The Richardson’s heir

The plot

Laura stormed into the estate, slamming her designer handbag onto the marble console in the foyer. Her cheeks burned, her perfect curls slightly undone — and not by design.

Danielle stood at the top of the staircase, arms folded like a judgment passed.

"You said you'd handle it," Danny said coldly. "You said she didn’t stand a chance."

Laura bit her lip. “I did everything you told me. Everything.”

“Clearly, not enough.” Danny descended slowly, heels sharp against the steps. “You let that girl embarrass this family. Do you know how this makes us look?”

Laura spun around. “I was running for school president, not a seat in Parliament! This wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed. “Everything is about us, Laura. The Alberts don’t lose. And now, thanks to your carelessness, the entire school is laughing behind our backs.”

Laura blinked back the tears, rage building in her throat. “She didn’t win because of me. She won because they were tired of you.”

That stung. Danny’s hand flinched, but she held her ground.

“Fix this,” she whispered venomously. “You lost your crown. Don’t lose your relevance.”

********

At Richardson’s estate, the atmosphere in the west wing was different — warmer, brighter. Stephanie stood in the kitchen with a coffee mug in hand, scrolling through her tablet.

Ethan entered, exhausted but quietly triumphant.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Steph said with a smirk. “Or should I say ‘The Kingmaker’?”

Ethan chuckled, flopping onto a stool. “Don’t start mom.”

“Oh, I must,” she said proudly. “I saw the video. Iva’s speech was spectacular. And don’t think I didn’t notice your fingerprints all over the grace in her campaign.”

Ethan smiled, a little bashful. “I just wanted to help someone who deserved it.”

Stephanie walked over and kissed his head. “And that’s why you’ll go farther than anyone expects,son.”

Just then, Anna walked in, lips pursed, eyes darting between them. She poured herself a glass of juice in silence.

“How’s Laura?” Stephanie asked with faux sweetness.

Anna didn’t respond. Just sipped.

Stephanie smirked. “Tell her to get used to humility. It's good for character.”

Anna slammed the glass down on the counter a bit too hard, but said nothing.

Later that evening, Ethan was walking past the game room when he noticed Liam sitting there, staring blankly at a muted TV screen.

“Hey,” Ethan said casually. “You good?”

Liam barely looked at him. “Fine.”

Ethan stepped in. “You’ve been off with me ever since the election.”

Liam scoffed. “Maybe I don’t like how you’re suddenly everyone’s hero.”

Ethan frowned. “I didn’t do it to be a hero. I did it because it was right.”

Liam turned sharply. “Yeah, well, sometimes doing the ‘right thing’ messes with people who never had a problem until you stuck your nose in.”

Ethan raised a brow. “Are you mad because I helped Iva — or because Laura lost even after threatening Iva?”

Liam’s jaw clenched.

“Ohh I do get it,” Ethan said quietly. “You’re angry because the world you’re used to controlling is changing. And you can’t stop it.”

Liam stood up slowly, tension radiating from his shoulders. “Just stay out of my way for a while.”

Ethan didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because for the first time, the power was shifting — not with explosions, but with cracks. And cracks always come before collapse.

**********

The Albert estate felt colder lately.

Not because of the weather, but because of the tension that snaked through its walls like frost. In Danny’s private study — a room few were ever invited into — the air was thick with the scent of lavender oil and quiet fury.

Laura sat across from Danny,her arms crossed, legs bouncing in restless frustration.

“She embarrassed me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Twice. Onstage. In front of the entire school.”

Danny was flipping through a thin dossier on Iva — school records, class rankings, social media profiles. Her expression was blank, detached — the look of a woman in strategy mode.

“You lost,” she said finally. “But what matters now is how we use the loss.”

Laura blinked. “Use it?”

Danny closed the file gently. “Do you know how powerful pity can be? Victimhood? You’ll go quiet — gracefully. Congratulate Iva. Step back. Let her get comfortable. Then, when she slips up — and she will — you’ll be there to tear her down publicly, with the whole school watching.”

Laura looked up, eyes sharp. “And if she doesn’t slip?”

Danny smiled. “Then we create the illusion that she did.”

Laura smiled, already drafting a plan in her head

*******

Iva’s first week as president was anything but graceful.

Her suggestions were met with polite resistance. Her meetings were flooded with former Laura loyalists — arms folded, eyes skeptical, looking for a single mistake.

And the whispers… they were everywhere.

“She’s only there because of sympathy.”

“She’s out of her depth.”

“She doesn’t belong.”

Iva tried to push through, but the weight settled in like fog. By Friday, she was sitting alone in the empty council room, her eyes on the window but seeing nothing.

Then the door opened.

Ethan stepped in with two bags of takeout and a knowing look. “Brought the presidential fuel — greasy fries and iced tea.”

She managed a small smile. “I might be the only president who cries into her french fries.”

He sat across from her and passed the bag over. “Let me guess. People smiling in your face, tearing you down behind your back?”

She nodded. “It’s like they’re just waiting for me to fail. Or worse — trying to make me.”

“You’re not imagining it,” he said, voice steady. “But that means you’re doing something right.”

She looked at him. “How do you always know what to say?”

Ethan smiled, leaning back. “Because I’ve lived in a house long enough to know how people like Anna and Laura operate. They create storms and then act like the thunder is your fault.”

Iva chuckled. “That’s… oddly poetic.”

“Also painfully true.”

There was a beat of silence, then Iva said quietly, “It’s hard. Not just doing this. But knowing someone like her is waiting for me to slip.”

Ethan’s expression softened. “Then don’t give her the satisfaction. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be real. And people are drawn to that more than you know.”

Iva took a deep breath. “Thank you. For everything.”

He smiled gently. “You’re not alone. That’s what they hate the most.”

They both chuckles

********

Back in the shadows of the estate, Laura stared at a new flyer Iva’s team had printed for her next campaign initiative — “Unity Week.”

Danny sipped her wine slowly.

“Let her bring everyone together,” she said coolly. “Because when the cracks show — and they will — the fall will be twice as loud.”

******

And just like that, the next game began.

The buzz started on Monday morning.

A banner hung across the school’s central hallway in bold letters:

“UNITY WEEK — Rewriting the Narrative.”

Workshops. Storytelling. Role Reversals. Truth Corners.

Below it was Iva’s handwritten signature and a quote:

“We rise by lifting others — not by stepping on them.”

By first period, everyone was talking. Students gathered around posters detailing the daily activities:

Monday: “Walk In My Shoes” – students would swap roles with classmates from different backgrounds.

Tuesday: “Tell Your Story” – an open mic event where students could share their struggles anonymously or publicly.

Wednesday: “Behind the Masks” – a visual project exploring the labels students wear vs. who they really are.

Thursday: “Fix What’s Broken” – a forum to discuss how the student council can serve every voice, not just the popular few.

Friday: A celebration in the courtyard — not just for the winners, but for everyone who participated.

It was ambitious. And it was personal.

When Laura saw the banner, she froze.

“She’s trying to win sympathy again,” she said bitterly, arms crossed, watching students buzz around the schedule board.

“No,” Faye said, tone unsure. “It’s not sympathy. People… actually look excited.”

Laura scoffed. “Because she’s selling a sob story. But it’s fine. Let them eat it up. The sugar always fades.”

In the principal’s office, Iva presented the full outline.

The principal leaned back, eyebrows raised. “I must say, this is more than I expected.”

“It’s not just about me,” Iva said calmly. “It’s about the students who never had a chance to speak, to belong, to be heard. This week is for them.”

He tapped the desk, thoughtful. “This could cause some… disruption.”

“Sometimes disruption is the only way to start real conversations.”

He smiled. “Approved. Let’s make some noise.”

Later that day, Iva sat under her favorite tree — not overwhelmed, but centered. She watched students discuss plans, offer to help, volunteer.

Then Ethan dropped beside her, holding a notebook.

“Planning your presidential memoir already?” she teased.

“I’m documenting the legend of Iva Harrisons before N*****x beats me to it,” he smirked.

Iva chuckled. “Do you think I overreached?”

“No,” he said, looking at the bustling courtyard. “You leveled the playing field. And for people like Laura, that’s terrifying.”

She grew quiet for a second. “What if they come for me again?”

He looked at her, eyes steady. “Then I’ll still be here. And this time, you won’t just survive. You’ll lead.”

********

That evening, at the Albert estate, Danny scrolled through the school’s social media page.

Every post. Every share. Every student with glowing captions: “Finally someone who listens.”

“I never thought anyone cared what we thought.”

She closed her phone.

Laura stood nearby, arms crossed.

“She flipped the narrative.”

Danny’s voice was calm. But cold. “She did. But remember this — every queen has her moment. Then the people get bored.”

Laura turned, eyes sharp. “Then we make them bored mom.”

Danny smiled faintly. “Exactly.”