The Discarded Heir's Ultimate Revenge

Chapter 3:The Kidman Legacy

The first thug hit the ground before his companions realized what was happening.

"You little—" The man with the spray paint lunged forward, swinging wildly.

Ethan sidestepped, his body moving on instinct, on years of muscle memory he'd never questioned. His fist connected with the thug's jaw—a precise strike that sent the man sprawling.

"Boss, he knows how to fight!" the third man shouted, backing away.

"I don't care!" The one who'd been urinating on the headstone pulled a knife. "We got paid good money to trash this grave. Nobody's stopping us."

"Paid?" Ethan's voice was deadly quiet. "Who paid you?"

"Like we'd tell you, mama's boy!" The knife-wielder circled, grinning through broken teeth. "What's wrong? Upset someone's pissing on your dead whore of a—"

He didn't finish. Ethan moved like lightning, disarming him with a fluid motion that left the knife clattering across stone. A sharp elbow to the solar plexus, then a sweeping kick that dropped the man like a sack of cement.

Vincent watched from several feet back, his bodyguards frozen mid-step at his raised hand. His eyes were wide with recognition and something that looked like wonder.

The spray paint thug scrambled to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. "You're dead! You hear me? Dead! Mrs. Morrison's gonna make you wish—"

"Mrs. Morrison?" Ethan caught him by the collar. "Celeste sent you?"

"Yeah, she did!" The thug spat blood. "Said to make sure your bitch mother's grave was ruined good. Said the whole Morrison family thinks you and your mom are nothing but—"

Ethan's punch cut him off. The man crumpled.

All three thugs lay groaning on the ground. Ethan stood over them, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding, his mother's defaced tombstone behind him like a silent witness.

"Impossible," Vincent breathed. "Those techniques... Sarah taught you."

"Mom taught me to defend myself." Ethan's voice shook. "She called it 'staying safe.' She never said where she learned it."

"The Kidman family combat system." Vincent stepped forward, his expression a mixture of pride and grief. "Passed down through generations. Your mother mastered it as a girl. She swore she'd never use it again after I disowned her, but she taught you anyway."

"You're crazy," one of the thugs groaned from the ground. "All of you. You think you can just—agh!"

A bodyguard's foot pressed down on his back.

"Let me up!" the knife-wielder wheezed. "You can't do this! Mrs. Morrison promised we'd be protected! The Morrison family runs this city! They'll hunt you down like the dogs you are!"

"Dogs?" Vincent's voice dropped to absolute zero. "You vandalize my daughter's grave, insult her memory, and then threaten my grandson. And you think the Morrison family will protect you?"

"They own half the cops! You're nobody! Just some old man and this pathetic—"

"Enough." Vincent made a subtle gesture.

His bodyguards moved with military precision, hauling the three thugs to their feet.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Panic crept into the spray paint thug's voice. "You can't—we were just doing a job!"

"A job." Vincent's smile was colder than winter. "Yes. And now you'll answer for it. Take them to the facility. Make sure they understand the price of crossing the Kidman family before they die."

"Die?" The knife-wielder's face went white. "No, wait, please! We didn't know! We didn't know she was—"

"Now you beg?" Vincent's expression didn't change. "My daughter is dead. You desecrated her resting place. You insulted her memory to her son's face. There is no mercy for animals like you."

"Please!" All three were screaming now as the bodyguards dragged them toward a black van. "We'll pay you back! We'll tell you everything! Don't kill us! Please! We're sorry! We're sorry!"

Their cries faded as the van doors slammed shut.

Ethan stood frozen, watching the vehicle disappear down the cemetery path. "You're really going to—"

"They chose their fate when they accepted money to defile the dead." Vincent turned to face his grandson. "And the Morrison family chose theirs when they orchestrated this."

"Celeste did this. Not—"

"The Morrison family," Vincent repeated firmly. "Your father allowed his new wife into his home. Allowed her to torment you. Allowed her to send thugs to desecrate my daughter's grave." His jaw tightened. "They helped me build their empire, and this is how they repay that kindness. This ends now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you will have your revenge, Ethan. You will personally dismantle everything Richard Morrison holds dear." Vincent's eyes glinted with cold fury. "Consider it both justice and a test. Can the heir to the Kidman fortune reclaim what's his?"

"Heir?" The word felt foreign. "I'm not—"

"You are my grandson. My daughter's son. The Kidman legacy flows in your veins—she made certain of that when she taught you our techniques." Vincent placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "But I must leave soon. Family matters overseas require my immediate attention."

"You're leaving?" Something cold settled in Ethan's chest. "But you just found me."

"I'll return. And in the meantime, you won't be alone." Vincent reached into his jacket, withdrawing a small velvet box. "Your aunt—your mother's younger sister—will come to assist you. When she arrives, show her this."

He opened the box.

Inside, a silver emblem gleamed in the dying light—an intricate design of a crescent moon cradling a star, surrounded by symbols Ethan didn't recognize.

"The Kidman family seal," Vincent said quietly. "This will prove your identity beyond any doubt. Guard it with your life."

Ethan took the box with trembling hands, staring at the emblem that somehow felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

Ethan stared at the silver emblem in his palm, his mind suddenly racing. "The star and moon... I've seen this before."

"What?" Vincent leaned forward.

"My mother had a necklace. Same design." Ethan's eyes widened. "She wore it every day until... until she got sick. Then she gave it to me. Told me to keep it safe, that it was important."

"Where is it now?"

"In my room. At the Morrison estate." The words tasted bitter.

Vincent's expression darkened. "I'll send men to retrieve it. You don't need to—"

"No." Ethan's voice was steel. "I'll get it myself."

"Ethan, after what happened today—"

"After what happened today, I won't run from them anymore." Ethan met his grandfather's eyes. "They're nothing but trash. Why should I fear trash?"

Pride flickered across Vincent's weathered face. A slow smile spread. "You truly are Sarah's son. Very well. But if you need assistance—"

"I won't." Ethan pocketed the emblem. "I'll be back within the hour."

"Good." Vincent clasped his shoulder once more. "Show them the man you've become."

The Morrison mansion loomed against the darkening sky, every window blazing with light. Ethan approached the front gate, his jaw set, his heart surprisingly calm. Just hours ago, he'd fled this place broken and defeated.

Now, he returned as someone else entirely.

The gate stood open. Unusual. As Ethan walked up the driveway, he heard voices—shouting, laughter, the crash of breaking glass.

He rounded the corner to the side entrance and stopped.

His belongings littered the lawn like garbage. Books, clothes, photographs—everything he owned scattered across the manicured grass. Servants scurried back and forth under Derek's supervision, hauling boxes and bags from the house.

"Careful with those!" Derek called out, grinning. "Oh wait, who cares? It's all worthless junk anyway. Just like the loser who owned it!"

The servants laughed nervously.

"Derek." Ethan's voice cut through the chaos.

His half-brother spun around, surprise flashing across his face before morphing into cruel delight. "Well, well, well. Look who crawled back. Didn't Dad tell you to stay gone?"

"I'm here for my things."

"Your things?" Derek laughed, the sound grating. "These aren't your things anymore. You don't own anything. You're nobody. A homeless stray with nowhere to go."

Ethan walked forward, ignoring him, heading toward the pile of belongings.

"Hey!" Derek stepped into his path. "I'm talking to you, dog. Where do you think you're going?"

"Move."

"Make me, you pathetic—"

Ethan shouldered past him, crouching to sort through the scattered items. Where was it? Where was the necklace?

"Did you seriously come back here?" Derek's voice rose with mocking disbelief. "After the beating you took today? After watching me with Vanessa? God, you really are as stupid as you look."

Ethan's hands moved methodically through the pile.

"Actually, I should thank you for coming back." Derek pulled out his phone. "Tomorrow night, we're throwing a banquet. Huge affair. The Kidman family partnership is being officially announced, and Dad wants to make it a real celebration."

"Congratulations," Ethan said flatly, still searching.

"Oh, but that's not all!" Derek's grin widened. "We're also announcing the cancellation of your pathetic engagement. And—here's the best part—Vanessa and I are getting married. She'll be the new Morrison bride."

Several servants gasped. Others exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Ethan's hands stilled for just a moment before continuing their search.

"Nothing to say?" Derek moved closer. "No tears? No begging? Come on, at least give me the satisfaction of watching you break down again."

"Why would I cry over a woman who spreads her legs for bastards?" Ethan's voice was ice.

Derek's face flushed red. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me."

"You little—" Derek kicked at the pile, scattering items further. "You think you can insult me? In my own house? You're lower than the servants here! Lower than the rats in the walls! At least they know their place!"

Ethan stood slowly, a small wooden box clutched in his hand. His mother's jewelry box. "This is what I came for. I'm leaving now."

"Leaving? You think it's that easy?" Derek snatched at the box. "What's so special about this junk?"

Ethan pulled it back. "Don't touch it."

"Oh, is this mommy's stuff?" Derek's eyes lit with malicious glee. "Is this from your dead whore of a mother? The woman who couldn't even keep my father interested?"

"Shut your mouth."

"Why should I? She's dead. Dead and buried and probably rotting by now. Just like her pathetic legacy." Derek laughed. "You know what? Dad's already talking about demolishing her grave. Making room for something actually worthwhile. Maybe a dog park. At least dogs are more useful than—"

"I said shut up." Ethan's voice dropped dangerously low.

"Or what? You'll hit me? Go ahead. Try it. Give Dad another reason to have you arrested for—"

Ethan opened the box, checking its contents. The necklace was there, the star and moon gleaming softly. Relief flooded through him.

"What is that?" Derek peered closer. "Some cheap trinket? Let me see."

He grabbed for the necklace.

"Don't—"

But Derek was faster, his fingers closing around the silver chain. "What, is this supposed to be valuable? Looks like costume jewelry from a thrift store. Just like everything else that worthless woman owned."

"Give it back. Now."

"Why? So you can pawn it for food money?" Derek held it up to the light, sneering. "Actually, you know what? I think I'll do you a favor. Put this garbage out of its misery."

He raised his hand, clearly intending to smash the emblem against the stone pathway.

Something snapped inside Ethan.

His fist connected with Derek's face before conscious thought caught up. The satisfying crunch of cartilage. The spray of blood. Derek stumbling backward, the necklace flying from his grip.

"You broke my nose!" Derek clutched his face, blood streaming between his fingers. "You psycho! You actually—"

Ethan caught the necklace before it hit the ground. Then he turned back to Derek, his expression colder than his half-brother had ever seen.

"That was your first mistake," Ethan said quietly. "Touch her things again, and it'll be your last."

Derek's eyes widened in genuine fear. "Guards! GUARDS! He's attacking me!"

Footsteps thundered from inside the mansion.