THE SON THEY BURIED WAS THEIR ONLY HEIR

Chapter Three: The Seat That Was Never His

The banquet hall shimmered beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers.

A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving through conversations between politicians, business leaders, and the country's wealthiest families.

Laughter echoed around the room.

Champagne glasses clinked together.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration.

The return of the Ashcroft family's long-lost heir had become the talk of Aurelia City's elite.

Every influential figure wanted to witness history.

At the center of it all sat Damian.

Victor Ashcroft occupied the head of the dining table, Eleanor beside him, while Damian was given the chair on Victor's right–a position that had remained empty for twenty-five years.

Guests smiled warmly at him.

Executives congratulated him.

Family friends welcomed him.

One after another, expensive gifts were placed before him.

Yet...

Damian couldn't stop looking around the room.

Something felt... strange.

He couldn't explain it.

The atmosphere was warm.

The family was kind.

Everything appeared perfect.

So why did he feel as though something important was missing?

...

Across the hall...

Benedict stood quietly beside the serving staff.

His black suit was as neat as ever.

A small notebook rested in one hand.

Every few seconds, he glanced around the room, making sure every guest had been attended to.

Table seven needed another bottle of wine.

The governor's wife preferred warm tea instead of coffee.

One of the elderly directors had diabetes and shouldn't receive the dessert prepared for everyone else.

Benedict noticed every detail.

He always did.

"Young Master..."

A maid approached nervously.

"The seafood soup for Chairman Collins was served with the wrong spoon."

"I'll take care of it."

Without hesitation, Benedict exchanged the utensils himself before the elderly chairman even realized there had been a mistake.

Chairman Collins smiled.

"You saved me from another embarrassing dinner."

Benedict laughed softly.

"I only saved the soup."

The old chairman chuckled.

"No."

He lowered his voice.

"You've been saving this family for years."

Before Benedict could answer, another servant hurried over.

"The flower arrangement near the east window has fallen."

"I'll fix it."

A second servant arrived.

"The kitchen needs your approval before serving the final course.

I'll be there in a moment.

A third came running.

The musicians want to know whether to continue after Chairman Victor's speech.

Benedict smiled patiently.

Tell them to play one more piece.

Not once did he sound impatient.

Not once did he complain.

Watching from nearby, Damian frowned.

He leaned toward Sophia.

Does Benedict always do this?

Sophia looked at him, surprised by the question.

Do what?

Everything.

She followed his gaze.

Benedict was helping an elderly guest to his seat while simultaneously instructing two waiters where to place the next course.

She shrugged.

He's used to it.

Used to it?

He practically manages the entire house.

Damian blinked.

I thought he was an executive.

He is.

And he does all this too?

Sophia smiled as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Benedict never says no.

The words lingered in Damian's mind.

Never says no.

He watched Benedict again.

An executive called him.

A servant stopped him.

The chef interrupted him.

The head of security approached with another question.

Every person in the mansion seemed to depend on him.

Yet...

He wasn't sitting with the family.

He wasn't eating.

He wasn't even part of the celebration.

Damian looked toward Victor.

Father.

Victor turned.

Yes?

Has Benedict eaten?

Victor barely glanced across the hall.

I'm sure he has.

Mr. Harris, standing a few steps away, quietly lowered his eyes.

He knew the truth.

Benedict always made sure everyone else ate first.

Sometimes–

That meant he forgot about himself.

Or perhaps–

He simply believed his hunger mattered less than everyone else's.

Damian slowly looked back toward Benedict.

For reasons he couldn't explain–

The applause, the speeches, the expensive gifts–

None of them held his attention anymore.

The man standing quietly in the corner did.

And for the very first time since entering Ashcroft Manor–

A small question formed in Damian's heart.

Why does everyone rely on Benedict– yet no one treats him like family?

Damian's eyes remained fixed on Benedict.

The banquet hall buzzed with laughter and conversation, but the quiet young man in the corner seemed to move through the crowd like a shadow–always present, always needed, yet somehow unseen.

Young Master Benedict.

A waiter hurried over.

The dessert table isn't ready!

I'll be there."

Before he had taken two steps, another voice called him.

"Director Benedict, the Chairman of EastBridge Holdings would like a private word."

I'll meet him after the main course.

"Sir, Mrs. Ashcroft's tea."

I'll bring it myself.

Question after question.

Request after request.

Not once did Benedict refuse.

Not once did he show even the slightest trace of irritation.

Damian watched in silence.

"You weren't exaggerating," he murmured.

Sophia smiled.

"No."

He has always been like that.

What if he says no?

She laughed softly.

I've never heard him say it.

...

At the head table, Victor stood and gently tapped his wine glass.

The conversations gradually faded.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

His deep voice carried effortlessly across the hall.

"Tonight is one of the happiest nights of my life."

Applause erupted.

Victor smiled at Damian.

"Twenty-five years ago, fate separated my family from our son."

He paused briefly.

"Today, fate has returned him!"

Another wave of applause filled the room.

Eleanor reached for Damian's hand, her eyes glistening with tears.

Victor raised his glass.

To my son!

To Damian Ashcroft!

The guests echoed enthusiastically.

To Damian!

Crystal glasses met with cheerful chimes.

At that moment, Benedict quietly walked behind the guests, ensuring every glass was refilled before anyone noticed it was empty.

He smiled politely whenever someone thanked him.

Then he moved on to the next table.

Not a single guest realized that the man making sure the celebration ran perfectly had not yet taken a single bite of food.

...

Near the kitchen entrance, Mr. Harris found Benedict checking the final dessert arrangement.

Young Master.

Benedict looked up.

Yes, Mr. Harris?

You haven't eaten since breakfast.

I'm fine.

No, you're not.

Mr. Harris lowered his voice.

I asked the chef to prepare your favorite mushroom soup.

Benedict smiled.

After the guests leave.

You always say that.

The guests come first.

The old butler sighed.

And when do you come first?

Benedict's smile remained gentle.

Someone has to make sure tonight is perfect.

"It means a great deal to Chairman and Madam."

Mr. Harris stared at him for a long moment.

His heart ached.

Sometimes he wondered whether Benedict realized how little he asked for himself.

Or perhaps...

He had simply grown used to expecting nothing.

...

Back in the banquet hall, the first course had been cleared away.

Damian quietly looked around.

Something still bothered him.

He leaned toward Eleanor.

"Mother."

She smiled warmly.

"Yes?"

"Where is Benedict sitting?"

She blinked.

"Sitting?"

"For dinner."

"Oh..."

She glanced around the hall.

I suppose he'll eat later.

Damian frowned.

Why later?

Eleanor hesitated.

He usually prefers it that way.

Before she could continue, Sophia answered casually.

Benedict has always eaten after everyone else.

As long as the family is comfortable, he's happy.

Damian slowly turned toward the serving area.

Benedict was helping an elderly guest cut his steak because the man's hands trembled too much to hold the knife steadily.

He did it naturally.

Without embarrassment.

Without drawing attention.

The elderly guest patted his hand gratefully.

"My grandson never has time for an old man anymore."

Benedict smiled.

"Then tonight, you can borrow me."

The old man's eyes became moist.

"You remind me of someone."

Benedict simply bowed politely and walked away.

Damian couldn't explain why...

But that simple moment touched him more deeply than Victor's speech.

...

As the evening continued, business leaders approached Damian one after another to offer congratulations.

One of them, Chairman Collins, chuckled warmly.

You've returned to a wonderful family.

I hope so.

You certainly have.

He paused.

And you've inherited an extraordinary elder brother.

Damian looked confused.

"Elder brother?"

Chairman Collins pointed toward Benedict.

I meant him.

Before Damian could respond, another executive hurried over.

The older man quickly cleared his throat.

What Chairman Collins means...

"...is that Director Benedict has looked after this family for many years.

Chairman Collins realized his mistake and laughed awkwardly.

"Yes."

That's what I meant.

But Damian noticed something.

The executive had looked nervous.

As though he had almost said something he shouldn't.

...

Meanwhile...

Benedict entered the kitchen.

The chefs immediately stood straighter.

Director Benedict–!

The final course is ready.

He tasted the sauce.

Added a pinch of seasoning.

Then smiled.

Perfect.

The head chef let out a relieved breath.

I knew you'd notice.

Before Benedict could leave, one of the young kitchen assistants hesitated before speaking.

"Sir..."

Yes?

I heard the Chairman's speech.

Benedict waited patiently.

The young man looked down.

I just wanted to say–

"...thank you."

Benedict looked surprised.

For what?

My mother works in housekeeping.

The assistant smiled shyly.

You secretly paid for my culinary school.

I only found out after I graduated.

Benedict's expression softened.

You worked hard.

You earned it.

Tears filled the young man's eyes.

I wanted you to know–

I'll never forget your kindness.

Benedict gently patted his shoulder.

Become the best chef youuu can.

"That's enough thanks for me."

Unseen by either of them...

Damian had stopped outside the slightly open kitchen door.

He had come looking for a glass of water.

Instead...

He had witnessed a side of Benedict no one had spoken about.

No cameras.

No audience.

No desire for recognition.

Just quiet generosity.

Damian slowly stepped back before anyone noticed him.

His heart felt strangely heavy.

For the first time since arriving at Ashcroft Manor–

He wasn't wondering whether he belonged.

He was wondering–

Who exactly was Benedict Vandross?

At the same moment, in the shadows of the upstairs balcony, a pair of cold eyes watched the banquet below.

The mysterious figure smiled faintly.

"So–"

a low voice whispered,

The game has finally begun.

The figure stepped back into the darkness before anyone could see their face.