The Rebirth Of The Hidden Heir

"Isabella, what are you doing sitting on this man's lap? Who is he?” Logan asked in a panic as soon as he stepped.Apples rolled across the marble tiles, knocking against the leg of the glass table with a dull thud.

His wife sat comfortably on another man’s lap. Her head rested against his chest, her manicured fingers lazily tracing the line of his tie. The man didn’t even move when Logan appeared. He sat like he owned the room, like Logan didn’t exist.

Logan’s heart hammered. “Isabella, what are you doing?”

The man leaned back on the sofa, arm locked tightly around her waist. His suit was perfectly tailored, ash-gray Armani paired with polished Italian shoes. On his wrist gleamed a Patek Philippe, the kind that cost more than Logan’s yearly salary. A heavy sapphire ring glittered on his hand. His smirk carried the arrogance of someone born at the top.

Isabella lifted her eyes toward Logan, her expression bored. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Her grandfather,Mr Hart, tapped his cane against the floor, lips curling in a sneer. “Finally home, are you? Just in time. We were waiting for you.”

“Grandfather…” Logan stammered, his eyes darting from face to face. Her mother, Mrs Kate sat on the far chair, sipping wine. Isabella’s elder sister, Sofia lounged beside her, grinning at the scene. And there she was his wife in the arms of another man, as if Logan were nothing more than a ghost.

“Isabella, stand up. Come here,” Logan said, his voice cracking.

She didn’t move. Instead, she shifted on the man’s lap and adjusted his tie. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Logan. You should’ve known this day would come.”

Her elder sister chuckled. “Oh, please. He still thinks this is his home. You’ve wasted two years of your life with him, Isabella. Two years! If only grandmother had listened to us instead of being blinded by his fake honesty.”

Logan’s chest tightened. The memory of that night clawed at him. He had been cleaning after a gala when he found the late grandmother’s diamond necklace under a table. He could have sold it and lived comfortably for years, but instead, he’d returned it to her. She had called him an honest man. “A man like you deserves a good wife,” she’d said. Against everyone’s protest, she had chosen him for Isabella.

And now, that same honesty mocked him.

“Your grandmother trusted me,” Logan whispered.

Her mother slammed her glass onto the table. “And she ruined my daughter’s life by forcing her to marry you. Do you know what people whisper about us at galas? That we lost our minds letting Isabella marry a janitor. Do you understand what a stain you’ve been?”

Logan’s eyes burned. He turned to Isabella again, desperate. “Isabella, tell me this isn’t real.”

She finally looked at him, cold and sharp. “It’s real. I regret every day of it. Two years wasted on a man who can’t give me anything. No respect, no wealth, not even comfort. Just bleach on your clothes and calluses on your hands. Do you know how pathetic that is for me?”

Logan took a step back as if struck.

The man holding her laughed softly, tightening his arm around her waist. “You should’ve known, janitor. Look at her, then look at you. She deserves someone from her world. Not a man who smells of sweat and mops.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And who the hell are you?”

“Damian Rhodes,” the man said with a smirk. “The Rhodes family owns half the hotels in this country. Maybe you’ve cleaned a few of them. If so, you should thank me. I probably paid you at some point.”

The room erupted in laughter again.

Logan’s fists clenched. He wanted to swing, to wipe that smirk off Damian’s face, but the weight of Isabella’s eyes held him still. She wasn’t going to defend him. Not now. Not ever.

Her grandfather pushed a folder across the table with his cane. “Enough of this. Sign it.”

Logan stared at the folder. “What is it?”

“Are you stupid, boy?” the old man barked. “Divorce papers. You’ve been dismissed. It’s overdue.”

Logan’s throat closed up. He bent, picked up the folder, and flipped it open. His hands trembled. “Divorce?”

Isabella’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Yes. Divorce. Did you really think this marriage would last? I’ve wasted enough of my youth tied to a man who can’t even afford a bottle of perfume for me.”

Her mother leaned forward, her voice cutting. “You should be grateful we didn’t throw you out sooner. Now sign and get out before you drag our family name further into the mud.”

“Mother.” Logan said, pleading with his eyes as he stared at Mrs Kate

“Shut your twerp you trash” the disdain in her eyes was evident as she looked at him.

“But mother”.

“Don't ever call me mother, I can never be the mother to such an unfortunate trash like you”. Mrs Kate sneered, interrupting him. “Just sign it and leave.”

Her elder sister snorted. “If he had any pride left, he’d sign it on his knees.”

Damian chuckled. “I like that idea. On your knees, janitor. That’s where you belong.”

The laughter rose again, echoing in Logan’s ears. His chest heaved, his vision blurred, but he sank slowly to his knees. The marble floor was cold, hard beneath him. He clutched the pen in his shaking hand. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Isabella…” His voice was a whisper. “Do you really want this?”

She crossed her arms, her tone dripping with disgust. “I want a life worth living. You were a mistake. A shameful mistake I’m finally erasing.”

Tears stung his eyes as he signed his name. His hand felt heavy, like he was carving away the last piece of himself.

Damian reached forward, snatched the folder, and smirked. “Well done. You finally did something useful.”

Logan pushed himself to his feet, the laughter still crashing over him. He turned toward the door, his heart shattering with each step.

“Wait,” Damian’s voice rang out. Logan paused, his back stiff. Damian pulled a crisp dollar bill from his wallet and held it out between two fingers. “Here. Buy yourself a bottle of perfume. God knows you need it.”

The room roared with laughter. Isabella covered her mouth to hide her grin. Her mother and sister clapped like it was entertainment. Even her grandfather chuckled darkly.

Logan’s eyes fell on the note. For a long second, silence pressed between them. Then he shook his head slowly, turned, and walked out.

Logan stepped out of the mansion, his hands still shaking from the sting of humiliation. The door shut behind him, muffling the sound of laughter that had burned itself into his ears.

The night air hit his face, cool and sharp, but the sight before him made the bitterness inside him shift.

A row of sleek black cars lined the driveway, Bentleys and Rolls-Royces polished until they gleamed under the estate lights. Men in tailored suits stood beside them, their postures rigid, their gazes alert. The moment Logan appeared, they bowed in unison.

“Young master.” Their voices rang out as one, deep and respectful.

The servants working in the garden froze mid-step. One dropped a watering can. Another gasped loudly.

“Why would they bow to a janitor?” one whispered.

“Did he pay them? Or is this some kind of joke?” another murmured.

“That’s Logan. The janitor Isabella married. Why are those men calling him sir?”

Logan ignored them. His chest still burned with the weight of Isabella’s words, the sound of Damian’s laughter, the look of scorn in her mother’s eyes.

The rear door of the central Bentley opened. A man in his late twenties stepped out, tall, sharp-suited, his expression calm yet commanding. Ethan Ward.

He strode forward, his voice low but urgent. “Young master. What happened?”

Logan’s lips parted, but no sound came. His eyes flicked back to the mansion, then down to his empty hands. The fruits he’d bought were still inside, left abandoned on the floor.

Ethan’s gaze hardened. “They humiliated you again, didn’t they?”

Logan finally exhaled, his words bitter. “They didn’t just humiliate me. They ended it. Divorce papers. Right in front of one Damian Rhodes. She sat on his lap like I didn’t exist.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “That bastard. And she..” He caught himself, drew a breath, and lowered his tone. “Forget them. Logan, listen to me. You’re not the man they mocked tonight. You have billions waiting in inheritance. You are the rightful heir to Bliss Corporation. A dynasty stronger than any hotel chain, stronger than Isabella’s entire family combined. You can erase them with a single order.”

Logan shook his head. His eyes, still shadowed with pain, lifted to meet Ethan’s. “And what? Walk back in there tomorrow with a crown on my head? No. They don’t deserve the truth. Not yet. I’ll stay hidden. To them, I’ll remain the janitor they scorn. That way, they’ll never see the storm coming.”

A small smile tugged at Ethan’s lips. He placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Good. That’s the Logan I know.”

For a moment, the night grew quiet again. The guards stood at attention. The servants still whispered in disbelief. And in that silence, Ethan leaned closer, his voice dropping so only Logan could hear.

“Then tell me, Logan. Are you ready to carry on with the mission?”