The Heir Behind Bars

Chapter Eight

The Hayes estate glittered with luxury. The grand ballroom had been turned into a showpiece for Liam’s latest event, a charity auction. 

Everything sparkled: chandeliers poured down golden light, silk-covered tables lined the floor, and guests in designer clothes sipped champagne worth more than Nathan’s five years in prison. 

He weaved through the crowd with a tray of drinks, his calloused hands steady despite the memories of hard labor. The vest clung uncomfortably against skin that remembered sweat and grime. He was the true Hayes heir—but to Liam, and everyone else, he was a joke. Just a servant. A convict. Invisible.

Liam took center stage, his voice loud and confident as he auctioned off expensive wine and rare cars. Every sale made him look even more like the perfect heir. He wore a sharp tuxedo, his hair styled, and his smile cruel. Nathan kept his head down, trying to go unnoticed, but Liam’s eyes still found him, like a wolf spotting prey.

As Nathan passed a group of investors, Liam deliberately stepped into his path. His shoe clipped Nathan’s boot, and the tray tipped. Glass crashed to the marble floor, champagne splashing onto Nathan’s pants. The laughter came instantly, polished, fake, and sharp. The spilled champagne and broken glass reminded Nathan of every time he’d been humiliated, like stains that never washed out.

He knelt to clean the mess. The glass cut into his palms, but he didn’t react. He moved with quiet control, the kind taught by years in prison. Liam’s voice rose over the room, mocking him. “Careful, brother. You’re better at breaking things than being useful.”

More laughter. The words dug into Nathan’s chest like a blade. When he looked up, he saw Mr. Hayes at the front of the room, his face unreadable and cold. “Nathan,” the man said, voice like a judge, “you’re an embarrassment. One more mistake, and you’re no longer a Hayes.”

The final warning hit hard. Liam stood tall beside their father, smirking, clearly pleased with himself. Nathan kept cleaning, blood mixing with champagne, the sounds of the room fading into static.

Nearby, Cassandra stood watching. Her cream dress shimmered under the lights. She stepped forward, quiet and deliberate, and spoke just loud enough to be heard. “He’s trying,” she said. It was a lie, said for the crowd—but it startled Nathan. Her eyes met his, holding something he didn’t expect: a spark of loyalty, or maybe pity.

Liam turned sharply toward her, annoyed. “Trying?” he sneered. “Cassandra, don’t waste your pity on a stray.” Guests chuckled, but Cassandra’s mouth tightened. She looked at Nathan once more, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Nathan gathered the last of the glass, his hands sticky with blood and wine. As he headed to the back hallway, he passed staff near the kitchen, whispering among themselves. “Hayes changed the records,” one of them said. “Covered up the real reason the boy went to prison. They cleaned it up to protect the family.”

Nathan froze. The words struck hard. Mr. Hayes hadn’t just sacrificed him—he’d erased the truth to make sure the family looked perfect. Nathan walked away, tray forgotten, his mind racing.

That night, when the party ended and the guests were gone, Nathan snuck into the study. The room smelled of old power—leather chairs, mahogany desks, and walls lined with books. The Hayes crest loomed over the door. Moonlight lit the drawers where secrets were kept. Nathan’s hands trembled as he tried one. It resisted, but he forced it open just a little. He was desperate for anything to prove the truth.

A floorboard creaked. Nathan froze.

Liam’s voice broke the silence. “Thief, now?” he said, stepping into view. “Going through Father’s desk like a rat?”

Nathan stood, hands empty, but it was too late. Liam called out, and Mr. Hayes stormed in, his expression like stone. “What is this?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“He’s stealing,” Liam said, smug. “Probably looking for cash.”

Nathan’s jaw clenched. “I’m looking for the truth,” he said. “You erased my record. You covered up why I went to prison.”

Mr. Hayes didn’t blink. “You’re confined to the estate,” he said. “No more chances. You’re a liability.”

A guard entered, responding to Liam’s signal, and grabbed Nathan’s arm. As he was dragged away, he caught sight of Cassandra. She stood in the hallway, half in shadow. For a moment, the cold expression on her face cracked. Her eyes showed something: doubt, maybe regret. But she said nothing.