The Consortium Heir: My Stepsisters are obsessed with me

Chapter 3: The Stark Consortium

Anthony watched the video again. And again.

His thumb knew the motion by now — scroll, tap, replay. He didn't know why — maybe he was looking for a mistake, some sign he'd misunderstood, anything that could make this hurt less. But the screen offered no mercy.

Linda's face filled the screen, red-eyed and trembling, and her voice filled the hospital room like poison in the air.

"How dare she," Anthony whispered.

He wasn't even angry about the lie anymore. He barely cared what ninety thousand strangers thought of him. His image was the last thing on his mind. What made his blood boil was the photo.

He remembered exactly the day it was taken. Linda had come to the hospital, and at the time, he was actually glad. He'd foolishly thought she was finally showing his mother she cared. He had been completely wrong.

She hadn't come for his mother. She had come to ask him for money, something for her social media or a new outfit. He couldn't even remember the details anymore.

All he remembered was sitting beside his mother's bed while Linda complained about how hard her life was, obsessing over her next post while his mother lay there fighting to survive.

And now that photo, taken entirely without his knowledge, was plastered online for thousands of strangers to see. His mother—weak, unconscious, and wired to machines—was exposed to people who didn't know a single thing about her.

"How could you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at the glowing screen. "How fucking low can you go?"

His jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to throw his phone across the room. He wanted to scream. But his mother was fading in the bed beside him, and every minute he wasted on anger was a minute stolen from her.

"Fuck." He stood up, paced toward the window, and buried his face in his hands. "What am I supposed to do?"

As he lowered his hands, a sudden movement outside caught his eye.

The low, heavy rumble of expensive engines echoed from the street below. Anthony glanced down through the glass, mostly out of numb habit, and froze.

A fleet of sleek black cars, dozens of them, were rolling to a stop in front of the hospital. They lined up along the curb in a perfect, unbroken curve, like a dark river parking itself.

"Who the hell…?" Anthony blinked, temporarily distracted from his own despair. "Who owns an entourage like that?"

For one strange second, he couldn't look away as the doors clicked open and men in tailored black suits stepped out in synchronized motion, instantly forming a tight corridor from the lead car straight to the hospital's main entrance.

It looked like a drill they had rehearsed a thousand times.

Then, the rear door of the lead car swung open. A man stepped out.

Anthony couldn't make out the details of his face from this height, but even from a distance, the man's presence was undeniable.

The surrounding guards bowed their heads in unison as he passed. The crowded sidewalk near the entrance parted for him like water.

He didn't ask anyone to move. He didn't even look at them. The world simply cleared a path.

Anthony had seen celebrities before; he had even dated a fake one. But this? This was entirely different.

"Who the hell is that?" he whispered to himself.

Then he turned away from the glass. It didn't matter. None of it could matter, not when his own world was collapsing.

Right on cue, the door to the hospital room clicked open, and the attending doctor walked in.

"I'm sorry." The doctor's voice was flat, rehearsed, and deeply tired. "Your time is up. It's either you pay now… or you say your goodbyes."

Anthony turned, staring at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "What the—how can you be this heartless?"

"Sir—"

"Please, Doctor." The word tore out of his chest. "Don't do this to me. I'll get the money. I just need a little more time. A few days, just a few hours—"

"There's nothing more I can do. We have to follow hospital policy." The doctor was already moving toward the life support machine. "I'm sorry. Truly."

"Sir! Please, stop!"

The doctor didn't halt. His hand rose toward the power switch on the machine.

Anthony held his mother's hand against his forehead, tears streaming down his face, hot and endless.

Is this it? Is this how it ends? She was going to die because he was broke. Because he'd spent everything on a woman who'd sold his mother's picture for likes.

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open. And the room's atmosphere changed instantly.

The man who entered hadn't said a single word, merely stepping inside as his security detail folded in silently behind him, yet the very air in the room grew heavy and pressurized.

It was the strangest sensation Anthony had ever experienced.

The doctor's hand froze over the switch, paralyzed mid-motion. Even the machines seemed to beep more quietly.

The man looked right past the doctor without giving him a glance. He bypassed Anthony entirely. His eyes locked onto one place only: the woman in the bed.

"Seraphina," the man said softly.

Anthony's head snapped up. Seraphina. That was her name, he thought, that was his mother's name.

"How—" Anthony's voice broke. "Who are you? How do you know my mother?"

The stranger crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. His breathing grew noticeably unsteady as he reached a hand toward her, stopping just short of touching her pale skin.

"Finally," the man whispered. "I found you."

"Hey!" Anthony demanded, stepping between the man and the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I asked you a question. Who are you, and how do you know my mother?"

The man finally shifted his gaze, looking down at Anthony. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. But something about the way he studied Anthony made him feel like he was being examined from the inside out.

"Your mother is the love of my life." He stated calmly.

"What?" Anthony's brow furrowed in utter confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"And who I am is not nearly as important as who you are about to become."

The room was deathly quiet. The entourage stood like statues against the walls. The doctor remained frozen by the machine. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for this man's next words.

The stranger straightened his immaculate jacket and looked Anthony dead in the eye.

"I am Robert Stark, CEO of the Stark Consortium," he declared. "And you, my boy, just became the sole heir to everything I own."