The Heir Behind Bars

Chapter Eleven

Nathan lay still on the basement floor, blinking up at the ceiling's wooden beams.

The air smelled damp of mildew, stone, and silence. He had counted every groove in the floorboards. The initials he’d carved into the wood earlier stared back at him: N.H. It was a small act, but it made him feel better, a reminder that he still existed, even if this family wanted to erase him.

His fingers ran over the metal clasp of the small tool he’d hidden behind a loose stone, a trick he’d learned from years in foster care. He’d waited hours, timing the footsteps above, memorizing the shift changes of the guards and servants. Now it was quiet. This was the moment.

With a soft click, the lock opened. Nathan opened the basement door, wincing at the quiet creak. The hallway was dim, the old mansion surroundings quiet. He moved like a ghost, barefoot, tense, each step echoing softly on the cold marble floor.

Nathan knew exactly where he was going—the library.

It was the one room he’d never been allowed