THE SILENT INHERITANCE

Chapter 4

Noah tossed and turned on his narrow bed, the thin mattress groaning beneath him. His dreams swirled with chaos—Madam Celeste’s mocking laughter, a mysterious woman’s voice whispering “Young master,” and his mother’s gentle face, marred by blood. His eyes flew open, and he sat up, heart pounding.

“Damn, what a dream,” he muttered, rubbing his face, his amber eyes groggy in the faint morning light seeping through cracked blinds.

The door creaked, and Miss Valerie entered, her apron slightly crooked, a tired but warm smile on her face. “Morning, Noah! Up early today. Sleep okay?” she asked, gathering his worn jeans and faded shirts from the floor into her laundry basket.

“Night was… fine, I guess,” Noah replied, his voice rough as he ran a hand through his messy hair, hesitating. “I think.” The sting of last night’s humiliation lingered.

Valerie’s brown eyes softened with concern. “Don’t let it weigh you down, Noah. Things’ll be alright. Your uncle’s back soon—maybe Madam Celeste will lighten up.” Her tone was hopeful, but they both knew it was unlikely.

Noah glanced at her, then away, his jaw tight. Valerie stepped closer, her voice turning playful to lift his spirits. “Come on, perk up, kid!” She ruffled his hair gently. “Go freshen up. Dinner’s almost ready.”

A faint smile tugged at Noah’s lips. “What’s cooking?” he asked, his tone a bit lighter.

Valerie, nearing the door, turned with a grin. “Your favorite—spaghetti with that spicy sauce you love.”

“Nice,” Noah said, his smile briefly genuine.

But Madam Celeste’s sharp voice cut through from downstairs. “Valerie!” 

Valerie’s face fell. “I gotta go. Get ready for school—don’t forget, it’s your final exam today. Graduation’s tomorrow!” She rushed out, leaving Noah wide-eyed.

“Final exam?” he groaned, smacking his forehead. “Completely slipped my mind.”

He leaped out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor, and dashed to the bathroom. Two minutes later, he emerged, towel around his waist, water dripping from his dark hair. He grabbed deodorant from the nightstand, spritzed quickly, and pulled on the crisp white shirt and navy slacks Valerie had ironed. Slipping on worn sneakers and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he hurried to the dining room.

The scent of fresh bread and coffee greeted him. The chef, a burly man with a kind face, was setting out eggs and toast. “Morning, Noah. Good night?” he asked, nodding.

“It was alright,” Noah said, forcing a small smile. “Thanks, Chef.”

“Enjoy, Sir Noah,” the chef replied with a grin, placing a plate before him.

Noah chuckled. “Just Noah, please.”

“Alright, Noah,” the chef laughed, heading back to the kitchen.

The moment of peace shattered as Madam Celeste and her friend, Lady Gaga, descended the stairs, their laughter grating. “Can you believe Mrs. Carlton’s gall?” Celeste sneered. “That cheap scarf she gave me at the party—like I’d ever wear it!”

Lady Gaga, in a swishing emerald dress, cackled. “And that hideous vase from the Petersons? I’d smash it before displaying it!”

Their laughter echoed as they ignored Noah. He stood, grabbing his backpack, and offered a strained, “Good morning, Madam Celeste, Lady Gaga.”

Celeste’s eyes swept over him, from his pressed uniform to his scuffed shoes, her lip curling in disgust. She brushed past without a word. Lady Gaga smirked, sitting at the table’s far end, her gaze dismissive.

Noah headed for the door, but Celeste’s voice stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going, brat?”

He turned slowly. “To college,” he said, voice steady despite his racing heart.

Celeste leaned back, smirking. “Oh, you’ll get to your college. But first, trim the house flowers and mow the lawn.”

Noah frowned. “That’s the gardener’s job. I’m not a gardener.”

Her blue eyes gleamed with malice. “I gave the gardener the day off. You’re up. Get to it, or you’ll be late.”

Noah’s fists clenched, but her stare silenced him. With a frustrated huff, he stormed to the garden, the morning sun warming his back. The garden was a disaster—overgrown bushes, tangled grass, wilting flowers. He grabbed shears and a rusty lawnmower from the shed, resentment fueling his quick, heavy movements. Sweat dripped as he hacked at bushes, the blades cutting unevenly, his uniform clinging to his skin. The lawnmower sputtered as he pushed it over patchy grass, his arms aching.

His phone buzzed. Wiping his brow, he saw a text from Cole George: “Yo, where you at, man?” 

Noah typed back, “On my way,” his fingers smudged with dirt.

Miss Valerie appeared at the garden’s edge, flour dusting her apron. “Noah, hand me those tools,” she said firmly. “Go to college. Now.”

He hesitated, glancing at the mansion. “But if Madam Celeste finds out?”

“I don’t care what she does,” Valerie said, taking the shears. “You’ve got finals. Go.”

Noah grinned gratefully. “I owe you, Miss Val.” He sprinted down the drive, flagged a yellow cab, and said, “Verrath City College.” He paid the fare, jumped out, and met Cole at the college entrance.

“What took you so long, bro?” Cole asked, clapping his shoulder. “Exam’s starting soon, and you gotta see something—now.”

Noah frowned, following Cole through the grand entrance, their footsteps echoing. “What’s going on?” he asked, tense.

Cole didn’t reply, leading him through a crowded corridor. Noah’s heart sank as he saw Elara Trump, his fiancée, in the center of a crowd, her blue eyes shining. Steven Jones, the playboy she’d called her “cousin,” knelt before her, a ring gleaming in his hand.

“Elara Trump, will you be my fiancée and future wife?” Steven asked, voice smooth.

“Yes!” Elara beamed, the crowd erupting in cheers.

Noah’s breath hitched, shock and betrayal crashing over him. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered, voice thick with disbelief.