The banquet hall shimmered with light. Crystal chandeliers cast golden rain over marble floors, while the air buzzed with the chatter of power brokers, politicians, and heirs from the nation's most elite families. Tonight, the Blackwoods were not just hosts—they were gods on a stage, basking in admiration.
At the head of it all stood Damian Blackwood. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a custom Armani suit, he was the very image of an heir apparent. Glasses clinked, voices rose, and every congratulation was aimed at him.
"The future of the Blackwood Group!""Such a capable young man, just like his father.""Alexander must be proud to see his eldest carry the legacy forward."
Alexander Blackwood stood beside his son, pride etched deep on his cold face. Isabella glittered in diamonds at his side, smiling with triumph. Sophia flitted among the young elites like a butterfly, while Sebastian whispered into ears with his serpent's charm.
And at the far corner of the room, unnoticed, stood Adrian.
His suit was plain, off-the-rack, a servant's uniform compared to the tailored elegance around him. He sipped quietly from his glass of water—wine had never touched his lips—and watched as his family basked in glory. No one came to him. No one even acknowledged he existed.
Until Damian did.
From the stage, his elder brother raised a hand for silence, his grin wide. "Before we toast, allow me to thank my family," Damian declared. "My father, whose wisdom guides me. My mother, whose love strengthens me. My siblings—Sebastian, cunning as ever; Sophia, the jewel of the family—"
He paused. His eyes scanned the room, finding Adrian in the shadows. His smirk widened.
"And, of course… my little brother, Adrian. Though I must admit," Damian chuckled, his voice carrying easily over the microphone, "he contributes nothing to our family's name except the occasional rumor from his dingy little nightclub."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Some chuckled politely, others openly. Adrian stood still, his face unreadable.
Sophia's voice rang out next, sharp as glass. "Oh, Damian, don't be so cruel. Adrian does contribute. Why, just last week he managed to arrive home without his car breaking down on the highway! That's progress."
More laughter. Glasses clinked. Even Alexander allowed himself a cold smile.
Sebastian stepped forward, adding softly—but loud enough for the hall to hear—"He's our family's reminder of humility. After all, not every son can be a success."
The hall erupted again. The scorn was effortless, natural, as if Adrian existed only to be mocked. The guests followed suit, eager to curry favor with the true heirs.
"Is that really the Blackwood bastard?" one whispered."I heard he spends every night drinking himself into debt.""Pathetic. To be born into such a family and still fail…"
Adrian's grip tightened on his glass until his knuckles whitened. He said nothing. He always said nothing. But inside, something burned.
He watched his father smile at Damian, watched Isabella beam at the praise, watched his siblings shine under the chandeliers like crowned royals. The humiliation pressed down on him, heavier than the marble ceiling. Every laugh was a chain, every sneer a scar reopened.
Yet beneath the weight, he did not break. He remembered the long nights in the east wing study, the charts and ledgers, the millions quietly amassed under their noses. He remembered Ethan's trembling hand on his shoulder, his mother's final whisper.
And so, when Damian raised his glass to thunderous applause—"To the Blackwood Group, and to our glorious future!"—Adrian raised his own glass of water silently.
He drank alone, in the shadows, his expression calm, his eyes cold.
Enjoy your future, brother. Enjoy it while you can.Because when I rise, it will be over your broken crown.
The crowd's cheers swallowed the hall. Damian basked in his triumph, Sophia sparkled, Sebastian schemed.
And in the corner, the bastard son stood silent.The shadow no one saw.The shadow that would one day swallow them whole.