THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Four: The First Crack

The banquet finally came to an end just after ten o'clock.

One by one, luxury cars disappeared through the wrought-iron gates of Ashcroft Manor, carrying away politicians, business tycoons, and socialites who had gathered to celebrate the return of the Ashcroft family's long-lost heir.

The laughter faded.

The orchestra packed away their instruments.

The grand ballroom, which had been alive with conversation only moments earlier, slowly settled into silence.

Now only the servants remained, carefully collecting crystal glasses, folding linen napkins, and clearing away expensive china.

Benedict loosened his tie slightly before bending to pick up a stack of empty dinner plates.

A young maid hurried toward him.

"Young Master Benedict, please let me carry those."

He smiled and gently shook his head.

"You've been on your feet since this morning."

"So have you," she replied with concern.

"I'll be fine."

Before she could protest again, Benedict walked toward the kitchen, balancing the plates with practiced ease.

The young maid watched him disappear through the swinging doors before turning to the older housekeeper beside her.

"Does he always help after every banquet?"

The older woman smiled knowingly.

"Every single one."

"But... he's an executive."

"And?"

The younger maid hesitated.

"I just thought someone in his position wouldn't do this."

The older woman quietly folded a tablecloth.

"Young Master Benedict always says the same thing."

"What?"

"'Work doesn't become smaller just because someone else is watching.'"

The young maid lowered her head, a look of admiration crossing her face.

"No wonder everyone respects him."

The kitchen remained just as busy as the ballroom had been.

Chefs scrubbed stainless steel counters.

Kitchen assistants stacked dishes into towering piles.

Fresh bread cooled on wooden racks, filling the room with its comforting aroma.

The moment Benedict entered, the head chef looked up.

"Director Benedict."

Benedict smiled warmly.

"The banquet was excellent."

The chef laughed.

"Only because you saved us."

"I only pointed out Chairman Collins' shellfish allergy."

"And prevented a disaster."

The chef folded his arms.

"If that soup had reached his table, every newspaper in Aurelia City would've been writing about us tomorrow."

Several cooks nodded in agreement.

One of them called out, "He's right!"

Another added with a grin, "Tonight belongs to Director Benedict."

Benedict laughed softly.

"I only did what anyone else would've done."

The entire kitchen answered with the same response.

"No, they wouldn't."

The chef suddenly pushed a covered porcelain bowl toward him.

"Sit."

Benedict blinked.

"What?"

"You haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I'm not really—"

"No excuses."

Several kitchen assistants nodded firmly.

One even crossed his arms.

"We're refusing to let you leave until you eat."

Laughter echoed through the room.

For the first time that day...

Benedict genuinely laughed.

"You've all planned this, haven't you?"

The head chef grinned.

"We've been planning it since lunch."

Shaking his head with amused surrender, Benedict finally sat down.

The chef lifted the lid.

Steam curled gently into the air.

Mushroom soup.

Freshly baked bread.

Roasted chicken seasoned with rosemary.

Simple food.

Warm food.

Comforting food.

Benedict quietly picked up his spoon.

Just as he was about to take the first bite—

There was a knock at the kitchen door.

Every conversation stopped.

The room turned silent.

Damian stood awkwardly at the entrance.

"I'm sorry," he said with an embarrassed smile.

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

The head chef immediately straightened.

"Young Master Damian."

Damian rubbed the back of his neck.

"I was just looking for a bottle of water."

Then his eyes landed on Benedict's untouched meal.

His smile slowly faded.

"You... haven't eaten yet?"

Benedict calmly placed his spoon back on the table.

"There wasn't much time."

Damian looked around the kitchen.

"So everyone else has finished dinner..."

"...except you?"

No one answered.

The silence spoke louder than words.

Without another thought, Damian walked across the room and pulled out the chair opposite Benedict.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

The kitchen froze.

Several assistants stared openly.

Even Benedict looked surprised.

"This isn't exactly guest dining."

Damian smiled.

"I know."

He inhaled deeply.

"But whatever you're eating smells far better than anything I had in the banquet hall."

The head chef hesitated.

"Young Master..."

Damian looked at him expectantly.

"Would you mind serving me a bowl too?"

The chef blinked twice before hurriedly reaching for another bowl.

The kitchen staff exchanged stunned glances.

Not once in the history of Ashcroft Manor had a member of the Ashcroft family chosen to eat inside the servants' kitchen.

Not once.

Benedict looked across the table.

"You really don't have to."

"I know."

Damian accepted the bowl with a grateful smile.

"But I want to."

He tasted the soup.

His eyes widened immediately.

"This..."

He looked at the chef.

"...is incredible."

The chef laughed proudly.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

The room filled with warm laughter once more.

For the next several minutes, neither Benedict nor Damian said much.

They simply shared a quiet meal.

No reporters.

No cameras.

No speeches.

Just two young men eating together while the rest of the mansion slowly settled into the night.

For Damian...

It was the most peaceful moment he had experienced since arriving at Ashcroft Manor.

Finally, he placed his spoon down.

"Can I ask you something?"

Benedict nodded.

"Of course."

Damian looked directly into his eyes.

"Why does everyone here call you 'Young Master'..."

"...yet you don't sit with the family?"

Benedict smiled faintly.

"They're simply being kind."

Damian shook his head.

"That's not really an answer."

For the first time that evening, Benedict lowered his eyes.

"My place has always been wherever I'm needed."

Damian searched his face carefully.

There was no resentment.

No jealousy.

No self-pity.

Only quiet acceptance.

For reasons he couldn't explain...

That answer disturbed him far more than anger ever could.

Damian remained seated long after he had finished his meal.

He carefully placed the empty bowl on the table and smiled at the head chef.

"I haven't enjoyed a meal this much in years."

The head chef laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Young Master, if the Chairman hears you preferred our kitchen to the banquet hall, he'll think we've embarrassed him."

Damian chuckled.

"Then let's keep it our little secret."

The kitchen erupted into laughter.

For the first time since arriving at Ashcroft Manor, Damian felt something he hadn't expected.

Not luxury.

Not excitement.

Not relief.

Comfort.

It wasn't the mansion that made him feel welcome.

It was the people inside it.

His gaze drifted toward Benedict.

Without a word, Benedict had already rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and was helping the kitchen assistants stack dishes onto a trolley.

Damian frowned.

"You don't have to do that."

Benedict looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"If I help, everyone finishes earlier."

"They're paid to do it."

"They're also human."

The simple answer lingered in the room.

No speech.

No lesson.

Just a quiet truth.

Damian suddenly understood why everyone respected Benedict.

It wasn't because he held authority.

It was because he gave respect before expecting it.

On the second floor, Victor and Eleanor stood together on the balcony overlooking the beautifully lit gardens.

The cool night breeze carried the faint scent of roses through the open doors.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Eleanor finally broke the silence.

"Our son is finally home."

Victor gently covered her hand with his.

"Yes."

"I think Father would have been happy to see him tonight."

Tears shimmered in Eleanor's eyes.

"I've imagined this moment so many times."

Victor smiled faintly.

"So have I."

His eyes wandered toward the guest wing where Damian's room overlooked the eastern garden.

"He'll learn the business."

"He'll inherit the company."

"He'll carry the Ashcroft name into the future."

Eleanor nodded quietly.

Then, almost without thinking, she asked,

"Has Benedict eaten?"

Victor looked at her, slightly surprised.

"I'm sure he has."

"I didn't see him during dinner."

"He probably ate after everyone else."

Eleanor's brow furrowed.

"He always says he'll eat later."

Victor answered absentmindedly.

"He prefers staying busy."

The conversation moved on.

But Eleanor couldn't shake the uneasy feeling settling inside her heart.

Throughout the evening...

Every time she searched for Benedict...

He had been taking care of someone else.

Why did that bother her so much tonight?

She didn't know.

Near the marble fountain in the eastern garden, Sophia stood quietly watching the moonlight dance across the water.

Soft footsteps approached behind her.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She turned and smiled.

Damian slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I wanted to see the garden."

"It's even more beautiful at night."

For a while, they simply stood in comfortable silence.

Then Damian spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

Sophia laughed softly.

"You've asked that question a lot today."

"I know."

"But this one has been bothering me."

She nodded.

"Go ahead."

"Was Benedict always like this?"

She tilted her head.

"Like what?"

"So... devoted."

Sophia smiled to herself.

"That's one way to describe him."

"What would you call it?"

She thought for a moment.

"I've never really had to."

"He remembers everyone's birthday."

"He notices when Mother's medicine is running low."

"He reminds Father about meetings."

"If something breaks..."

"...he repairs it before anyone notices."

"If I lose something..."

A faint smile crossed her lips.

"...Benedict somehow finds it."

Damian looked back toward the brightly lit mansion.

"He sounds more like family than an employee."

Sophia's smile slowly faded.

For the first time...

She truly considered the question.

"He grew up with us."

She paused.

"But..."

She looked down at the fountain.

"I've never really thought about where he belongs."

Damian's voice became quieter.

"I think you should."

Sophia looked at him in surprise.

Something about the way he said it made her heart feel strangely heavy.

By half past eleven, Ashcroft Manor had finally fallen silent.

Most of the servants had retired for the night.

Benedict completed one final inspection before going to bed.

He checked the security monitors.

Locked the east wing.

Reviewed the household schedule for tomorrow.

Confirmed Victor's first meeting.

Placed Eleanor's medication and a glass of water neatly beside her bedside table.

Adjusted the thermostat in Sophia's room.

She always complained when it became too cold before dawn.

Only after making sure everyone else was comfortable did he make his way toward his own room.

As he passed the guest wing, he noticed light shining beneath Damian's door.

He knocked gently.

"Come in."

Damian looked up from an open suitcase.

"I was just unpacking."

"I thought you might need these."

Benedict handed him a neatly organized leather folder.

Damian opened it.

"A map of the estate."

"The company structure."

"The household staff."

"Emergency contacts."

"My schedule?"

Benedict nodded.

"I wanted your first week here to be easier."

Damian slowly turned each page.

Every detail had been carefully prepared.

Even the smallest notes.

Mother prefers breakfast at seven-thirty.

Father reads the financial news before anyone speaks to him.

Sophia insists she doesn't like sweet coffee, but she always adds two extra spoons of sugar.

Damian laughed.

"You even wrote this?"

Benedict smiled.

"It helps avoid misunderstandings."

Damian carefully closed the folder.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't necessary."

"I know."

"But I appreciate it."

For a moment, silence filled the room.

Then Damian spoke quietly.

"I don't understand something."

Benedict waited patiently.

"I feel like everyone has welcomed me..."

"...except the one person who had the greatest reason not to."

Benedict looked genuinely puzzled.

"I've taken your place."

A gentle smile appeared on Benedict's face.

"No."

"You haven't."

"There was never a place that belonged to me."

Damian searched his eyes.

There was no bitterness.

No resentment.

Only honesty.

That somehow made the answer even more heartbreaking.

As Benedict walked back down the quiet hallway, he instinctively rubbed his right shoulder.

The dull ache had become familiar after years of long days and even longer nights.

He paused beside a window overlooking the gardens.

For just a few seconds, he closed his eyes.

The silence was peaceful.

Then he straightened his jacket, as though nothing had happened, and continued walking.

No one saw the brief moment of exhaustion.

No one ever did.

A faint light shone beneath the door of Victor's study.

Benedict knocked.

"Come in."

Victor sat behind his desk reviewing tomorrow's agenda.

Without looking up, he asked,

"Everything settled?"

"Yes, Chairman."

"And Damian?"

"He's comfortable."

"Good."

Victor signed another document before finally speaking again.

"Beginning tomorrow, cancel your remaining company assignments."

Benedict blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"I want you to spend your time teaching Damian."

"The business."

"The family."

"The estate."

"Everything."

Benedict lowered his head respectfully.

"As you wish."

Victor finally looked up.

"I expect you to prepare him well."

"So that one day..."

"...he can take over everything."

For the briefest moment, surprise flickered across Benedict's face.

It disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"I understand."

He bowed respectfully before turning to leave.

The study door closed quietly behind him.

Victor returned to his paperwork, never noticing the old leather-bound notebook tucked beneath the stack of files on his desk.

It had belonged to his late father, Edward Ashcroft.

Its yellowed pages had remained unopened for years.

On one forgotten page, Edward had written in neat, fading ink:

"A family can survive losing money.

It can survive losing power.

But the day it fails to recognize its own blood...

It begins to destroy itself."

Outside the study, Benedict stopped beside the tall window at the end of the corridor.

Moonlight bathed the gardens below in silver.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"If this is what the family needs..."

he whispered,

"I'll do my best."

He stood there alone, completely unaware that the home he had spent twenty-five years protecting had already begun slipping away from him.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning.

He simply didn't know it yet.