THE SILENT INHERITANCE

"Noah!"

"Noah, get up!"

The urgent whisper yanked Noah Varyn from a fitful sleep. Miss Valerie, a slender woman in her mid-30s with weary but gentle eyes, hovered over his small bed.

The room was shadowy, with only a sliver of light slipping through a cracked window, casting faint glows on the worn wallpaper of the Adrian mansion’s tiniest bedroom.

Noah rubbed his amber eyes, groggy as he sat up.

"Already morning?"

His voice was hoarse, weighed down by exhaustion.

"Yes, it is," Miss Valerie replied, her tone grave with a hint of worry. She was hurriedly piling his clothes—faded jeans, an old t-shirt—into a battered laundry basket.

"You need to move, Noah. You know how Madam Celeste is about tardiness."

Noah’s stomach churned at the mention of Madam Celeste Adrian, his uncle’s wife, whose sharp cruelty matched her stilettos. He glanced at Miss Valerie’s quick, careful hands and hesitated, the warmth of his bed pulling at him.

With a reluctant sigh, he slid out of bed, the cold floor stinging his bare feet as he shuffled toward the bathroom.

The door had barely closed when the room’s entrance flew open. Madam Celeste stormed in, her fair skin radiant under the harsh light, her icy blue eyes predatory.

"Where’s that filthy little pest?" she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain as she scanned the cramped room, her silk dress glinting like a threat.

Miss Valerie flinched, nearly dropping the basket. "Oh, Madam Celeste, good morning," she stammered, her voice unsteady.

"That’s not what I asked, Valerie. Where is that wretched boy?" Celeste’s words were sharp, each one cutting deeper.

"He’s in the bathroom, Madam," Miss Valerie answered, head bowed, clutching the basket like a shield.

"What? Just waking up now?" Celeste’s eyes snapped to the bathroom door, her manicured nails tapping her crossed arms.

"No, Madam," Miss Valerie said quickly, her voice a nervous murmur, eyes still down.

Celeste’s gaze lingered, cold and piercing, before she turned toward the door, her heels clicking ominously. She paused halfway, spinning back with a scowl.

"When he’s out, tell him to wear the servant’s uniform I gave him. He needs to be in the ballroom—the event’s starting, and the drinks won’t serve themselves." Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk, relishing Noah’s humiliation.

"I’ll tell him, Madam," Miss Valerie replied, her voice shaky but firm.

"And you," Celeste snapped, pointing, "hurry with your chores. My friend’s staying after the event, and the guest room’s a disaster."

"Yes, Madam," Miss Valerie said, eyes fixed on the floor.

Celeste swept out, leaving a trail of overpowering perfume. Miss Valerie sighed, her shoulders sagging as she picked up a stray sock.

Noah emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his damp skin catching the dim light. "Was that…?" he began, already knowing.

"The Queen of the Manor herself," Miss Valerie said with a wry smile, trying to ease the tension as she gathered the laundry.

"I overheard," Noah said, moving to his wardrobe. He pulled out the servant’s uniform—a stiff, black-and-white waiter’s outfit Celeste had flung at him like trash. His jaw tightened as he gripped the coarse fabric.

"You did?" Miss Valerie turned, her brown eyes warm with concern.

"Yeah." He sank onto the bed, the uniform in his lap, his expression clouding with sadness. "You shouldn’t have lied about me being up early. She’ll make your life miserable if she finds out."

Miss Valerie stepped closer, her voice steady despite her nerves. "I don’t care, Noah. The way they treat you isn’t right, and I won’t stand for it." She softened. "You’re better than their words."

Noah looked up, a faint smile breaking through. "Thanks, Miss Valerie. You’re a true friend."

She blushed, waving him off with a chuckle. "Oh, stop, you’re embarrassing me!" Her smile faded. "Now hurry and dress before she brings more trouble."

As Miss Valerie left, Noah grabbed the uniform. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, flashing "Cole George." A brief grin crossed his face.

"Cole, my guy, calling me this early?" he muttered, answering on speaker as he started dressing.

"Yo, Noah!" Cole’s voice was lively but curious.

"What’s up, man? Why the early call?" Noah asked, buttoning the stiff shirt, catching his amber eyes in the chipped mirror.

"Dude, where were you last night? Forgot the party?" Cole asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"Nah, I told you I couldn’t come," Noah said, struggling with the tie. "What’s up? Something wild happen?"

"Yeah, wild’s the word. Your girl…" Cole’s voice lowered.

Noah froze mid-button, his reflection tensing. "What? Elara? Is she okay?" His voice tightened with worry.

"She’s fine, not like that," Cole said quickly.

Noah exhaled, relief brief. "Don’t freak me out, man. So what’s the deal? She get crazy or…?"

"She cheated on you, bro," Cole said, blunt and heavy.

Noah’s smile vanished, his hand stilling. The words hit like a punch.

"Say that again, Cole?" he asked, voice low.

Before Cole could respond, a sharp knock cut through. "Noah, hurry! Madam Celeste’s coming!" Miss Valerie’s voice was frantic.

Noah’s heart raced. He hung up, shoved his feet into the polished shoes, and rushed out, Cole’s words searing like a fresh wound.

The Adrian mansion’s ballroom was a gilded prison, chandeliers casting a warm glow over silk-draped tables. Verrath City’s elite glided through, men in sharp suits, women in glittering gowns, their laughter hollow and cutting.

Servants slipped through like shadows, balancing trays of champagne and delicate pastries. Noah, in his rigid waiter’s uniform, moved through the crowd, his forced smile a brittle mask.

His amber eyes scanned for Celeste’s glare, Cole’s words—"She cheated on you"—looping in his mind, tangled with memories of his mother’s bloodied form in the hospital, her stillborn daughter beside her.

He offered a flute to a guest, his smile strained, when whispers reached him. A cluster of women in sparkling dresses stood nearby, their voices dripping with malice.

"Isn’t that Celeste’s husband’s nephew?" one said, her tone falsely pitying. "Poor thing."

"Yeah," another added, sipping her drink. "His mother was delusional. Killed herself and her baby, thinking she could seduce her way into this family. Pathetic."

Noah’s fist tightened, the tray shaking in his other hand. His jaw clenched, rage burning through him. His mother, Fionna, who’d soothed his nightmares, reduced to their vicious lies. He stepped toward them, his smile gone, ready to snap, when a sharp voice sliced through.

"There you are, you little wretch!" Madam Celeste’s voice was venomous, her blue eyes locking onto him as she emerged from the crowd, h

er gown swishing like a predator’s tail. The room seemed to quiet, all eyes on Noah, pinned under her glare.