2025-02-24 17:35:17The clink of silverware echoed through the grand dining hall, a stark contrast to the silence that surrounded him.
Silas, stooped over in his usual servant-like posture, placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of his wife, Lilian. She didn’t acknowledge him. She rarely did. “Too cold,” she said, pushing the cup away with a flick of her manicured hand. Her voice was sharp enough to slice through his heart. “I’ll make another one,” Silas murmured, his tone almost apologetic. “Do it quickly,” her mother Veronica, seated at the head of the table, snapped. “And this time, don’t embarrass us with your incompetence.” Silas nodded, avoiding eye contact. His shoulders sagged as he turned to the kitchen. The scorn in their voices no longer stung as it once had. He had grown numb to the daily barbs and sneers. Yet, deep down, a small part of him still longed for a kind word, a glimmer of approval—especially from Lilian. In the kitchen, the staff exchanged pitying glances but said nothing. They knew better than to get involved. Silas worked quickly, trembling slightly as he prepared a fresh cup. A weak smile flashed on his face for a brief moment. “The things we do for love” he thought to himself. Back in the dining room, Lilian was laughing at something her younger brother had said. She looked radiant, as always. Her sleek black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her designer dress clung perfectly to her lithe frame. Silas’s heart clenched. Despite everything, he adored her. It was unbelievable but it was the truth He placed the new cup in front of her and stepped back, waiting. She took a sip, her expression indifferent. “It’s fine,” she said curtly, as though granting him a favor. “Finally,” her brother muttered, rolling his eyes. Mark stood there for a moment, unsure if he should leave or wait for another command. “Why are you still standing there?” Lilian’s father barked. “The garden needs weeding, doesn’t it? Or are you too lazy even for that?” “Yes, sir,” Silas replied softly. He turned and walked out, his steps heavy. Out in the garden, the sun beat down mercilessly. Silas wiped the sweat from his brow as he pulled at stubborn weeds. His hands were calloused, his nails cracked and dirty—a stark contrast to the polished, glittering world of his wife’s family. “Hey, idiot!” a voice called. Silas turned to see Lilian’s brother, his face twisted in a smirk. “You missed a spot. Are you blind or just stupid?” Silas swallowed his pride and nodded. “I’ll fix it.” “You’d better,” the younger man sneered before sauntering back into the mansion. Silas exhaled, staring at the ground. This was his life: a punching bag, a servant, a joke. But no matter how much they ridiculed him, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He loved Lilian too much. Later that evening, as Silas carried a tray of desserts into the living room, Lilian’s laughter rang out again. She was surrounded by friends, each of them as glamorous and wealthy as she was. “Silas, stop standing there like a statue,” she snapped. “Serve the guests.” “Yes, dear,” he replied, forcing a smile. Her friends giggled, whispering to one another. Silas felt their eyes on him, felt the weight of their mockery. “Honestly, Lilian,” one of them said, “I don’t know how you put up with him.” “He’s useful,” Lilian said with a shrug. “In his own pathetic way.” The laughter that followed was like nails on a chalkboard. Silas’s hands trembled, but he said nothing. He never said anything. As the night wore on and the guests finally left, Silas cleaned up the mess they had left behind. The house was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the faint sound of Lilian’s heels clicking on the marble floor. “Silas,” she said, her tone icy. “Yes?” “Don’t forget to iron my dress for tomorrow. I need it first thing in the morning.” “Of course,” he said, bowing his head slightly. She turned and walked away without another word. Alone in the kitchen, Silas leaned against the counter, exhaustion seeping into his bones. His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. He pulled it out, expecting another spam message or perhaps a reminder for a chore he had forgotten. Instead, his eyes widened as he read the text: “Master, the council awaits your command. Your presence is requested at the Crimson Hall.” Silas blinked, rereading the message. His heart raced. Master? Council? Crimson Hall? It had to be a mistake. He was no one. A nobody. Another message followed almost instantly: “Do not ignore this summon. The legacy of the Lancaster Clan lies with you.” Silas’s breath hitched. His palms grew clammy. He had heard of the Lancaster clan. They were the most powerful and biggest clan in the city. Rumored to be even above the state government. Who were these people that texted him, it couldn’t be the real Lancaster clan, can it? How did they know him? And why were they calling him… Master? He glanced around, paranoid that someone might have seen the message. But the kitchen was empty. A third text came through, this time with an address. It was in the wealthiest district of the city, a place he had never dared to step foot in. He deleted the messages, his mind spinning. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. It must be. Maybe one of Lilian’s cruel brothers had set it up. It won’t be the first time they had pulled different pranks on him just for their amusement. That was the only sensible explanation. But as he finished cleaning and headed to his small, cramped room in the servants’ quarters, the words from the text lingered in his mind. “The legacy of the Lancaster clan lies with you.” Silas stared at the cracked ceiling, sleep eluding him. For the first time in years, he felt something other than despair. He turned all round the bed, completely disturbed. It wasn’t hope, not yet. But it was a spark—a tiny flicker of curiosity, of defiance. Whoever had sent those messages knew something about him that he didn’t. And for the first time, Silas wondered if there was more to him than the pathetic, beaten-down man everyone saw. Tomorrow, he would find out.
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The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed Chapter 002
Silas’s phone buzzed again. He stood in the dim hallway, glancing at the illuminated screen. “We need to meet in person. Your legacy cannot wait. Come to the address attached.”Silas hesitated. His thumb hovered over the screen. Another message followed: “Do not delay. The Elders chose you for a reason.” A lump formed in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to ignore it, but curiosity gnawed at him. With a deep breath, he dialed the number. A man’s voice, calm yet commanding, answered. “Master Silas. The council awaits your arrival.” The line went silent for a moment before Silas’s voice came in. “I… I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Silas stammered. “No mistake. You’ll understand everything when we meet. Come alone.” The line went dead. Silas slipped the phone back into his pocket, his heart racing. As he turned, he froze. Lilian stood at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed, her sharp eyes fixed on him. “What are you sneaking around for?” she asked, he
The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed Chapter 003
Lilian sat at the head of the table, her long, elegant fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. Across from her sat Damien—a well-dressed, confident man who leaned in just a bit too close. Plates of half-eaten food cluttered the table, accompanied by an expensive bottle of red wine Silas didn’t recall opening. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. “Lilian?” Silas’s voice trembled as he stepped forward. She turned, startled at first, but her expression quickly hardened. “What are you doing out here?” she snapped. Silas held up the box, his voice breaking. “I… I bought you this.” Damien raised an eyebrow, amused, leaning back in his chair as though savoring the unfolding drama. Lilian stood, crossing her arms. “You think you can fix this with a gift? It’s too late, Silas. I’m done.” The box slipped from his hands, landing with a soft thud. Silas stared at her, his eyes filled with disbelief and pain. “After everything… after all we’ve been through, you’re just
The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed Chapter 004
Silas stepped into the luxurious lobby of the Grand Regency Hotel. The golden chandeliers sparkled above, their light reflecting off the marble floors. Elegantly dressed guests moved about, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Silas adjusted his worn-out jacket and stepped toward the reception desk. The receptionist barely glanced at him as he approached. “Yes?” she said curtly, her manicured fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’d like a room for the night,” Silas said quietly, his voice steady despite her dismissive tone. Her gaze flicked over him, her expression skeptical. “Do you have a reservation?” “No. I need something available now. VVIP section, please.” She raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing mid-air. “VVIP?” she repeated, as though the very word coming from his lips was a mistake. “Yes,” Silas replied, his tone calm but firm. “Is that a problem?” The receptionist’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “We don’t usually take walk-ins for the VVIP sect
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Silas stopped a few feet from him, his eyes cold. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone so small. A real man shouldn’t be seen in a compromising position with another woman.” Damien straightened, his smirk fading. “Careful, Silas. You’re in no position to talk to me like that. Do what I said you should do and I’ll save you from completely disgracing yourself.” Silas’s voice dropped. “You think I’ll kneel for you? I’d rather drink from a basket than beg for anything you offer.” Damien’s lips twitched, a mix of anger and amusement flashing across his face. “Is that so?” Silas turned to leave, his steps deliberate and slow, as if daring someone to stop him. “Wait!” the receptionist barked. Silas froze and turned back to the receptionist. “To hell with you all, you’re not worth any penny from me.”“Guards!” she called, her voice sharp. Two uniformed men emerged from the nearby hallway, their footsteps heavy against the polished floor. Silas turned, confusion etched on his face
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The lobby buzzed with tension as the flashing red and blue lights from outside pierced through the glass doors, casting eerie reflections on the polished marble floor. Two police officers entered, their boots clicking sharply against the tiles. Their stern expressions silenced the murmurs of the crowd gathered near the reception desk. Silas stood between the guards, his shoulders tense but his head held high. His sharp jawline was set in defiance, but a flicker of unease crossed his eyes. He couldn’t let them take him—not like this. “That’s him,” the receptionist said, pointing an accusatory finger. Her voice was tinged with disdain. “He tried using a stolen card. Likely a scammer.” Damien leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, his posture radiating smug satisfaction. A triumphant grin stretched across his face, and he shot Silas a look that said, This is what you deserve.Beside Damien, the brunette he cameWith chuckled softly, her gaze filled with amusement. Sh
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Damien smirked, leaning casually against the counter like this was just another show for his amusement. "He's lying," Damien said as the policeman was about to give Silas the phone to call, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Whatever sob story he’s cooking up, it’s pathetic. Probably stole that card off someone who actually matters." Silas glared but stayed silent. It was obvious his words didn’t seem to matter here. The double doors to the lobby swung open. A man in a sharp suit strode in, exuding authority. His presence alone silenced the murmurs in the room. “What’s going on here?” His baritone voice was calm but carried weight. The kind of voice that didn’t need to yell to command attention. The receptionist perked up, straightening her posture. “Mr. Whitman! Thank goodness you’re here.” “Explain,” Whitman said, his eyes scanning the scene. The receptionist gestured at Silas, her tone laced with disdain. “This man tried to book a room using a stolen card. We called
The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed Chapter 008
The next morning, Silas stood at the grand gates of the sprawling estate. The towering iron structure loomed over him, intricate patterns carved into its surface. Behind it lay the heart of the clan he had never known. “This is it,” Silas muttered, gripping the strap of his bag. The butler, a composed man with a graying beard, approached him. “Young Master, they’re waiting.” Silas swallowed hard. The term still felt foreign, like a coat that didn’t quite fit. But he nodded, stepping through the gates and into a world that felt like it belonged to someone else. The estate was massive—manicured lawns, fountains that sparkled under the sun, and a mansion that seemed to stretch endlessly. Inside, the halls were just as grand, with chandeliers casting soft light on marble floors. They entered a room filled with people. Conversations halted as heads turned. Silas felt their eyes on him—some curious, others cold. A few older women whispered behind their hands, their disapproval
The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed Chapter 009
The phone buzzed in Silas’s pocket as he was stepping out of the company’s headquarters. He frowned, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. Unknown number. His thumb hovered over the decline button, but something about the timing made him pause. With a sigh, he answered. “Hello?” “Mr. Silas?” a hurried voice asked on the other end. “This is Mercy Hospital. Your contact information is listed as the emergency number for Mrs. Lilian Lawson. She’s been in a car accident. We need your immediate presence.” Silas froze mid-step. Lilian? His ex-wife? The name felt like a punch to the gut, bringing with it a rush of old memories he’d buried deep. “Is she…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is she okay?” “She’s stable but critical,” the nurse explained. “She needs surgery, and we require your consent to proceed.” Silas gripped the phone tightly, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll be there,” he said firmly, already moving toward the garage. “Than
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Chapter 036
Moonlight slanted through broken windows of the abandoned warehouse, casting fractured beams across the cracked concrete floor. The two black jeeps skidded to a halt on the gravel outside. A ragged chain-link fence, its barbed wire twisted and rusted, marked the property’s perimeter. Inside, moonlight revealed peeling paint, graffiti-scrawled walls, and the skeletal shells of long-abandoned machinery.Two masked men yanked Silas Lancaster from the rear seat of one jeep. He slumped between them, still groggy from the blow to his neck. They dragged him across the littered floor, the soles of his dress shoes scraping against shattered glass. The warehouse doors groaned as they pushed him into the main chamber.A third man grabbed Silas’s arms and forced him into a scarred metal chair bolted to the ground. His legs dangled, wrists pulled tight behind the chair’s narrow backrest. The cold metal bit into his skin through his suit. “Wake him,” the first kidnapper growled. They poured
Chapter 035
Silas settled deeper into the backseat of the sleek black sedan, the night air cool against his skin as the city’s neon lights flickered past. His chauffeur, Isaac, guided them along the quiet boulevard with practiced ease. Silas closed his eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the engine soothe him after a long day at the office.Then, around a sharp bend, two rugged jeeps screeched to a halt across the road. Isaac slammed on the brakes, tires chirping in protest, and the car nearly lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop inches from the jeep’s grille.Before Silas could react, seven figures in dark clothing and featureless masks poured out of the jeeps, brandishing wooden planks and metal rods. The leader—a tall man with a scar running down one cheek visible beneath his mask—stepped forward. He raised a plank overhead and pointed directly at Silas.“You fraud! Imposter!” the leader hissed. “We’ve got a package for you!”In an instant, the masked men charged. Isaac threw
Chapter 034
Moonlight pooled across Mat’s sprawling penthouse study, illuminating sleek bookshelves and the glint of city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows. Yet the room’s luxury offered him no comfort. He paced in erratic figure‐eights across the marble floor, irritation knotting his shoulders.“Why did she have to be the one to come and sign the documents?” he snarled to the empty room, voice rough with disbelief. “Of all people…” His shoes clicked against the stone as he strode, turned, and strode again. Earlier that day, he’d slipped into Silas Lancaster’s office to assist with pending contracts—his usual role as right hand to the heir. He’d expected formalities, handshakes, the routine press of paper. Instead, he’d found her standing across the desk: Elena Rogers, head of the Rogers NGO. Her steely poise, the grace of her greeting—yet she had refused to acknowledge him beyond a curt nod. Mat ran a hand through his hair. “Elena…” he whispered. The memory struck him like a physica
Chapter 033
Elena Rogers sat at her polished oak desk in the Rogers NGO headquarters, sunlight filtering through tall windows and dancing across the rows of binders stationed neatly on chrome shelves. She’d spent the morning reviewing grant applications, fine-tuning budget projections, and fielding emails from field officers in three different time zones. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she drafted an upbeat progress report—until her wrist begged for pause. With a decisive click, she minimized her screen and leaned back in her ergonomic chair, eyes closed for a moment’s respite. The hum of the server cluster in the corner, the soft tread of assistants on the carpeted floor, even the distant murmur of a late-morning staff meeting—all of it faded into the background as she let her shoulders relax. At that instant, her phone buzzed insistently on the desk. The caller ID glowed with a name that always made her heart skip a beat: “Sandra.”A smile bloomed across her face before she eve
Chapter 032
Morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lawson Industries’ headquarters, illuminating the sleek steel desks and humming servers lining the open-plan office. The steady click of keyboards and low murmur of meetings formed the usual soundtrack of corporate life. Behind a polished mahogany desk in her corner office, Lilian Lawson stared at her monitor, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She’d thrown herself into a half-finished marketing proposal, determined to drown out the echoes of Silas Lancaster’s rise to prominence. Despite Damien’s reassurances—that Silas’s ascension was a contrived spectacle—her mind kept circling back to the possibility that it was all too real. Every headline, every blinking news ticker seemed to taunt her with Silas’s name. She exhaled and refocused on the spreadsheet before her when the door burst open. Lilian jerked upright as her younger brother, Derek, stormed in, laptop in hand, eyes wide with alarm. “What the hell?!”
Chapter 031
Silas Lancaster guided his sleek black sedan through the manicured gates of the Lancaster family estate. The late-morning sun glinted off the limestone façade of the mansion, throwing long shadows across the courtyard. He took a steadying breath, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket. Today, he would visit his grandfather—the patriarch—in his private chambers. He stepped into the marble foyer. Crystal chandeliers refracted light into dancing patterns on polished floors. Yet the grandeur felt secondary when he noticed a cluster of elders gathered near a sweeping stairway, leaning in low over hushed conversation. As Silas approached, they fell silent, eyes flicking to him like hawks tracking prey. In their glances, he sensed disdain—spite hiding behind stiff collars and jeweled brooches. Silas’s chest tightened, but he refused to be distracted. “No matter,” he told himself, “I’m here for Grandfather. Can’t let myself be distracted by bitter elders.”He passed through the hall
Chapter 030
She laughed softly, reached for the handle, and paused to glance back at him once more before walking out. As she turned the door handle, she collided with Mat at the door.Elena Rogers stepping out, and Mat stepping in. They collided like two startled fencers. Elena’s cream blouse fluttered; Mat’s crisp shirt tilted askew. For a heartbeat, Mat’s brows knotted in irritation—until he realized who it was. His eyes widened, jaw slackening. “Elena?” he stammered, voice a mix of relief and surprise. Elena’s lips almost curved in a polite, almost a painful smile but she kept a straight face. She straightened, smoothing her slacks. She inclined her head ever so slightly—an acknowledgment, no more. Mat opened his mouth again, perhaps to speak, but Elena simply turned on her heel. Her gaze flicked toward Silas—warmth blossoming across her features. “Silas,” she said, her voice soft and bright. “Thank you for this morning. I’ll be in touch.” She gave him that same serene smile she
Chapter 029
The Lancaster Headquarters was already alive with movement and purpose. From the legal department to the financial wing, each corridor hummed with quiet energy. Keyboards clicked in rhythmic unison, phones buzzed intermittently, and clipped conversations filled the air as staff bustled with their morning tasks. Inside the sleek, spacious corner office on the top floor, Silas Lancaster was buried neck-deep in a maze of paperwork. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened. The early sun filtered through the massive glass windows behind him, casting a golden hue over the desk piled high with documents awaiting his attention. He reached for another file, eyes scanning numbers and legalese, when the soft creak of the door opening reached his ears. Without lifting his gaze, he sighed. “I really do not want to be disturbed this morning, Nancy,” he said flatly, assuming it was his PA again. “Good morning to you too.” The voice stop
Chapter 028
Moonlight poured through the floor‐to‐ceiling windows, illuminating the plush king‐size bed where Lilian and Damien lay locked in an embrace. Their bodies glistened with sweat as they moved together with a shared urgency, each touch sending sparks through them. Damien’s strong hands roamed Lilian’s curves, while she arched into him, breath hot against his neck.“God, Lilian,” he murmured between kisses, voice husky. “You feel incredible.”Her soft moan was answer enough. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he guided her with a confident rhythm. Their whispers and sighs filled the room: promises, confessions, gasps of pleasure. Damien’s breath grew ragged as he found that perfect cadence, and Lilian clung to him, nails light against his back.Then, with a rush of heat and release, they both reached that single, shattering moment. Damien’s arms tightened around Lilian as she cried out softly, and for a beat, time froze. They panted, foreheads pressed togeth