The Consortium Heir: My Stepsisters are obsessed with me

Chapter 4: The Stark Heir

The name hit him a second before the rest of his statement.

Robert Stark? The Robert Stark?

The founder of the Stark Consortium. The man whose companies were everywhere. The man whose name appeared in financial news, business magazines, and university lectures.

The man whose net worth was larger than some countries' economies.

Anthony’s breath caught. What the hell was he doing here?

Only then did the second part catch up to him, the heir to everything he owns part.

Heir.

The word bounced around Anthony's skull like it was written in a language he didn't speak.

“I think there's been some kind of mistake," Anthony said quickly, glancing between Robert and his mother. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person."

Robert didn't answer. He just turned toward the door and said, "Don't worry. My assistant will explain everything to you."

Before Anthony could ask anything else, Robert gave a small signal, and the people behind him moved at once as they began arranging the equipment, preparing to move his mother's entire bed out of the room.

Anthony's eyes went wide. "Hey— hey, wait stop." He stepped forward. "What are you doing? Where are you taking my mother?" The panic rose back up in his chest.

The man stopped. Turned. And looked directly at him. Those dark eyes settled on Anthony, steady and absolute, like a mountain deciding to notice a pebble.

"Don't worry," Robert said quietly. "I will take good care of her."

There was something about the man — something that made his words feel like they could be trusted. He didn't know this man, didn't know why he was here, didn't even understand how he knew his mother, but somehow Anthony believed him. He had no doubt this man wouldn't hurt her.

He stood in silence as they took her away, watching until she disappeared through the doorway. Then he realized he wasn't quite alone. And that was when he saw her.

Standing at the entrance of the room was the most beautiful woman Anthony had ever seen in his life.

Anthony froze, forgetting everything else for a second. She was unlike anyone he'd ever seen — tall, with smooth, deep caramel skin that seemed to glow under the hospital's flat white lights.

She wore a fitted charcoal blazer over a white silk blouse, a pencil skirt that stopped at her knees, sheer black stockings, and low heels — modest, professional, sharp.

Except modesty had absolutely no chance. The blouse pulled perfectly across a full chest that made the fabric work for its life, and the skirt traced hips that made Anthony's brain file for early retirement.

She had dark hair pinned up in a neat, severe bun, thin silver-framed glasses, and a face that was, somehow, even better than the body, with high cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes behind those lenses that looked at him the way a scientist looks at something interesting under glass.

She wasn't trying to draw attention. She didn't need to. There was a natural confidence in the way she held herself, a quiet beauty that made people look twice without meaning to.

Anthony stared a beat too long. She noticed.

"Hello." Her voice was cool and even, not a drop of emotion wasted.

"Oh— yeah. Hi. I'm—" He stumbled over his own tongue. "You're— Anthony."

"No, you're Anthony." She adjusted her glasses. "And I'm Sophie."

Embarrassed, he muttered, "Right, sorry."

"I'm sure you must be very confused," she said, already turning toward the hallway.

"Oh, you have no idea," Anthony muttered.

"Come with me. I'll explain everything. Or, at least, as much as I can."

Anthony hesitated, then looked toward the direction they'd taken his mother. If this was connected to saving her, he didn't really have a choice.

He followed her out and she led him to one of the black cars idling at the entrance. The chauffeur opened the door and she slid in with impossible grace. Anthony climbed in after her, feeling like a raccoon boarding a private jet.

The car pulled away into the rain-slick streets. She sat with her legs crossed, tablet already in hand, and began without preamble.

"Only Mr. Stark knows the complete story. But the basic truth is that he believes you are his son."

Anthony froze. "His son?" The words hit harder than he expected.

"Yes, his long-lost son."

Anthony's head turned slowly. "Why… why would he think that?"

"Because your mother used to be married to him, many years ago."

"My mother was married to Robert Stark?"

"Yes."

"The Robert Stark?"

"There is only one."

Anthony leaned back, his mind racing. The name wasn't just famous — everyone knew it.

Technology, finance, real estate, entertainment — the Stark Consortium had a hand in nearly every major industry, a company so vast that ordinary people only ever saw fragments of it.

And she was telling him his mother had once been married to that man.

"How," he said, shaking his head. "How does that even happen?"

"I'm not sure I can answer that." Her eyes stayed on the tablet, voice flat as glass.

"But what I can say is that after something happened that caused them to go their separate ways, this is the first time he has seen her in nearly twenty years."

"Twenty years? Then— how did he even find her?"

"Through a video on the internet that surfaced a couple of minutes ago." A pause. "Posted by somebody I am guessing is your ex."

Linda.

The name landed like a stone in Anthony's chest, and everything he'd shoved down over the past hours came rushing back up at once.

Because that was the joke, wasn't it? The sickest, most bitter joke in the world.

Linda had betrayed him, humiliated him, thrown his mother's photo to ninety thousand strangers like garbage — and that exact cruelty was the only reason his mother wasn't dead right now.

The reason a man had walked into that room and said her name like he'd been carrying it for over twenty years.

Anthony didn't know whether to throw up or laugh. He settled for staring out the window, jaw tight, hands curled into fists on his knees.

"And now that he has found you," the woman continued, oblivious or simply indifferent, "he has decided to make you his heir."

"This is crazy, for real." Anthony laughed, short and hollow. "I mean…"

He couldn't finish it as the car finally slowed, and Anthony looked outside, forgetting how to speak.

The mansion in front of him was… no, mansion was the wrong word.

This was a white-stone palace, three stories of tall windows and carved columns, wings stretching out on both sides, fountains throwing silver arcs of water even in the rain.

The lawn alone was probably bigger than his entire trailer park. Anthony had seen houses like this in movies, in Linda's sponsor posts, through car windows. He'd never once imagined standing in front of one.

With rain misting the top of his head, Anthony stepped out of the car completely mesmerized by the view before him.

"This is one of the Stark family residences on the East Coast.” Sophie walked beside him.  “You'll stay here while the DNA test is completed."

"DNA?"

“Yes, to confirm whether you are indeed his son or not." She answered walking past him.

Anthony caught up to her at the foot of the steps, and a random half-remembered fact he'd read somewhere on the internet about Robert Stark, infamously known for being the billionaire with multiple baby mamas.

He looked at her. "Wait. Doesn't he have, like… a bunch of other kids?”

"Yes. Indeed, he does"

"Then why would he need me?" He asked with a pestering level of curiosity.

She stayed calm. "Because if you're truly his son, you'll be his first biological son."

Anthony froze. His first son. The words sank in slowly. "And that means?"

She glanced toward the mansion. "You'd become the sole heir to the entire Stark Consortium."

He stood there, silent, thinking about how a few hours ago he'd been begging a doctor not to pull his mother off life support, and now someone was telling him he could inherit one of the largest consortiums in the world. It was too much. Too impossible.

Before he could say anything, they'd reached the entrance. "And the others?" he asked.

She opened the door. "The others?"

"His other children. Are they okay with this?"

A small smile. "Why don't you ask them yourself?"

"What?"

The door swung open, and Anthony stopped in his tracks.

The living room was vast and warm and lit by a chandelier, and seated on the enormous curved sofas were four stunningly beautiful girls, arranged like someone had cast them for a poster.

One lounged with her legs hooked over the armrest, long dark hair spilling everywhere, scrolling her phone with the boredom of a queen waiting for a peasant to matter.

One sat in the center, blonde and doll-pretty, with bright smile that had too many teeth.

One was curled into a corner of the sofa in an oversized hoodie, huge eyes watching him over her knees, a game controller still in her grip.

And the last one leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, pink hair and a smirk that could be mistaken for seductive, looking him up and down like she was already deciding what to do with him.

Anthony stood frozen at the entrance as four pairs of eyes turned to the door, and not one of them friendly.

"Anthony." Sophie called, nodding toward the room. "Meet your step-sisters."