The Hidden heir’s revenge

CHAPTER 5 THE WOMAN WHO WAS NEVER ON HIS SIDE

Varek had survived an assassination attempt, a forged death certificate, and the betrayal of his own family.

But nothing had prepared him for the sight of Evelyn Cross smiling at him with a gun hidden beneath her jacket.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” he said.

Evelyn’s smile disappeared.

For three seconds, neither moved.

Then she slowly raised her hands.

“Before you do something foolish, Mr. Thorne, I suggest you read the message again.”

Varek kept his eyes on her.

“How do you know about the message?”

“Because I sent it.”

The answer came so casually that Varek almost laughed.

“You sent me a warning about yourself?”

“I sent you a warning about the person who wants you to believe I am your enemy.”

“You’re making this worse.”

“I know.”

She reached into her jacket.

Varek immediately drew the small pistol he had taken from one of Lucian’s guards.

“Don’t.”

Evelyn stopped moving.

“There’s a security drive in my inner pocket,” she said. “It contains footage from the night your father died. If you shoot me before you see it, you’ll lose the only evidence connecting your father’s death to the person who ordered it.”

Varek’s expression hardened.

“Put it on the floor.”

She obeyed.

A small black drive landed between them.

Varek glanced at it but did not lower his weapon.

“Who sent the message about my real father?”

“Someone who has been following your family for twenty-nine years.”

“Jonathan Thorne?”

Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly.

That was enough.

Varek stepped forward.

“You know him.”

“I know of him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“He recruited me six years ago.”

Varek stared at her.

“You work for him?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

“Now I work for you.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Her answer caught him off guard.

Evelyn lowered her hands slightly.

“Trust is a luxury you cannot afford right now. You have enemies inside your family, enemies inside the company, and enemies who haven’t revealed themselves yet. If you intend to survive, you need evidence, not promises.”

Varek studied her face.

She appeared calm, but he noticed the tension in her jaw and the slight tremor in her right hand.

She was afraid.

Not of him.

Of someone else.

“Tell me everything,” he ordered.

Evelyn glanced toward the warehouse entrance.

“Not here.”

“I’m tired of hearing that.”

“Then stop asking questions in places where people can hear the answers.”

She pointed toward the black drive.

“Take that. Watch the footage. Afterward, decide whether you want to kill me.”

Varek lowered his gun slightly.

“If you’re lying, you won’t get another chance to explain yourself.”

“I understand.”

He picked up the drive.

Then he looked at her.

“One more question.”

“Ask.”

“Why did you smile when I received the message?”

Evelyn’s expression changed.

For the first time, she looked genuinely troubled.

“Because I recognized the sender’s number.”

“Whose number is it?”

She hesitated.

Then she gave him an answer he never expected.

“Your mother’s.”

⸻

At 10:42 p.m., Varek stood outside the old Thorne residence.

The mansion had been closed for nearly two decades. Its windows were covered with heavy curtains, its gardens had become overgrown, and the iron gates were stained with rust.

Yet the security cameras were new.

Someone had been maintaining the property.

Someone wanted the house to look abandoned while ensuring nobody could enter unnoticed.

Varek parked several streets away and approached on foot.

Evelyn had insisted on accompanying him, but he had refused.

He had learned enough about trust to know that walking into an unfamiliar house with an armed woman whose loyalties were uncertain would be a mistake.

Instead, he had brought two members of Sebastian Blackstone’s security team and instructed them to remain outside.

If he failed to return within fifteen minutes, they were to enter.

He checked his watch.

10:45 p.m.

The gate was unlocked.

That frightened him more than a locked gate would have.

He pushed it open and walked along the cracked stone path.

The front door stood slightly ajar.

Inside, the mansion smelled of dust and old wood.

Varek switched on his flashlight.

The beam swept across the entrance hall, revealing a grand staircase, faded paintings, and a chandelier covered in cobwebs.

He remembered this house.

He had spent several childhood summers here with his grandfather.

He remembered running through the corridors, hiding beneath the staircase, and sitting in the library while the old man told him stories about the empire he had built.

But one memory stood above the rest.

The last time Varek had visited the mansion, his mother had taken him into the eastern wing and locked the door.

She had knelt in front of him and gripped his shoulders.

“If anyone ever asks you to choose between the Thorne family and the truth,” she had whispered, “choose the truth.”

At nine years old, he had not understood.

Two months later, she was dead.

Varek walked toward the eastern wing.

The door was locked.

He examined the handle, then noticed a small silver key resting on the windowsill.

He inserted it.

The lock clicked.

The room beyond was untouched.

A desk stood beside the window. Shelves lined the walls, and a large portrait of his grandfather hung above the fireplace.

On the desk lay a single envelope.

His name was written across it.

VAREK.

He approached slowly.

The envelope contained a letter, a photograph, and a small brass key.

He unfolded the letter.

My dearest Varek,

If you are reading this, then the people I feared have finally come for you.

I wanted to protect you from the truth until you were old enough to understand it. Unfortunately, the truth has a way of finding those who are determined to bury it.

Your father is not the man you believe him to be.

Your mother knew this. She discovered it shortly before her death.

I begged her to remain silent until I could secure your future, but she refused. She believed that if the truth remained hidden, the people responsible would continue to control your life.

She was right.

Varek’s fingers tightened around the paper.

He continued reading.

There is a second key to your inheritance. It opens a vault beneath the original Thorne headquarters. Inside, you will find the documents that establish your true parentage and the evidence necessary to expose the people who destroyed our family.

But the vault has one condition.

It will open only when both heirs are present.

Varek stopped reading.

Both heirs.

He looked at the photograph.

It showed his grandfather standing between two men.

One was Richard Thorne.

The other was a younger man with the same dark eyes and sharp cheekbones as Varek.

The resemblance was unmistakable.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written three words.

THE FIRSTBORN SURVIVED.

Varek stared at the message.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

He turned, raising his flashlight.

A figure stood in the doorway.

A woman.

She wore a long black coat, and her hair was pulled away from her face. Her features were thinner than he remembered, but her eyes were exactly the same.

Varek stopped breathing.

The letter slipped from his hand.

“Mother?”

The woman stepped into the room.

“Hello, my son.”

Varek could not move.

For nineteen years, he had believed Eleanor Thorne was dead.

He had visited her grave every year on the anniversary of her death. He had carried flowers to a headstone bearing her name. He had spent countless nights wondering whether she had suffered, whether she had been afraid, and whether he had done enough to make her proud.

Now she stood before him.

Alive.

Older.

And looking at him as if she had never left.

Varek took one unsteady step forward.

“You’re dead.”

Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.

“I know what they told you.”

“You were buried.”

“No.”

“I saw your grave.”

“It was never mine.”

He shook his head.

“Where have you been?”

“Somewhere I could not reach you.”

“Why?”

“Because the people who wanted me dead would have killed you to get to me.”

Varek laughed bitterly.

“They tried to kill me anyway.”

Eleanor closed her eyes.

“I know.”

The words struck him harder than any physical blow.

“You knew?”

“I knew they were planning something. I didn’t know they would go this far.”

“You knew my father wanted me dead?”

Her face twisted with pain.

“Richard is not your father.”

Varek stared at her.

He had heard the accusation from Lucian.

He had seen the mysterious hospital records.

But hearing it from the woman who had given birth to him made the truth feel terrifyingly real.

“Then who is my father?”

Eleanor approached him.

For a moment, she seemed unable to speak.

Then she reached into her coat and removed a photograph.

It showed a man standing beside a black luxury car outside the original Thorne headquarters.

He was tall, with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that looked almost identical to Varek’s.

Varek stared at the photograph.

“Who is he?”

Eleanor’s voice broke.

“His name is Cassian Vale.”

Varek had never heard the name.

“Where is he?”

Eleanor looked toward the window.

“He is the reason your grandfather was murdered.”

Varek’s expression hardened.

“Explain.”

“Cassian was your grandfather’s most trusted financial adviser. He helped build the original empire, but he wanted control over everything. When your grandfather discovered that Cassian had been secretly transferring company assets into private accounts, he ordered an investigation.”

“And Cassian killed him?”

“He arranged the accident. But he did not act alone.”

Varek thought of Richard, Lucian, Jonathan, and the unknown people who had manipulated his family for decades.

“Who helped him?”

Eleanor hesitated.

“Your father.”

Varek’s jaw tightened.

“Richard?”

“No.”

She looked directly into his eyes.

“Cassian Vale is your biological father. Richard knew the truth from the beginning. He raised you as his son because your grandfather believed you were the only child capable of inheriting the empire without being controlled by Cassian.”

Varek felt sick.

“Why would Richard agree to raise another man’s child?”

“Because he believed he could control the inheritance. He thought that if he raised you as his own son, he could eventually gain access to your grandfather’s private estate.”

“And Adrian?”

Eleanor looked away.

“Adrian is Richard’s biological son.”

The room fell silent.

Varek stared at her.

His entire life had been a carefully constructed arrangement.

He was the firstborn of Cassian Vale, raised by Richard Thorne.

Adrian was the biological son of Richard, raised as Varek’s younger brother.

And the inheritance that had divided their family belonged to a man who had been murdered before either boy understood the world.

“Why did you let me believe Richard was my father?” Varek demanded.

“Because I was trying to keep you alive.”

“You let me spend twenty-nine years begging for his approval!”

Eleanor flinched.

“You let me believe I was unwanted by my own family!”

“I never wanted that for you.”

“But you allowed it!”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I had no choice.”

Varek turned away.

For the first time since his resurrection, the anger inside him felt useless.

He had spent years trying to prove himself to a man who had never been his father.

He had fought his brother for a place in a family that had never truly been his.

And the man whose blood ran through his veins might have been responsible for the deaths of everyone Varek had ever loved.

He looked at the photograph again.

“Is Cassian still alive?”

Eleanor did not answer.

Varek turned toward her.

“Mother.”

She slowly nodded.

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

Before she could respond, a loud crash echoed from the entrance hall.

Varek immediately turned toward the door.

Someone had entered the mansion.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Several pairs.

Eleanor’s face drained of color.

“No,” she whispered.

Varek reached for his weapon.

“Who is it?”

She grabbed his arm.

“You have to leave.”

“Not without answers.”

“Varek, listen to me. If they find you here, you will never leave this house alive.”

The footsteps grew louder.

A man’s voice echoed through the corridor.

“Search every room. He cannot have gone far.”

Varek recognized the voice.

Richard Thorne.

His adoptive father.

The man who had ordered his execution.

Eleanor pulled open a hidden compartment beneath the desk and removed a small black case.

She pressed it into Varek’s hands.

“Take this.”

“What is it?”

“Proof of your birth. Proof of Cassian’s crimes. And proof that your grandfather knew the truth about both boys.”

The door handle began to turn.

Eleanor pushed Varek toward a narrow passage hidden behind the bookshelf.

“Go!”

“I’m not leaving you again!”

“You have to!”

The door burst open.

Richard Thorne entered with two armed men.

He stopped when he saw Eleanor.

For several seconds, he looked as though he had seen a ghost.

Then his expression changed.

“You should have stayed dead.”

Eleanor stepped between Richard and her son.

“You should have told him the truth.”

Richard raised his gun.

Varek lunged from the passage.

The first gunshot shattered the portrait above the fireplace.

The second struck the desk.

Eleanor screamed.

Varek grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the hidden passage, but she suddenly stopped.

She looked at him with an expression he would never forget.

“Varek,” she whispered, “there is something else you need to know.”

He tightened his grip on her hand.

“What?”

Her eyes filled with terror.

“Cassian didn’t order your death.”

Varek froze.

Behind them, Richard raised his gun again.

Eleanor delivered the final words in a trembling whisper.

“He ordered Adrian’s death instead. And the boy they buried twenty-nine years ago was never your brother.”