Inside the ancient walls of Mortimer Manor, where the scent of polished oak and heavy English tobacco lingered in the air, silence ruled the Lord's study. It was the kind of silence that carried generations of authority within it—cold, heavy, and suffocating.
Thomas stood before his father's desk with unwavering composure, his hands resting against the dark wood as his sharp gaze met the older man's eyes.
— "It is over, Father. Julian relinquished his claim to the inheritance before his death. He gave that right to me himself."
Lord Mortimer's expression darkened instantly. Rising from his leather chair with sudden force, he slammed his fist against the desk hard enough to rattle the glasses inside the cabinet behind him.
— "Enough!"
The fury in his voice shattered the stillness of the room.
— "It is enough that I raised you alongside my other children and denied you nothing your entire life. But never forget your place, Thomas. Never forget that you are an illegitimate son of this house."
Thomas did not flinch.
If anything, the accusation only sharpened the coldness in his eyes.
— "You were the one who told us as children that whoever achieved the greatest accomplishments would become the next head of the family. Look at what I built, Father. I expanded our industries, acquired mines, and turned failing businesses into profit while the others…"
He stopped deliberately, allowing the unfinished sentence to speak for itself.
Lord Mortimer stepped out from behind his desk, struggling to restrain his anger.
— "That does not mean you will inherit this title. I said those words to teach responsibility and ambition, nothing more. You know our traditions well, Thomas. They are not so easily cast aside."
The Lord approached slowly until he stood directly before him. After a brief pause, his expression softened slightly. He placed a firm hand on Thomas's shoulder.
— "You are still my son. I care for you, and your siblings care for you as well. I should not have shouted at you."
For a fleeting moment, Thomas's confidence faltered.
— "Then who will inherit the family?" he asked quietly. "I am the only son you have left."
Lord Mortimer answered without hesitation.
— "Your eldest sister… Lucia Mortimer."
The words struck Thomas like a blade to the chest.
— "Lucia?" he repeated in disbelief. "How can she inherit the title? She is a lady."
The Lord's eyes hardened immediately.
— "There is no rule within this family preventing Lucia from inheriting. She possesses intelligence, discipline, and judgment worthy of this house. I have witnessed her abilities myself."
A shadow passed across Thomas's face. Beneath his calm exterior, years of bitterness quietly surfaced.
— "So that is the truth after all," he murmured bitterly. "No matter what I accomplish, you will never truly acknowledge me because I was born illegitimate."
Lord Mortimer exhaled heavily and withdrew his hand.
— "You are mistaken. If I did not care for you, I would never ask you to stand beside Lucia. I want you to become her right hand… her greatest support in leading this family."
Silence filled the study once again.
Then the Lord returned to his desk and picked up the morning newspaper. He placed it in front of Thomas before lifting his gaze toward him.
This time, his voice carried something colder.
— "There is another matter I wish to ask you about."
Thomas remained silent.
— "Did you have anything to do with Julian's death in prison?"
For the first time, Thomas froze.
The Lord continued:
— "I arranged everything necessary to lessen his punishment and secure his release. Yet before he could even leave his cell… he was found dead. They called it suicide."
Thomas answered almost immediately.
— "I would never harm my own siblings, Father."
Lord Mortimer studied his face carefully, searching for even the smallest crack in his composure. After several tense seconds, he finally nodded.
— "Very well. Is there anything else?"
Thomas lowered his head slightly.
— "No, my Lord."
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door with measured steps.
But the instant the study door closed behind him, the calm mask vanished from his face entirely.
A cold fury settled in his eyes.
— "So no matter what I achieve," he whispered to himself, "you will never give me what is mine."
His lips slowly curled into a faint, terrifying smile.
— "Very well, Father… then I will take it myself."
He continued walking through the dim corridor of the manor, his voice growing colder with every step.
— "And when the time comes… you will hand me that title yourself, when I become the only child you have left."
Back inside the study, Lord Mortimer remained motionless, staring at the closed door with growing unease tightening around his chest.
At last, he reached for the small brass bell resting atop his desk and rang it once.
A minute later, the butler entered the room with his usual composed posture and respectful bow.
— "You called for me, sir?"
Lord Mortimer turned toward him immediately.
— "Increase the security around Lucia. Double the guards assigned to her at all times."
For a moment, surprise flickered across the butler's face.
— "Of course, sir… but may I ask if there is a particular threat?"
The Lord slowly looked toward the window, where thick London fog drifted through the darkness beyond the estate grounds.
— "There is an enemy targeting this family," he said quietly. "Someone intends to leave me without an heir."
His expression darkened further.
— "Julian is already dead… and my instincts tell me Lucia will be next."
The butler bowed once more without hesitation.
— "It shall be done immediately, sir."