The Forgotten Hilton

“Sign it,” Sophia’s voice sliced through the murmur of the crowd.

She stood at the center of the room, her beauty as sharp as the diamond necklace clinging to her throat.

Her lips curled into a cruel smile as she held up the divorce papers for everyone to see. “

Marcus Hilton, today you are nothing more than a burden I’ve finally cast off.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Laughter followed like a rising tide.

Marcus’s hands trembled as he stared at the document. His throat was dry.

“Sophia… here? In front of everyone?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken.

“Yes, here,” she sneered. “What better place than our graduation ceremony?

After all, everyone deserves to witness the end of this pathetic joke of a marriage.”

Her friends tittered behind her. “Imagine marrying trash like him,” one whispered loud enough for Marcus to hear.

“Even dogs are treated better than that,” another added.

Marcus swallowed hard. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat filled with humiliation.

He had endured years of ridicule from her family, her friends, even strangers, but this was different. This was public execution, and Sophia was the executioner.

“Please,” he muttered. “Not like this. We can talk privately.”

“Privately?” Sophia barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Marcus, you’ve embarrassed me enough in private. Now I’ll end you in public.

Sign the papers, or I’ll announce exactly what kind of useless parasite you’ve been these past three years.”

The hall erupted with jeers.

“Do it, Marcus!”

“Free the poor woman!”

“He’s nothing without her family name anyway!”

Marcus’s vision blurred. His legs buckled, but he forced himself to stay upright.

He stared at Sophia, the woman he once believed was his partner, his future. Her eyes were cold, her lips sharp as blades.

His fingers hovered over the pen, Sophia leaned closer, her whisper colder than the marble underfoot.

“Sign it, and maybe you’ll still have some dignity left. Refuse, and I’ll make sure you leave this hall crawling.”

A roar of laughter rolled across the room as if the crowd could already see him crawling on his knees.

Marcus clenched his jaw, but the pen slipped into his hand. His body moved before his mind could stop it.

The scratching of ink against paper echoed in his skull like nails across glass.

When the final stroke was done, Sophia snatched the papers, waving them high like a trophy.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she declared, “I am free of this worthless man!”

The hall erupted into cheers, applause, and cruel laughter.

Champagne glasses clinked, voices rose, and Marcus stood frozen as if the ground beneath him had shattered.

Sophia stepped closer, her perfume suffocating. “You were never good enough for me, Marcus.

You were never good enough for anyone. Trash belongs on the street.”

Then, with a graceful flick of her wrist, she tossed the signed papers onto the floor at his feet.

Silence hung for a moment, sharp and suffocating. Then, someone laughed. Another followed. Soon, the entire hall roared with ridicule.

Marcus bent down, his hands shaking as he gathered the papers. He felt their stares burning into his back, every whisper a dagger.

“Pathetic.”

“Beggar.”

“Look at him, he’s actually picking it up.”

He forced himself to stand, though his knees wanted to give way.

He looked once at Sophia, hoping, stupidly, desperately, that some fragment of the woman he once loved might remain. But there was nothing. Only ice,

“Get out,” she said flatly.

And just like that, he was escorted out of the hall by two security guards who shoved him into the cold night air.

The streets welcomed him with biting wind and the faint stench of garbage.

He clutched the divorce papers in his hand, the ink smearing under his trembling fingers.

The sound of laughter still echoed in his ears, louder than the traffic rushing past.

He stumbled forward, his body aching with shame. People on the sidewalk glanced at him, some with pity, others with disgust.

A man in a suit muttered, “Drunk,” as he brushed past

Marcus leaned against a streetlamp, his chest heaving. Everything he had endured, every insult, every humiliation, had led to this.

He was nothing. No home. No wife. No dignity.

Just trash, And yet, deep inside, something stirred. A voice he had buried long ago whispered through the fog of his mind. This isn’t the end.

But before he could listen, the sharp screech of tires tore through the night.

A sleek black car pulled up beside him, its polished frame gleaming beneath the streetlights. The tinted window slid down with a soft hum.

Inside sat a man in a tailored suit, his expression unreadable.

He looked Marcus up and down with the calm precision of someone weighing a priceless artifact.

“Marcus Hilton?” the man asked.

Marcus blinked, startled. “Yes…?”

The man’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “Get in. Your family has been searching for you.”

Marcus froze, the chill in the man’s voice sharper than the night air.

“My… family?” he muttered, his voice cracking with disbelief.

The man leaned forward, resting one gloved hand on the window’s edge. “Yes. The Hiltons. You’re their sole heir.”

Marcus blinked, then laughed bitterly. “You must have the wrong person. I’m nobody. Just a man whose wife threw him into the street.”

“Correction,” the man said smoothly. “You were thrown into the street because no one here understands who you are. But your bloodline… your bloodline is everything.”

Marcus shook his head, backing away from the car. “This is insane. I don’t know you.

And I don’t know anything about, about Hiltons or empires or whatever game you’re playing.

The man sighed, exhaling as though Marcus’s denial was predictable. Then he nodded to the driver.

The rear door opened with a soft click

“Get in,” the man repeated, his tone steel. “You’ve suffered enough humiliation for one night. You deserve to know the truth.”

Marcus hesitated. The cold air bit at his skin, carrying the echo of Sophia’s mocking laughter.

He glanced back at the glowing banquet hall where his life had just been shredded apart.

His pride screamed not to trust a stranger,yet… something inside him whispered differently. What if it’s real?

His legs moved on their own, pulling him closer, The man’s gaze never wavered.

“Trust me when I say this, Marcus, trash does not attract men like me. Blood does.”

Marcus clenched his jaw, his hands trembling. Then, without another word, he ducked inside the car.

The leather seats were smoother than anything he had ever touched, the air inside laced with the faint scent of cologne and power.

The door shut with a quiet finality, as though sealing off the life he’d just lost.

“Good choice,” the man said, settling back. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charles Vane. I serve the Hilton family.”

Marcus let out a humorless laugh.

“The Hilton family? That’s ridiculous. If I had family like that, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You think so?” Charles arched a brow. “Tell me, Marcus, what do you know of your parents?”