The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed

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 even lifted the handset. “Heyyy girl!” she answered, voice bright with relief.

“Elena!” Sandra’s voice crackled over the line, warm and animated. “How’s everything in the city.”

Elena chuckled, letting the river of conversation carry her beyond work concerns.

“Sunny as ever. The kids at the community centers are in full swing—painting murals, planting gardens. And me? I’ve been enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet.”

“Right,” Sandra teased, “since I gallivanted off to Paris.”

She could practically see Sandra sipping an espresso on a quaint sidewalk café, scarf fluttering in a gentle breeze.

“I swear, I haven’t missed you too much,” Elena teased back. “But I’ve missed your awful puns.”

Sandra laughed—a bright, carefree sound. “You mean the ones that make me groan? My specialty.”

Their laughter paused only long enough for Sandra to ask, “So how’s the NGO going? Any big wins this week?”

Elena stretched and tapped the phone against her cheek. “Actually, yes. We just finalized a contract with Lancaster Industries this morning.”

Sandra’s tone sharpened with curiosity. “Did… the same Lancaster Industries?”

Elena grinned. “The very same—Silas Lancaster’s family empire.”

There it was: the name that seemed to follow her every waking thought. “Silas Lancaster,” Sandra repeated, voice dropping in mock awe. “The one they just unveiled as their long-lost heir?”

Elena cleared her throat, resisting the urge to blush. “Yes. He’s the heir. We shook hands, initialed the agreement—fully legit.”

“How did you even hear about the heir so fast?” Elena laughed. “Technology, Sandra. News spreads like wildfire on social media. I barely had time to grab my coffee.”

Sandra giggled conspiratorially. “Well, good for you. And… word on the street is, he’s very… cute. Handsome.”

Elena’s lips curved in a slow, thoughtful smile. “I’m not at all surprised you noticed that.”

The line crackled as Sandra pressed on. “But—” She lowered her voice to a playful whisper. “—is he finer in person?”

Elena’s heart fluttered. She remembered the moment she stepped into his office: the soft gold light, his warm greeting, the careful way he had listened to her during the contract negotiation.

*His eyes*—that subtle mix of hazel and brown—lingered in her memory. She paused, caught in the sudden awareness of her own pulse.

“Elena?” Sandra’s voice called, teasingly impatient.

“Oh!” Elena cleared her throat, blinking. “Sorry. Got… distracted.”

Sandra laughed. “Well?”

Elena let out a soft sigh, leaning back in her chair. “He’s… professional. Confident. His smile… it lights up the room.” She bit her lip. “He’s definitely… attractive.”

Sandra squealed. “I knew it!”

They high-fived across the airwaves, giggling like schoolgirls.

Then Sandra glanced at her own clock. “I’ve got a panel discussion in thirty. Wish me luck in front of all those urban planners.”

“You’ll be brilliant,” Elena assured her. “Knock ‘em dead.”

Sandra’s tone softened. “Thanks. And you… don’t work too hard, okay? Text me later?”

“I will,” Elena promised. “Now go be fabulous.”

“Bye, girl!”

They ended the call, and the office’s ambient hum reasserted itself. Elena let the phone rest on her desk, her smile lingering like a private sparkle.

She shook her head lightly and exhaled. “Okay, Rogers,” she whispered to herself. “Back to reality.”

Raising her shoulders, she opened the contract folder on her desk—screens and spreadsheets blinking back at her—and dove in once more, fingers gliding over the keys.

But every so often her gaze flicked to the corner where her phone lay, as if expecting it to glow again with Sandra’s name—or perhaps Silas’s.

She paused to take a sip of herbal tea. The steam curled around her, warming her senses.

A part of her marveled at how a simple phone call could lift so much weight, refocus her on joy instead of stress.

Her phone buzzed again—but from an internal message: a reminder of this afternoon’s site visit to the new women’s co-op. She squared her shoulders, ready for the next task.

Yet deep in the hum of her busy NGO office, between the grant reports and donor calls, Elena carried a secret warmth—a memory of hazel eyes and a gentleman’s handshake, and the flutter of possibility that perhaps the heir of Lancaster was more than just a business contact.

And as she typed her next email, she found herself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until she might hear Sandra’s laughter—or perhaps catch another glimpse of Silas’s name on her calendar, where business and... something more, might just intertwine.