The newspaper trembled in Cecil's hand, the bold black letters of The Daily Prophet blaring from the headline like a slap to the face.
CECIL WHITE EXPOSED — CHILD OF INFIDELITY?
White Family Matriarch's Aide Confirms: He Has No Right to the Name
The parchment crumpled under his grip. He stood abruptly, the velvet armchair screeching against the marble floor of the Manor's west drawing room.
"This is a lie!" he bellowed, his voice thunderous, echoing across the gilded chamber. "Utter filth! I am Elijah White's son! I am his heir!"
Josh looked up from the chaise lounge across the room, his blue silk robe sliding off his bare shoulder. "Cecil—please, calm down—"
"I'M GOING TO KILL THAT BITCH!" Cecil roared, slamming the newspaper against the wall. "I'm going to rip her to pieces—how dare she! That little brat! That illegitimate creature!"
"Cecil!" Josh rushed to him, arms outstretched. "We can't—listen to yourself. If you act now, you'll only validate her. You'll look like an unstable, angry fraud."
But Cecil's fury only deepened. He shoved Josh hard—so hard the man stumbled back against the chaise, nearly toppling.
"This is all because of you!" Cecil snarled. His face twisted in rage, flushed and breathless. "You told me not to attend the funeral! You told me to wait, to bide our time—to 'question her legitimacy first'! And now—now—she's turned the entire wizarding world against me before we even made a move!"
Josh looked up at him, stunned and winded. "I was trying to protect you—"
"Protect me?" Cecil sneered, pacing the floor like a caged beast. "She's just a schoolgirl! And she's already destroyed me in public! My name! My legacy!"
Josh stood slowly, brushing himself off. "We can still salvage this. We can shift the public's view. Use the press—call into question the reliability of that assistant. Was there even a direct statement from Lady Eira? No. There wasn't. And no official bloodline test has been released."
Cecil was breathing hard, his chest heaving. His eyes flicked to the fallen newspaper again.
For a long moment, he said nothing. The anger was still burning in his eyes—but underneath it, something else was beginning to stir. Something cold and hollow.
"…Elijah never looked at me like a son," he muttered, almost to himself. "Not once. When I was little, he'd watch Damien with pride. But when he looked at me… it was like I didn't belong. Like I was someone else's burden."
Josh remained still, watching him carefully.
"My mother always spoiled me," Cecil said, quieter now. "More than she ever did Damien. It was always gifts. Silks. Favors. She whispered things about Damien when Father wasn't around. Tried to turn me against him. And Father—" He swallowed hard, voice trembling beneath his fury. "He once called me 'her mistake.' I thought he meant something else. I thought…"
Josh moved toward him again, slower this time. "Cecil… do you want to know the truth?"
A silence fell over the room.
Cecil's eyes were distant now, not filled with rage but with something sharper. More dangerous. More uncertain.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I want to know. I want confirmation. I want to prove that this is all a lie. Or—" he paused, the word catching on his tongue— "or know if it's true."
Josh nodded slowly. "We can arrange a private blood inheritance test. There are discreet enchanters in Switzerland. We'll confirm your lineage without public exposure. But—first—we should speak to Minister Fudge. See what the Ministry officially recognizes. If they accept Eira's claim… then we know the storm is larger than we thought."
Cecil clenched his fists.
"Set up a meeting," he ordered, his voice cold now, measured. "With Fudge. I want to know everything the Ministry believes. I want to see the damn documents with my own eyes."
Josh stepped forward carefully, laying a hand on Cecil's arm.
"We'll get through this," he said. "But you can't lose your head. You're not defeated yet—not unless you break yourself."
Cecil didn't answer, only looked back at the fireplace where the edges of the Daily Prophet had begun to curl in the heat.
Somewhere deep inside, beneath layers of arrogance and entitlement, a terrible seed had begun to sprout:
What if they were right?
What if he wasn't a White?
What if he was never meant to inherit anything?