The Boy Who Could Bear an Heir

The halls of the Ainsworth Estate were silent that morning, suffocating and grand. Sunlight bled through the stained-glass windows, scattering red and gold across the polished marble floor, but not even beauty could warm a house built on cruelty.

Lucien sat alone at the long dining table, his back straight, his hands folded neatly in his lap. There was no breakfast before him, not even tea. He wasn’t allowed to eat until the others had finished. That was the rule.

He was seventeen, slender, pale, with eyes the color of ash after a fire. His dark hair curled just slightly around his ears, uncombed this morning because the maid had forgotten him again. Or maybe she’d been told to.

His twin brother, Cassian, had already eaten and gone. Lucien had heard him in the hallway earlier, laughing with their father. The same man who hadn’t spoken a kind word to Lucien in years.

The silence in the room grew heavy, almost mocking.

Footsteps. Lucien didn’t turn his head. He already knew who it was.

‘You’re still here?” The voice of Gerard Ainsworth sliced through the air, sharp and cold.

Lucien stood quickly, lowering his gaze. “Good morning, Father.”

Gerard snorted, a sound of disgust. “You speak like you have a right to greet me.”

Lucien didn’t reply. He’d learned that saying nothing was safer.

Gerard walked past him to the head of the table, glancing at the empty dishes. “Did you even clean the east wing this morning? Or were you too busy sulking in your room like a useless girl?”

“I cleaned it,” Lucien replied quietly.

That earned him a slap across the face. Not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough to sting.

Lucien didn’t flinch.

“Don’t lie to me. I can smell your laziness. I should’ve sent you off to the seminary like I planned. At least then, I wouldn’t have to look at your pathetic face.”

He stood still, blinking away the sharp burn in his eyes. Not from the slap. From the words.

“You should eat,” Lucien whispered. “Your blood pressure...”

Another slap. Harder.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

The door creaked open again. Cassian.

“Father.” Cassian’s voice was calm but firm. “You have a meeting with the Southridge council in thirty minutes. Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

Gerard turned toward his favored son, and instantly, his expression softened. “Ah, Cassian. My golden boy. You’re right, as always.”

Cassian gave Lucienne a quick glance. Their eyes met for only a second. A silent apology.

Gerard swept out of the room like a storm passing, leaving cold air behind him.

Once they were alone, Cassian crossed the room and touched Lucienne’s cheek gently.

“Did he hit you again?”

Lucien didn’t answer.

Cassian sighed. “You should fight back, Lucien. You’re not weak.”

Lucien shook his head. “You know it’ll only make it worse.”

They stood there for a moment in silence. Then Cassian said, “There’s a party tonight. A big one. Father is hosting it, for the Crescents family.”

Lucien’s brows drew together. “The mafia family?”

“Yes. And... I’m bringing someone.”

Lucien tilted his head. “Who?”

“Her name is Selene Kingsley. Zayn Kingsley’s sister.”

Lucienne stared. “Is that safe? Bringing her here?”

“It was her idea,” Cassian replied. “She wants to meet the family.”

Lucienne didn’t say what he was thinking. He knew how powerful the Kingsleys were. He also knew how reckless Cassian could be when he thought he was in love.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “Listen... I know tonight is going to be hard. Father will be watching everything. Just... stay invisible.”

Lucienne nodded.

“And wear something nice,” Cassian added. “Not that old sweater.”

Lucienne smiled faintly. “I’ll try.”

Cassian looked at him for a moment longer, then said, “He doesn’t hate you because of who you are, Lucien. He hates you because he doesn’t understand you.”

Lucienne’s smile faded. “I don’t even understand myself.”

Cassian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver chain with a tiny star on it. “Here. For good luck.”

Lucienne hesitated, then took it. “Thank you.”

When Cassian left, Lucienne returned to the window. Outside, the staff were setting up the grand pavilion. Tables draped in white, crystal glasses catching the afternoon sun.

A party for people who mattered.

And he, the hidden son, the ghost twin, would be there too.But not to be seen.

Only to take the fall, if needed.

And something in his chest whispered that tonight, everything would change.

Four years ago.

That was how far back Lucien had to go to reach the memory.

It came to him in pieces, like shattered glass scattered across time. Some parts sharp, others hazy. He never knew why the memory felt like that — broken. Like someone had taken a blade to his mind and cut out the pieces that mattered most.

He was thirteen the day he woke up in the hospital.

Alone.

The rain was gentle the day Lucien woke up in the hospital. It tapped quietly against the windows, like someone too polite to knock. He blinked into the harsh white light above him, unsure where he was or how long he’d been there. His body felt heavy. His head ached. There were bandages wrapped around his arms. A sharp sting throbbed in his side.

He didn’t remember getting hurt. He didn’t remember anything.

He turned his head slowly. Machines beeped beside him. A bag of fluid hung from a stand. There was no one sitting at his bedside. No flowers. No warm faces waiting with smiles. Just silence and the dull hum of machines.

He thought maybe his mother had stepped out. She always brought him warm soup and tucked him in when he was sick. Maybe Cassian had gone to get juice or chips from the vending machine. Surely his father was just outside, speaking with a doctor.

But no one came that day. Or the day after.

He lay in that hospital bed for a full week, watching the nurses come and go. They were kind, but distant. They didn’t talk to him much. He heard whispers outside his room, words like “trauma,”

“amnesia,” and “he’s lucky to be alive.”

Lucien didn’t feel lucky.