The Forgotten Heir

The Useless Son-in-law

SPLASH!

The shock wasn't even the worst part. No, what hit deeper was the way the icy water seemed to seize up his already aching muscles, rooting him to the threadbare mattress.

Elias couldn't even bring himself to get up on reaction to the shock. He was too exhausted to.

He just opened his eyes, letting the drips roll off his eyelashes, and looked up at the towering silhouette of his mother-in-law, Victoria Shaw.

"Get up, you leech! Do you think we pay for your luxury sleep? It's almost seven! Get the trash out now before the collector comes." Victoria spoke, her voice naturally dropping to a low, guttural snarl, that was laced with the contempt she usually reserved for rotting garbage.

Elias had been awake for hours, of course. He'd finished the laundry at 2 AM, scrubbed the patio at 4 AM, and only managed to slump onto the cot in the Shaw family's boys’ quarters (a glorified storage shed) just an hour ago.

He was bone-tired, his shoulders screaming from hoisting the heavy, antique carpets.

"Yes, Mother," he answered in his usual quiet voice, devoid of complaint, and utterly obedient. His thin and damp shirt clung onto his lean frame as he sat up.

Victoria scoffed, tossing the empty bucket onto the concrete floor with a deafening clang. "Don't 'Mother' me, you pathetic burden. You’re lucky my daughter is too much of a saint to kick you out. Move." She pivoted on her heel, her silk dressing gown swishing behind her as she disappeared, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive perfume.

Elias waited until the door slammed shut before letting out a long, silent breath and peeled himself off the cot.

He felt like he was twelve again, hiding in a closet, away from the cruel and bitter world. No, he corrected himself, I am not that boy anymore. I am here for Sera. Her alone. I can do this.

The kitchen of the Shaw mansion was so warm, it was a welcome contrast to the damp shed. Elias was on his way to the back door, holding on to a heavy bag of garden refuse in each hand, when a soft voice stopped him.

"Elias dear. Come here."

It was Mrs. Lorna. She had been the family cook for as long as Sera could remember, a woman whose eyes held the weary kindness of someone who had seen too much and judged too little. She was the one genuine source of warmth in this entire house.

Elias set the bags down. "Good morning, Mrs. Lorna. I'm sorry, but I really can't stop. Victoria—"

"Oh, please. Victoria is upstairs screaming at the gardener," Mrs. Lorna interrupted with her usual soothing voice, pushing a chipped plate across the counter. On it was a perfectly cooked egg, two slices of toast, and a small cup of coffee. "Eat this. Quickly. I made it for you. The leftovers Victoria orders you to eat are stone cold. It's not good for your health, dear."

He hesitated, then gratefully accepted the food. He ate quickly, savoring the simple luxury of a hot meal.

"Child," Mrs. Lorna sighed, leaning on the counter, her voice dropping lower than normal. "How do you do it? How do you keep that smile on your face when she treats you worse than the scullery boy? You look like you haven't slept in weeks."

Elias took a sip of the coffee, feeling the caffeine hit his system. A faint, almost sorrowful smile touched his lips. "I smile, Mrs. Lorna, because I love my wife, Seraphina. And she loves her mother. If my presence here—if my endurance—means her life is a little bit easier, then the price is worth it."

He knew it sounded weak, maybe even pitiful, but it was his truth. His whole life had been about maintaining control, power, and secrets. Now, it has transited into being about sweeping floors and carrying the crushing weight of another man's family, all for the one soul who hadn't instantly dismissed him: Sera.

Mrs. Lorna’s eyes welled up. She reached over the counter and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. It was the first human touch he'd felt that wasn't antagonistic in three years.

"Don't you ever give up, boy," she whispered fiercely into his ear. "There is something in you that is not useless. Don't let them crush it."

Elias nodded, pulling back. "Thank you, Mrs. Lorna. I won't."

He finished the last bite of toast, wiped the plate clean, and was back to hauling the refuse bags out.

★

His next task was polishing the marble floors in the grand hallway till they could give back human reflection. He had been on his hands and knees for nearly an hour, the chemical fumes stinging his nostrils, when a light click of heels signaled someone's approach.

It was Seraphina.

She looked beautiful, as always, even when her face was pale with fatigue and her stunning green eyes harboring bags underneath them.

She was already on her uniform: a tailored suit. One look at her and you'd be able to tell she was ready to face another grueling day at the Shaw Corporation—a company she ran almost single-handedly, despite her mother and brother’s efforts to undermine her.

She looked utterly worn out.

Elias immediately scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp protest of his knees. The floor was still wet, but he didn't care.

"Sera," he said softly, quickly pulling a delicate mahogany chair from the nearby library and placed it precisely where she might sit. "Please, sit down for a minute. You didn't sleep again, did you? Can I get you some tea? Or maybe call your driver to take you to work a little later? What else can I do for you?"

Looking at his eyes, you'd see how glad he was to even do something for her.

She looked at the chair, then at him, and her expression was a complicated mix of tired worry and ingrained distance.

She didn't want him to see how weak she was. She never wanted anybody to see it.

"Nothing, Elias," she said in a cool and formal voice. It was the exact one she used with her employees.. "Just go back to what you were doing. The floor isn't dry yet. I don't need you to call anyone. I'm fine."

The dismissal was just like a low grade knife piercing his heart. He knew he couldn't push.

Her love for him was the only thing that kept him tethered to this humiliating reality, but their marriage was one that involved a silent agreement: she protected him from totalruin, and he endured the torment, keeping his distance to protect her reputation.

He bowed his head slightly. "Of course." He retreated back to his cloth and polish.

He was barely ten minutes into the continuous scrubbing pattern when the other source of household poison appeared.

"Well, well. If it isn't the family maid."

Elias let out a sigh that said, Not again.

Preston Shaw, Sera’s older brother, was a caricature of entitled arrogance: designer clothes, a smirking face, and absolutely no ambition other than spending the family money. He was the one who most keenly resented Elias’s very existence. Even Victoria didn't hate Elias as much as Preston did.

And trust me, Victoria was totally against team Elias.

"Good morning, Preston," Elias murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the marble.

"Good morning? What's good about it, slave? Look at this patch." Preston pointed a polished leather shoe at a section Elias had just finished. "I can still see my reflection. I wanted to see my soul. Do it again. And this time, put some effort into it. Do you even know what effort is? Probably not. The only thing you put effort into is mooching."

Elias ignored the taunts, simply bending his back to re-polish the designated spot. He was used to the verbal lashings. He could withstand anything, as long as Sera was safe.

But Preston wasn't done. He was bored, and bored kids tend to play with their toys till they broke. He kicked the bucket of soapy cleaning fluid, sending a wave of liquid sloshing over the freshly polished floor and soaking Elias's trousers.

"Oops," Preston drawled, a sick grin spreading across his face. "Clumsy me. Looks like you have to start all over, Elias."

Elias froze. The small, fragile calm he maintained inside threatened to burst. The memory of Mrs. Lorna's plea—Don't let them crush it—flashed through his mind. He kept his hands balled into fists, resisting the urge to stand up.

"It's fine, Preston," Elias said in a dangerously even voice. "I'll clean it up."

"No, I don't think you will," Preston said, growing bolder. He stepped closer, putting his expensive shoe right on top of Elias’s hand, grinding it against the marble floor. "I think you're going to clean up this mess I made. With this, actually." He bent down, picked up a discarded shard of broken porcelain from a planter Elias had been sweeping earlier, and shoved it into Elias's cleaning rag. "Don't stop, now. The floor won't clean itself."

He pressed down with his heel, crushing Elias’s hand under the weight of his body, forcing the sharp porcelain edge deep into the palm of his right hand.

A gasp tore through Elias’s throat as a thick drop of crimson blood hit the white marble.

"Stop it, Preston!"

The voice belonged to was Sera.

It was sharp, cold, and filled with anger. She had been halfway up the stairs when she saw the thing happening. She flew down the last few steps, her purse slamming onto the table as she rushed toward them.

Preston immediately backed off, his face losing its smirk. "Sera! It's nothing. The useless idiot cut himself on the floor tile. See? He's a liability."

"He's my husband!" Sera snapped, her green eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire that Elias hadn't seen in months.

Victoria, drawn by the commotion, suddenly appeared, disapproval written all over her face. "Seraphina! Don't make a scene! Let the tramp clean his own mess! You have a company to run, not a charity to manage!"

Sera completely ignored her mother, grabbing Elias’s wrist and inspecting the deep, jagged cut that was now weeping heavily onto the floor.

"We’re leaving," she said with her voice shaking slightly.

She hauled Elias, who was still slightly dazed by the pain, to his feet and dragged him out of the hallway, past his furious mother-in-law, and into the downstairs powder room.

She didn't speak as she turned on the faucet, the water running cold. She carefully washed the wound with gentle movements, her face close to his, concentrating entirely on the task. The blood swirled down the drain.

"Hold still," she instructed, fetching a small first-aid kit from the cabinet. "You need stitches. That's a bad one. How—" She cut herself off, knowing Preston was behind it.

She dabbed antiseptic on the cut, causing Elias to hiss and grip the edge of the sink. Then, she unwrapped a sterile bandage, her brow furrowed in concentration.

The silence in the room was so thick, you could touch it if you reached far enough.

As she wrapped the bandage tightly around his hand, their eyes met in the mirror. He saw the fatigue, the fear, and the deep, buried affection she couldn't allow herself to fully show.

And in that moment, seeing the blood on the pristine white bandage, seeing the woman he sacrificed everything for tending to a wound inflicted by her own family, the facade kinda cracked.

The quiet, obedient "useless son-in-law" faded away, and the man underneath—the man with a past that could level this entire mansion—surfaced just for a second.

“Can I ask something?” he asked in a low voice and she frowned but nodded anyway.

“Yeah, I guess. What is it?”

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. Then he asked. A plea. A question he badly needed an answer to.  

“Who exactly am I?”