The True Heir Returns

Chapter 8: Walking into a trap

Three weeks later.

Anthony settled into a routine. Going for board meetings, quiet dinners, and endless scheming.

He'd grown accustomed to the sisters' barbs, Jonathan's veiled threats, and Vivica's cold silences. They were background noise now. Irrelevant.

But he'd grown complacent.

That was his mistake.

It started with a small kindness.

Reginald had invited Anthony to his study for the first time—just the two of them. They'd talked about the company, about Anthony's plans, about the future. Reginald had almost smiled.

"You're not what I expected," Reginald admitted. "You've got a sharp mind. Business instincts. Where did you learn?"

Anthony had shrugged. "Life taught me. Survival teaches you things."

Reginald had nodded slowly. "Maybe I misjudged you."

It was the closest thing to acceptance Anthony had received.

Jonathan noticed.

The morning of the incident, Anthony woke to a text from Carmen: Jonathan is planning something. He's been pacing all night. Be careful.

Anthony typed back: I'm always careful.

He should have listened.

Anthony was walking down the main staircase when he heard the commotion behind him. Jonathan's voice, raised in fake panic.

"Anthony! Anthony, wait!"

Anthony turned. Jonathan was rushing toward him, his face twisted in desperation. Behind him, at the top of the stairs, Anthony saw Vivica emerging from her room.

"Anthony, please! I need to talk to you!" Jonathan's voice was loud, theatrical. "About Carmen. I know you've been talking to her. I know you're trying to steal her from me!"

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play innocent! I've seen the way you look at her! You want her, don't you? You want to take everything from me!"

Jonathan lunged forward. His hand shot out, grabbing Anthony's arm.

And then he threw himself backward.

It happened so fast with Jonathan's body twisting, his feet slipping on the polished marble, his arms flailing. He tumbled down the stairs, his body bouncing off each step with sickening thuds.

Anthony stood frozen.

A setup, he realized. He set me up.

Jonathan landed at the bottom of the stairs in a crumpled heap. His leg bent at an unnatural angle. His face contorted in real pain, Anthony noted. Jonathan had committed to the performance.

And then Vivica screamed.

"JONATHAN!"

She flew down the stairs, her heels clattering against the marble. She dropped to her knees beside Jonathan, her hands hovering over his broken body.

"Jonathan! Oh my God, Jonathan!"

Jonathan's eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Vivica, his face pale with pain and something else. Triumph.

"He pushed me," Jonathan whispered. "Anthony pushed me, Mother."

Vivica's head snapped up.

Her eyes met Anthony's.

And in that moment, Anthony saw something he hadn't expected: not just anger, but hatred. Pure, burning hatred.

"You," she hissed. "You did this to my son."

"He fell," Anthony said calmly. "I didn't touch him."

"Liar!" Vivica rose to her feet, her hands trembling. "I saw you! I saw your hand on his arm! You pushed him!"

"My hand was on his arm because he grabbed me. He threw himself down the stairs. It was a setup."

Vivica laughed. "A setup? My son is lying at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg, and you call it a setup? You're a monster. You've been a monster since the day you arrived."

Anthony opened his mouth to respond, but Reginald appeared in the doorway.

"WHAT HAPPENED?"

Vivica pointed at Anthony. "He pushed Jonathan. I saw it with my own eyes."

Reginald's face went pale. He looked at Jonathan, crumpled and groaning. He looked at Anthony, standing at the top of the stairs, his face unreadable.

"Anthony," Reginald said slowly. "Is this true?"

"No. He threw himself down the stairs."

Jonathan groaned weakly. "Father... I tried to talk to him. About Carmen. He got angry. He grabbed me... he pushed..."

Reginald's expression shifted. The warmth Anthony had seen in the study evaporated. In its place was cold disappointment.

"Get him out of my sight," Reginald said. "I'll deal with him later."

***

The doctor arrived within the hour.

Jonathan's leg was broken. A clean fracture, but serious. He was confined to bed for at least six weeks, maybe longer. The doctor mentioned the possibility of permanent damage.

Vivica sobbed at his bedside.

Reginald stood in the doorway, his jaw tight. His eyes followed Anthony everywhere.

Anthony retreated to the west wing. He sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

I walked into that trap like a fool. I let my guard down. I thought I had the upper hand.

But Jonathan is cunning. He'll sacrifice his own body to destroy me.

And it worked. For now.

The days that followed were brutal.

Jonathan was installed in the east wing, where he held court like a wounded king. The sisters fluttered around him, bringing him food, pillows, entertainment. Vivica barely left his side.

And Anthony became the villain.

Reginald stopped speaking to him. At dinner, Anthony was seated at the far end of the table, ignored by everyone. The sisters glared at him. Even the servants looked at him with disgust.

"He's a monster," Beatrice announced at dinner. "Jonathan could be crippled for life, and he doesn't even care."

"I saw it," Giselle added. "He pushed him. I heard the sound of his body hitting the stairs. It was sickening."

Anthony ate his food in silence.

Jonathan, from his bed, played the victim flawlessly. He groaned softly. He winced when the sisters touched him. He whispered about his "unfortunate accident."

And he smiled when Anthony walked past his room.

"Enjoying yourself, brother?" Jonathan asked one afternoon, his voice soft. "Enjoying being the monster?"

Anthony stopped in the doorway. "You broke your own leg to frame me."

"Did I?" Jonathan's smile widened. "The doctor says I might never walk properly again. You must feel so guilty."

"I feel nothing but contempt. You're pathetic."

"Pathetic? I'm winning." Jonathan leaned back against his pillows. "Father despises you. Mother wants you gone. The sisters hate you. And Carmen—" He laughed. "Carmen came to see me this morning. She held my hand. She cried for me. She's mine, Anthony. She was always mine."

Anthony's eyes flickered. Carmen came to see him? She didn't tell me.

"Leave," Anthony said. "Get some rest. You'll need your strength for when the truth comes out."

Jonathan laughed again. "The truth? The truth is whatever I say it is. And everyone believes me."

By night, Anthony made his move.

The parents were out. Reginald at a business dinner, Vivica at a charity event. The sisters were in their rooms. The mansion was quiet.

Anthony slipped into Jonathan's room.

Jonathan was asleep, his leg wrapped in a cast, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber. He looked almost angelic.

Anthony closed the door behind him.

Jonathan's eyes snapped open. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my brother." Anthony walked to the bedside. "We need to talk."

Jonathan sat up slowly, wincing. "Get out. I'll call security."

"Go ahead. Call them. Tell them I attacked you. They'll come running, and I'll stand here calmly and explain that you've been faking."

"Faking?" Jonathan laughed. "My leg is broken!"

"Yes. But not as badly as you claim." Anthony leaned closer. "I did some research. The doctor you hired. That Dr. Morrison. He's on your payroll, isn't he? He's been paid to exaggerate your condition. Six weeks? Permanent damage? It's a lie."

Jonathan's face went pale. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you've been planning this since I arrived. I know you recorded the conversation with Dr. Morrison. I know everything, Jonathan." Anthony smiled. "And I've been waiting for the right moment to use it."

Jonathan's eyes darted around the room. "You're bluffing. You can't prove anything."

"I can prove plenty." Anthony pulled out his phone. "But I'm not going to use it. Not yet."

Jonathan stared at him. "What?"

"I'm going to let you have this win. You've earned it. You broke your own leg. You convinced the family I'm a monster. Enjoy the victory." Anthony pocketed his phone. "But remember this moment, Jonathan. Remember that I know the truth. And when the time comes, when you least expect it. I'll destroy you."

Jonathan's face twisted with rage. "You think you're so clever. But you're nothing. You're a nobody who got lucky. I've been playing this game for years. I know how to win."

Anthony nodded slowly. "So do I."

He walked to the door.

"I'm going to prove you pushed me," Jonathan spat. "I'm going to make sure everyone in this family hates you. You'll be thrown out like garbage. I'll make sure of it."

Anthony paused at the threshold. He looked over his shoulder.

"Try it," he said. "I could use the entertainment."

He walked out.

In the hallway, he found Carmen.

She was pale, trembling, her eyes red from crying.

"Anthony, I'm sorry," she whispered. "He made me come to his room. He said if I didn't, he'd expose me. I had to pretend to care."

Anthony nodded. "I know."

"What do we do? He's winning. Everyone hates you."

Anthony smiled. "No. He's just won a battle. The war is still mine."

"Are you sure?"

Anthony looked at her—this broken, terrified woman who had tried to destroy the original Anthony.

"I'm sure," he said. "Now go back to your room. Pretend you're still on his side. When the time comes, I'll need you."

Carmen nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

Anthony walked back to the west wing.

Jonathan thinks he's won. He thinks breaking his own leg was worth it.

But he just showed me exactly how desperate he is.

And desperation makes people stupid.

This game isn't over. It's just getting interesting.