Part 1 of 2
Wednesday Evening – Markov Estate, Inner West Wing
It had rained earlier.
The scent of wet stone lingered in the hallways, clinging to the aged walls like forgotten whispers.
I passed under flickering chandeliers, trailing just behind Vincent through the estate's lesser-travelled corridors. Not the marble halls the family used for their public performances. This place had no windows. No portraits. Just silence and the soft click of polished shoes.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To meet a guest," Vincent replied.
"Who?"
"Someone who shouldn't be here."
That made me stop walking.
Vincent didn't.
He just pushed open a steel-framed door and gestured for me to follow.
The Underground Room
The air shifted the moment I stepped inside.
Cold.
Still.
The room was wide, stone-walled, and dimly lit by narrow beams embedded in the ceiling. No cameras. No files. Just one long black table at the center—and one man waiting on the far end.
He stood as we approached.
Tall. Grey suit. Gloves. A faint smile that never reached his eyes.
"Ah," he said. "So, the Markov heir lives."
I didn't recognize him.
But something about him felt... wrong.
Not dangerous in the physical sense.
Dangerous in the way a locked room with no exit does.
"Jay Markov," he greeted me smoothly. "On behalf of certain interested parties... I've come to offer a proposal."
Vincent remained silent. Watching.
So, I spoke first.
"And you are?"
"Just a messenger. You don't need to know my name."
"Then I don't need to hear your offer."
The man chuckled softly. "Spoken like your mother."
I froze.
Vincent didn't flinch.
But that line… that one line…
No one spoke of my mother in this place.
Not unless they knew too much.
The Deal
The stranger took a slow breath and continued.
"Your performance at St. Ivy has not gone unnoticed. Some see it as charming. Others... as troubling. Especially your ability to attract loyalty so easily."
"So?"
"So, they're watching. Closely. And not all of them want you to succeed."
He leaned forward.
"But we do."
"We?"
"We represent an alternative to the current structure. The world your father built? It's dying. Corrupted from within."
I didn't answer.
He continued.
"Help us shape the next structure. Quietly. Your influence at school can be… redirected. A few allies here. A few pushed aside there. The next council... could belong to you."
"You want to use me."
"We want to free you. You can't change the rules by playing by them."
I looked at Vincent.
Still silent.
Still unmoving.
I turned back to the man.
"And what if I say no?"
He stood up.
Didn't threaten.
Didn't even frown.
"Then the pieces move without you."
Then he walked out.
The fire in my room crackled low.
Vincent stood by the hearth, arms crossed.
"You knew he was coming."
"I suspected."
"And you didn't stop it?"
"I wanted to see what you'd do."
"And?"
Vincent finally looked me in the eye.
"You didn't bite. That's good."
"But?"
"But you didn't dismiss him either."
I sat on the edge of my bed, head in my hands.
"Why can't I just be left alone?"
"Because you were born into a war," he said simply. "And you've started winning it without meaning to."
Memory Fragment – Years Ago
The hall was darker then. I was smaller. Younger.
I'd snuck into one of the war council rooms looking for sweets.
Instead, I found my father and a dozen men in suits, pointing at red zones on a map.
I remember one voice, cold and serious:
"We don't need him to love us. Just to obey us."
That was the first time I knew I wasn't supposed to be a boy.
I was a symbol.
A contingency.
A blade on standby
Next Morning – Breakfast, Formal Hall
The sunlight through the tall windows was too bright.
Clara sat to my right.
Elias had returned. Sitting across from me.
His expression unreadable. His movements controlled.
Reginald was absent.
Vincent stood at the wall like a shadow.
No one brought up last night.
But I could feel it.
In the silence.
In the tension between the clinks of silverware.
Even Clara wasn't smiling.
Only one voice broke the cold:
"Father has called for a formal review," Elias said calmly. "Tonight. He wants to see if you're truly still one of us."
Part 2 of 2
Wednesday Night – The Review Room
There were no windows.
No paintings.
Just twelve high-backed chairs arranged in a semicircle—like judges awaiting trial.
At the center stood Reginald Markov.
He didn't sit.
He never did during Reviews.
Elias stood off to the side, arms crossed behind his back.
Clara sat, legs crossed, already penning notes with a diamond-tipped fountain pen.
And me?
I was standing in the center. Like a criminal.
Vincent stood near the door. Silent. As always.
"Begin," Reginald said.
A servant handed me a small tablet. Encrypted. Glowing cold blue.
My task? Read the files. Decode the intel. Recommend a course of action in real time.
In front of the heads of the most powerful bloodline in the country.
Easy.
Right?
The Trial
The files involved:
A failing infrastructure project linked to a rival family.A manipulated political smear campaign targeting a future ally.An unstable council member who controlled key economic assets.
They wanted to see what I'd do.
Whether I'd be ruthless.
Or idealistic.
I studied the data, pulse steady.
Then I looked straight at Reginald.
"Remove the project lead through scandal," I said. "Make it look like internal embezzlement. Frame it just enough to draw their own watchdogs to him."
"And the smear campaign?"
"Infiltrate. Redirect. Turn it into praise. Make the attacker sound like a desperate fanboy."
"The unstable council member?"
"Public health scare. Remove him gracefully. Keep the stock market stable. The country doesn't need panic right now."
Silence.
Then:
Reginald sat down.
Clara frowned.
Elias tilted his head.
And Vincent…
He smiled.
The first real smile I'd seen from him in years.
I was told to leave immediately after.
No praise.
No punishment.
Just a door clicking shut behind me.
As I walked the silent halls back toward my room, I passed a corridor window.
In the reflection—I saw Elias, still watching me from the shadows.
He didn't follow.
He didn't speak.
But his eyes said everything.
He had been the heir.
Until now.
Later That Night – Garden Courtyard
I stood in the old rose courtyard, the only place in the estate that felt alive.
The moonlight lit up the petals. Dew glistened like glass.
Marin found me there.
Holding a tray with tea.
"You did well tonight," she said, setting it beside me.
"You watched?"
"We all did."
I nodded.
"Why does it feel like I just lost something?"
She sat on the bench beside me.
"Because you did."
"What?"
"The option to walk away."
I stared ahead.
"I never had that, did I?"
"No," she said softly. "But you pretended well enough to believe it."
I returned to my room.
The fire was still warm. The lights low.
I picked up my phone—finally.
A message from Tyler.
"Yo, bro. I know you're alive. Send a meme or I'll assume you're kidnapped."
I smiled.
Didn't reply.
Then a second message arrived.
Not from school.
Not from friends.
But from Vincent.
Just one sentence:
"They voted. Reginald named you as the Second."
I leaned back in my chair.
The Second.
Not quite heir.
But no longer invisible.