The Tycoon Heir

A loud bang on the door awoke Nathan from his sleep. Groaning, he sat up on the thin, creaky mattress. His bedroom was little more than a storage closet: small, full of old boxes, and a broken fan that groaned louder than he did. The only light came from a small window covered with newspapers to block out the cold. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time on his cheap phone. Five-thirty in the morning.

"Nathan!" The voice outside the door was sharp and impatient. He recognized it instantly. Madam Rose, his mother-in-law. "Are you deaf? Get up and make breakfast!"

Nathan huffed, then swung his legs swiftly over the bed. He didn't want to give her reason to yell any louder. Pulling on a shirt and pants, he stepped out into the hall, his head low. Madam Rose was waiting for him, her arms folded, face twisted in her usual frown.

You're slower than a snail," she snapped. "If you weren't married to my daughter, I'd have thrown you out long ago. Useless boy."

"Yes, ma'am," Nathan murmured, walking past her to the kitchen.

The kitchen was clean, not because anyone bothered to clean it, but because Nathan cleaned it every night after dinner. He began preparing breakfast appropriately to avoid another lecture. On autopilot, his hands slid across the frying eggs, boiling water for tea while his mind wandered somewhere else.

Two years back, life was different, not better. He had been a bartender, surviving on tiny apartments or streets when he couldn't pay the rent. His mother's death had destroyed him, and he was left with literally nothing. Then Sophia showed up, this drop-dead-gorgeous, confident woman, telling him she wanted to marry him. He'd thought it was some cruel joke at first, but she was dead serious. Her family had given a reluctant agreement, though they never gave up making him remember that he didn't belong there.

"Don't burn the eggs," Madam Rose shouted, pulling him out of his reverie.

"I won't," Nathan replied, flipping them onto plates.

The table laid, he turned to greet the rest of the family as they came in. Sophia, her hair set perfectly, her clothes immaculate, gave him a slight formal nod as she took her seat. Her father, Mr. Clarke, and her brother, Ethan, followed; neither even acknowledged Nathan's presence.

As they ate, Nathan stood by the wall, hands clasped in front of him. He had learned early on that sitting with them was not allowed.

"Nathan, the tea is too weak," Ethan said, pushing his cup away.

"Sorry, sir," Nathan said, stepping forward to take the cup.

"Don't apologize. Just do better," Ethan muttered.

Nathan nodded and retreated back to the kitchen to fix another cup. By the time breakfast was done, he was tired, but there was no time to rest as he had to go to work.

Sophia handed him his bag as he left, her eyes evading his. "Don't come home late," she said in a hushed tone.

"Yes, Sophia," he replied with a forced small smile.

The ride to Brookstone Enterprises was long and crowded; Nathan stood near the back, holding onto a pole as the vehicle jerked and rattled through the streets. He was used to this-standing for hours, being jostled by strangers. It was just another part of his life.

He walked into the office, where the receptionist gave him no more than a cursory acknowledgment, let alone a second glance, as he walked by. The IT department was already up and running: chatting, laughing, and all that other stuff. Nathan took a seat at his desk-a small nook near the printer-and turned on his computer.

"Nathan!" a loud voice called out. Turning, he saw Margo, his boss, power-walking toward him.

"Yes, ma'am?" he said, rising to his feet quickly.

Why are you just sitting there?" she snapped. "Do you think we pay you to relax?"

"I was just about to—"

"Save it. I need you to run these reports to the finance department," she said, dumping a stack of papers on his desk.

"Right away," Nathan said, picking up the papers and heading to the elevator.

The finance department was on the tenth floor, and as always, employees there almost ignored his presence. He handed the reports to the first person he saw and hastened out not to catch sneers and comments.

He tried focusing on his work back at his desk, but his mind kept wandering. It went to his mother, the symbol she used to draw for him a very rare and intricate design where a circle was intertwined with three crescent moons. She identified it with his father, but she never explained how.

"Nathan!" Margo's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am?" he replied as he rose again.

Were you daydreaming?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"No, I was just-"

"Don't lie to me!" she shouted. Before he could react, her hand came down hard on his face. The slap stung, but Nathan didn't move.

"You're useless," Margo said. "Go to the control room and fix the server."

Nathan hesitated. "I've never worked on the server before," he said quietly.

"Figure it out," she snapped. "Just get out of my sight.

Nathan nodded and left, his cheek aflame. The control room was down in the basement-chilly and dimly lit, the humming of machinery making it seem almost alive. He went inside and approached one of the bigger servers, clueless as to which one he should start looking for.

Opening the panel in the control, a mark caught his eye: carved into the side of this server was a symbol.

Nathan froze. It was the same symbol his mother used to draw-the circle and crescent moons. His heart pounded as he traced the design with his finger.

"What is this doing here?" he whispered out loud.

The symbol brought a flood of memories back. He could almost hear his mother's voice, soft and from afar, saying, "If you ever see this, remember it's a part of you. It's your father's legacy."

Nathan stepped backward, trying to take on board how important it might be. More than just some design, this was a clue-a missing bit of something he wasn't even looking for.

For the first time in years, something unfamiliar lit inside Nathan: a spark of hope. Without knowing what this sigil could actually mean, or even why it would be there, he felt an unnerving determination build.