Accursed Heir

The Moreau Family’s Disdain

The low hum of conversation filled the Moreau estate’s parlor, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal glasses. The laughter of well-dressed guests drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of cigar smoke and rich perfumes. As Elijah stepped into the room, a hush fell over the crowd, eyes turning to him with thinly veiled curiosity and disdain.

At the center of it all stood Henri Moreau, his gaze sharp and appraising as he caught sight of Elijah. Henri’s tailored suit fit perfectly, an embodiment of wealth and status, the dark fabric untouched by a wrinkle. Beside him, Vivienne Moreau held a glass of wine with an almost bored elegance, her lips pressed into a faint, dismissive smile. They radiated wealth and power—the kind that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

“Elijah,” Henri drawled, swirling his glass of brandy as if he were observing a stray dog that had wandered in. “I see you’ve decided to join us at last. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you had better things to do.”

Elijah met his gaze, feeling the subtle weight of scrutiny in the room, the disapproval woven into every stare. “I wasn’t aware I was needed,” he replied, keeping his tone even.

Henri chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound. “Needed? No, of course not. But it seems strange that someone who owes his place here to this family would make himself so scarce.” He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes glinting with amusement. “After all, you are practically family now, aren’t you?”

Elijah forced himself to keep his composure. He knew what Henri thought of him—what the whole Moreau family thought. To them, he was a shadow, a hanger-on, tolerated only out of respect for Matthias’s last wish. His presence in the family was more inconvenience than honor.

“Practically family,” Vivienne echoed, her voice smooth, but with a hint of scorn in her eyes. She tilted her head, her gaze running over Elijah with a mixture of pity and disdain. “Though family typically contributes to the household, wouldn’t you agree? Not simply… takes from it.”

The insinuation landed like a slap. Elijah had always known that the Moreaus saw him as an outsider, a burden bound to them by duty alone. But to hear it stated so openly, with such cold dismissal, drove the point home with painful clarity.

“My contributions may be unseen,” Elijah replied quietly, holding his ground, “but they are no less real.”

Henri exchanged a glance with Vivienne, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Invisible contributions,” Henri mused, giving a soft laugh. “How convenient for you. It’s quite a comfortable arrangement, isn’t it, Elijah? To live here under our roof, benefiting from our support, without having to prove your worth.”

Elijah’s fists tightened at his sides, but he forced himself to remain composed. They didn’t understand. None of them could see the cost of what he did, the battles he fought to keep their family safe from things they would never understand. To them, he was just a freeloader, a strange figure in the corner of their lives who contributed nothing.

“Your hospitality was not my choice,” he said, his voice steady. “It was a duty I took on because your father—” He looked directly at Henri, refusing to flinch. “Because your father asked me to protect what he valued most.”

The laughter in the room died down, and a few guests looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Henri’s expression tightened, the name of Matthias cutting through his aloof demeanor. But he quickly recovered, setting his glass down with a sharp clink and fixing Elijah with a steely gaze.

“Protect us?” Henri repeated, the mockery returning to his voice. “From what, Elijah? Shadows? Ghost stories? My father was a fool to waste his last breath on superstitions.”

Vivienne nodded, a cool smile gracing her lips. “Our family has thrived because of hard work, influence, and power,” she said. “Not through myths or rituals. Whatever my father believed, that was his choice. But it has no place here, in reality.”

Elijah felt a surge of frustration rise within him. These people, wrapped in their privilege and wealth, had no idea what he faced night after night. They would never understand the darkness he kept at bay or the sacrifices he’d made to honor Matthias’s last wish.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he replied, his voice quiet but firm. “But what your father believed in—what he entrusted to me—is real.”

Henri’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Real, you say?” He gestured around the lavish room, at the gleaming chandeliers, the polished mahogany furniture, the well-dressed guests laughing and mingling. “This is what’s real, Elijah. The house you live in, the food you eat, the clothes on your back—these are real. Don’t mistake our charity for faith in your nonsense.”

Vivienne let out a soft laugh, as if amused by the absurdity of it all. “You should be grateful, Elijah. We’ve allowed you to stay here, to live under our roof, to dine at our table. To enjoy our generosity when, in reality…” She trailed off, the implication hanging in the air.

Elijah felt the sting of her words, but he held his ground, refusing to let their scorn penetrate the wall of calm he had built around himself. “If gratitude is what you want,” he murmured, his voice cool, “perhaps it would be easier if you acknowledged the reason I’m here.”

Henri’s gaze narrowed, and he took a step closer, his expression hardening. “The only reason you’re here, Elijah, is because my father made a poor decision at the end of his life. A decision we’ve tolerated out of respect, but let’s not pretend it’s more than that.”

Elijah looked between Henri and Vivienne, feeling the weight of their disdain like a physical blow. He had sacrificed everything to protect this family, to uphold a promise that had bound him to a life of shadow and solitude. And yet, they saw him as little more than a leech, a burden to be tolerated.

“Is that really what you believe?” he asked, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice. “That I’m here to take advantage of you?”

Vivienne’s smile was as cold as winter frost. “What else could we believe? You haven’t shown us anything else.”

Before Elijah could respond, a voice interrupted—a younger, sharper voice that dripped with mockery.

“Let’s not be too hard on him, Mother.” Julien, Lina’s younger brother, sauntered into the room, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked Elijah up and down. “After all, it’s not every day we get to host the town’s resident exorcist, is it? Or perhaps he prefers ‘shadow-hunter’?” He laughed, the sound grating in its arrogance.

Elijah turned to face him, meeting Julien’s smirk with a calm, steady gaze. “I’m here for your protection, Julien. Whether you believe it or not is your choice.”

Julien rolled his eyes, lounging against the back of a chair with a careless ease. “Protection, is it?” He gave a mocking bow. “Then I suppose we should all be thanking you for blessing us with your presence.” His smirk widened. “Though, if you’re so good at protecting us, why don’t I ever see you doing anything remotely useful?”

Henri chuckled, clearly amused by his son’s words, while Vivienne’s expression remained cool, detached, as though she were watching a mildly interesting play.

Elijah’s gaze shifted, falling on Lina, who had been standing in the doorway, silently watching the exchange. For a moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes—sympathy, perhaps, or at least a flicker of understanding. But then she looked away, her expression hardening, aligning herself with her family.

“Elijah,” Henri’s voice called out, halting him as he turned to leave, “do try to remember the reason you’re here. We took you in, allowed you to stay under this roof. Perhaps you could, in return, show a little respect to the family that has tolerated your presence.”

Elijah turned back, his expression unreadable. “Respect is earned, Henri,” he replied quietly. “Not granted by circumstance.”

With that, he walked away, leaving the parlor and the sound of their laughter echoing down the hall behind him. The sting of their words settled over him like a shroud, cold and unrelenting. He had given up so much to protect this family, to honor a promise made in a dying man’s final moments. And yet, here he was, dismissed as nothing more than a freeloader.

As he made his way down the dimly lit corridor, he felt a flicker of doubt creep into his heart. Had he made a mistake in choosing this life? Had his loyalty bound him to a family that would never understand, never appreciate, the cost of his protection?

He paused by a window, gazing out at the fog-covered grounds. The night was silent, still, yet in that stillness, he could sense the weight of his decision bearing down on him, a decision that felt heavier with every mocking glance, every whispered insult.

For the first time, he wondered if Matthias had been wrong. If, in asking Elijah to protect his family, he had condemned him to a life of isolation, a life bound to people who neither wanted nor respected him.

The silence stretched, and Elijah felt the chill of the night seep into his bones. He closed his eyes, breathing in the cold air, feeling the weight of his promise settle heavily on his shoulders.

And somewhere in that darkness, a question lingered, haunting him like a ghost.

Would his sacrifice ever mean anything to them?