”

August looked away, eyes fixed on the window, silent for a few long seconds—like he was wrestling memories that shouldn’t ever surface.

“I was the head of security for Ardent Dominion.”

Dorian tensed up.

“The Ardent family paid me directly. I was supposed to protect Octavian, Adrian, Elena, and later, you.”

“You knew me?”

“I carried you around when you were three years old.”

Dorian’s expression wavered.

August kept talking. “Your father trusted almost no one. I was one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you save him?”

It came out more bitter than Dorian meant.

August didn’t flinch. He took it.

“Because I failed.”

His voice was rough now.

“That night, Adrian called me.”

Dorian kept listening.

“He said someone had been following him for weeks. He’d found evidence—money moving between Ardent Dominion and a bunch of companies that didn’t technically exist. Shell companies, fake construction contracts, land deals—the whole thing was a mess.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Money laundering.”

“Worse. Someone was trying to gain control of parts of the Ardent empire without looking like they owned a damn thing.”

August pulled another document out and handed it over.

Dorian flipped through names, transaction numbers, dates. Signatures. Patterns snapped together in his mind.

“These companies…”

“They’re tied to Aurelius Development Group.”

Dorian’s head shot up. He’d heard that name before. Vale Industries had worked with them. More than once. His stomach twisted.

“How far does this go?”

“Far enough that Adrian believed someone in the family was in on it.”

Dorian’s grip tightened on the page. “Who?”

“I never figured it out.”

“You really expect me to buy that?”

“No.” August’s answer was so blunt it stopped Dorian cold. “I just want you to get why I’m still alive.”

They locked eyes. August’s face flickered with grief, maybe a little anger too.

“After Adrian died, I started digging on my own. Two weeks later, three people who helped me vanished.”

“Who killed them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then how come you survived?”

August’s smile was grim and empty. “Because I stopped digging.”

Dorian glanced back at the photo.

“That doesn’t explain what happened to me.”

“No.”

August set another photo on the table. This one was old—August younger, standing beside Adrian, and between them, a little boy.

Dorian.

His chest tightened.

“You tried to take me away.”

“I did.”

Dorian shot him a look. “What do you mean, tried?”

“After the crash, I came looking for you.” August’s voice strained with the memory. “The car was already burning. Adrian was dead.”

“And my mom?”

“I never found her.”

Dorian’s breathing grew slow.

“But you found me.”

August shook his head. “No. Someone got to you first.”

Dorian felt dizzy. “Who?”

“By the time I reached the other vehicle, you were gone.”

The silence between them grew heavy, awful.

Dorian’s mind raced back to that night by the river—a man’s hand, a child crying, someone shouting.

Take the child!

He closed his eyes. “I remember.”

August looked at him fast. “What?”

“That night. I remember someone carrying me.”

August didn’t move. “What did you see?”

“A ring.”

“What kind?”

Dorian dug through old, half-formed memories—black metal, a silver emblem, strange markings.

He opened his eyes. “There was a bird on it.”

August’s face changed. Not surprise—fear.

“You remember that ring?”

“Yes.”

August took a step back. “Dorian…”

“What?”

“Only men working for your mother’s father wore that ring.”

Dorian’s blood turned to ice.

“My grandfather?”

“Victor Marlowe.”

Nothing about that name meant a thing to Dorian. But August’s expression said it should.

“Who is Victor Marlowe?”

“Your mother’s father.”

Dorian’s brain struggled to catch up. “I thought my mom’s family was dead.”

“I did too.”

“Why?”

“Because after the crash, Victor vanished.”

Dorian tried to piece it together—his mother missing, his grandfather missing, his father murdered, and he himself just handed off to the Vales.

So many disappearances. Too many secrets.

Suddenly August looked toward the door.

Dorian picked up on it right away.

“What?”

August raised a finger for silence.

They listened.

At first, nothing.

Then—metal scraping from downstairs. A door opening.

August was suddenly moving, opening a hidden panel under a cabinet and pulling out a handgun.

Dorian stared. “You said you stopped asking questions.”

“I did.”

Another sound downstairs—a voice.

“Search every room.”

Dorian’s pulse skittered.

August grabbed his arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Who are they?”

“The people who just figured out I was hiding you.”

A gunshot exploded below.

Dorian automatically flinched.

August moved them fast, dragging him to a hidden door behind a bookshelf.

“You have a secret passage?”

August fired him a look. “I’ve had twenty years to get ready.”

They slipped in, just as footsteps slammed up the stairs. Then a voice yelled:

“Find Cassian Ardent!”

Dorian stopped dead.

Not Dorian.

Not Vale.

Cassian Ardent.

His real name—now the one they were after.

August didn’t slow. He seized Dorian’s shoulder. “Keep going.”

They hurried through the darkness, gunshots echoing behind. Dorian’s breath came rough and fast.

“August.”

“What?”

“You said you failed my father.”

“Yes.”

“You said someone took me away.”

“Yes.”

Dorian glanced at him, voice hard. “So why’d it take you twenty years to find me?”

August stopped, and, for the first time since they’d met, looked truly wrecked.

“Because I wasn’t searching for you,” he said quietly.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I was searching for the people who took you.”

August reached into his jacket and handed Dorian a small, yellowed envelope.

“Your father gave me this before he died.”

The letter inside was written by hand. Dorian read it.

If anything happens to me, protect Cassian.

And underneath:

Do not trust the person who brings him back.

Dorian stared at the handwriting, recognizing it from old photographs.

His hands started to shake. “Why would he write that?”

August’s face darkened. “Because Adrian knew if he died, someone would eventually try to return you to the family.”

Dorian met his eyes. “Why would that be a problem?”

August didn’t raise his voice. “Because the person who wants you back might want you dead.”

Suddenly, an explosion rattled the whole building. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Dorian caught the wall for balance.

“They found the entrance,” August said.

Dorian tucked the letter safely away, looked at August.

“Where are we going?”

“To the only person who can prove you’re really Cassian Ardent.”

“Who?”

August’s mouth set in a hard line. “Octavian Ardent.”

Dorian’s heart skipped a beat.

His grandfather.

The man who’d built—and then lost—a dynasty, who’d spent two decades supposedly hunting for a grandson everyone believed dead.

Dorian took a deep breath.

“Let’s go.”

August moved to open the exit door. Before they could slip out, his phone buzzed.

He glanced down—one message.

OCTAVIAN KNOWS.

Another appeared.

AND HE DOESN’T BELIEVE CASSIAN IS ALIVE.

A third:

BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONE WHO ORDERED THE SEARCH TO END.

Dorian felt his chest tighten.

Now, the real question wasn’t whether Octavian wanted him back.

It was whether his grandfather ever wanted him found at all.