In a cold and windy weather, The cold rain of Heathcliff City didn't wash away the shame; it only seemed to sharpen the edges of Henry Taylor's misery. Just months ago, he had been the pride of the Taylor household, the heir apparent to a sprawling empire. Then, the tragedy struck. His parents were gone, their lives snuffed out in a blink, and with them, his protection. The board of directors, vultures in expensive suits, deemed him "too soft" and banished him from the estate he was born to rule and he was sent to live in Heathcliff city with no guidance or any love
Exiled and stripped of his inheritance, Henry was dumped in the heart of Heathcliff City. It was there he met Elena Agatha—a woman of sharp intellect and warmer heart—who became his wife. But in the grand halls of the Agatha mansion, Henry was nothing more than a servant. He was always shouted at and maltreated by his mother in law, Martha and he has grown very sick of it but he had to endure because of his wife Elena but nowadays Elena has been facing a lot of criticism because of Henry. Once hailed as the prettiest in Heathcliff city and now she has been reduced to being the wife of a Useless live in son in law husband.
"Worthless," his mother-in-law, Martha Agatha, hissed daily. "A beggar who eats my rice and breathes my air."
Henry kept his head down, scrubbing floors and enduring the biting insults of the household staff. He was a matrilocal son-in-law, a man without a name, until a black sedan pulled into the drive. The Taylor butler stepped out, bowing low before Henry, clutching a leather briefcase that held the keys to his true destiny.
Move faster, Henry! The guests arrive at seven, and I won't have them smelling your incompetence," Martha barked, her heels clicking like a metronome of disdain. Elena, standing by the stairs, bit her lip, her eyes full of a pained, silent apology she couldn't voice without sparking another of her mother's tirades.
Henry didn't look up. He couldn't. If he did, they might see the flicker of the man he used to be—the son of the Great Taylors, whose parents' sudden "accident" had stripped him of everything but his name. Banished to Heathcliff City with nothing but a suitcase, he had been a man drowning until Elena pulled him out. But in this house, his gratitude was his cage.
The doorbell chimed, a deep, resonant sound that cut through Martha's shrieking. Henry moved to open it, expecting a delivery or a mocking socialite. Instead, a silver-haired man in a pristine charcoal suit stood there. It was Mr. Benson, the Taylor family's head butler.
The old man's eyes dampened as he looked at the damp rag in Henry's hand. Without a word, Benson dropped to one knee on the very floor Henry had been scrubbing.
"Young Master Henry," Benson's voice carried a weight that froze everyone in the room. "The internal investigation is complete. The usurpers have been purged. I have brought the Black Card and the deeds to the Taylor properties. Your inheritance—two hundred billion dollars and the Taylor global resources—awaits your command."