From Scorned To Supreme

Chapter 5 A Loss

Inside the executive office, Elijah couldn’t help but be impressed by the extravagance surrounding him. The rich, plush carpet beneath his feet muffled his footsteps as he crossed the room.

The walls were adorned with fine art, and a crystal pendant chandelier hung from the ceiling.

Everything in the room screamed elegance, down to the finely crafted beige couch in the corner. This was clearly the work of a specialized interior designer, and it was impossible not to appreciate the artistry.

“This is beautiful,” Elijah murmured as he scanned the room, his gaze taking in every detail—the gleaming wooden desk, the carefully placed vases, and the accent wall that tied the whole room together. It was the kind of place that made you feel powerful just by sitting in it. He turned to Alfred, who stood with a slight, satisfied smile on his face. It was obvious that Alfred was pleased the young master approved.

“I'm glad you like it, young master,” Alfred replied, a hint of pride in his voice. They had hired the best of the bests for this project, so less wasn't expected.

Elijah instantly sat down on the leather chair behind the desk, feeling its smooth texture as it molded to his body. Sick! What will happen if he wakes up and finds out all this is a dream? The sense of authority this room bestowed was undeniable at all, it made one feel like king of kings. Yet, despite this, there was a heaviness in his heart, a weight that pulled at him. He had made his decision, but there were conditions.

“I’ll take over the company,” Elijah began, his tone was calm but very firm, “but only on one condition: I wish to remain anonymous completely. Under no circumstances is this information supposed to go public. I don’t want my name attached to this, just not yet.”

Alfred nodded, his face solemn. “Understood, sir. You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be kept confidential. I'll give you my words.”

Elijah leaned back, satisfied, but Alfred wasn’t finished. Clearing his throat, he added, “There is one more thing, young master. You must pay a visit to the Patriarch at the headquarters in London. He’s been asking for you, repeatedly. He wishes to see his grandson in person.”

The mention of the Patriarch caused Elijah to frown slightly. The old man—his grandfather—had grown frail and weak with age, but his power and influence were as strong as ever. Elijah had no desire to face him, at least not yet.

“I will come to London, but give me a few months,” Elijah responded, a trace of reluctance in his voice. “I need time to establish myself here first. One step at a time. There’s no need to rush this.”

Alfred, sensing the gravity in Elijah’s tone, nodded in agreement. He understood the weight of the decision Elijah was making. The Patriarch wouldn’t be pleased, but there were bigger things at play.

Their conversation shifted, and Elijah turned his attention to another matter that had been bothering him—Liam. His connection to the Windsor family had been troubling Elijah ever since he’d learned about it. He needed answers.

“What’s Liam’s connection to the Windsors?” Elijah asked, his voice edged with curiosity and something darker—resentment, perhaps.

Alfred took a deep breath before responding. “Liam’s father, James Harth, once saved my life. It was a debt I repaid many years ago, but the connection between our families lingered because of it. They gained many projects, rose in status, but… I’ve long since cut ties with them.”

Elijah’s jaw clenched. James Harth—a name that stirred up even more disdain than Liam’s. James had always been worse, cunning and cruel, a master manipulator who hid his true nature behind a facade of respectability. Elijah couldn’t stomach the thought of being associated with that family, especially after everything Liam had done. This was more than business now; it was personal.

“This will be sweet revenge,” Elijah muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a cold smirk. Liam had crossed the line too many times, insulted him, degraded him. Worse, he had dared to fix his eyes on Eleanor, Elijah’s wife. The very thought of Liam even thinking about her made Elijah’s blood boil.

“Cut all ties with the Harths,” Elijah ordered, his voice low but filled with authority. “I don’t care about old favors. I want nothing to do with them.”

Alfred picked up the phone, calling the receptionist. Elijah’s heart pounded with satisfaction. *This is just the beginning,* he thought. *We’ll see who has the last laugh.*

Meanwhile, across town, Liam, stood in front of the Windsor building, his face red with frustration. “What do you mean?” he barked at the receptionist, his voice rising with every word. “How can they just cut us off like this? Do they know who we are?”

The receptionist didn’t flinch. She had been through this too many times before to be fazed by such outbursts. “I suggest you leave now, or I’ll have security escort you out,” she said calmly, her voice devoid of emotion. Liam’s face twisted with rage, but he knew better than to push further. The last thing he needed was for the press to get wind of this. The headlines would be brutal: *'Prestigious Heirs of the Harth and Stone Groups Kicked Out of Windsor Headquarters.'* That kind of humiliation was too much to risk.

Elijah, oblivious to the scene unfolding outside his new empire, hopped on his scooter and sped toward the hospital. His mind was buzzing, thoughts of revenge swirling through his head, but there was something else—a nagging feeling he couldn’t shake. His chest tightened with anxiety. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt off.

When Elijah arrived at the hospital, the scene before him was very chaotic, one with bad energy. Nurses and doctors rushed in every direction, with the kind of urgency that only comes in life-or-death situations.

Medical carts clattered along the polished floors, their wheels squeaking. The distant sound of alarms echoed through the hallways, accompanied by hurried footsteps and the muffled exchanges of medical jargon that Elijah couldn't quite make out. The atmosphere was almost suffocating, something had definitely happened.

Elijah’s heart began to pound, each beat more forceful than the last. His hands were clammy, and a growing sense of dread crept into his chest.

He hurried down the familiar hallways toward her room, his legs moving faster than his mind could process. As he approached Room 40, his breath caught in his throat.

What if it doesn't work? That thought overpowered him, the closer he got. He hesitated just outside the door, his hand trembling as it reached for the handle.

When he finally pushed open the door, his stomach lurched violently. The bed was empty.

For a moment, Elijah just stood there, frozen. His mind couldn't register what his eyes were seeing—or rather, what they weren’t. The fresh white sheets had been smoothed down, the machines that had once been hooked up to his mother were gone. The room was silent, the only sound was the faint beep of a monitor in the next room. His mind raced through a thousand possibilities. Had they moved her to another room? Why wasn't she here? He clung to that hope as if it were his last lifeline.

Elijah’s eyes scanned the room frantically for any sign of his foster mother. His throat tightened as his heart thundered in his chest, but he couldn't give up just yet. He ran out into the hall, stopping a doctor who was rushing past. The man looked startled for a moment, clearly busy, but he could hear the heaviness in Elijah’s voice, he was uncertain.

“Excuse me, What happened to the patient in Room 40?” Where is she? Elijah’s voice cracked, barely holding it together. His entire body was trembling now, his face pale with the knowledge of the unknown. The suspense was killing me already and he knew the feeling of dread wasn't normal.

The doctor, a tall man in his forties with tired eyes, stopped in his tracks. His expression shifted from surprise to something much more real. His lips pressed into a thin line as he turned to face Elijah fully, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. “Are you Elijah?” the doctor asked softly, the sympathy in his voice almost too much to bear. “Her son?”

Elijah’s heart dropped into his stomach. His voice was barely above a whisper as he replied, “Yes, I’m her son. Where is she?” His mind clung to the last shreds of hope, the desperate belief that there was some explanation, that maybe she'd been moved to recovery, that this nightmare wasn't what it seemed.

The doctor sighed deeply, the sound echoing in Elijah’s ears like a death knell. “I’m so sorry to inform you. She passed away.” His words came out slowly, as if he knew each one was a hammer blow. “The heart that was meant for her… it was no longer available.”

Elijah’s world collapsed. It felt as if the ground beneath him had been ripped away, leaving him plummeting into a void. The bustling hospital, the chaotic pace of life moving on around him—it all disappeared in an instant, fading into the background like a distant, forgotten memory. He couldn't hear anything, couldn’t even think straight. The only thing that filled his mind was the sound of those words echoing over and over: She passed away.

His knees buckled slightly, but he forced himself to stay standing. His throat constricted as he struggled to breathe, his lungs felt tight. He shook his head in disbelief, unable to process this bad news. “How?” he whispered, more to himself than to the doctor. “How could this happen?”

The doctor opened his mouth to explain, but Elijah had already turned away, unable to listen. He stumbled down the hall, his vision blurred by unshed tears and disbelief. How could the heart not be available? The surgery had been planned and paid for, everything was supposed to go smoothly. Why wasn’t it available?

Then, as he wandered through the corridors of the hospital aimlessly, Elijah caught snippets of hushed conversations between the staff, or “gossip” as people would term it. “A rich family… they took the heart,” one nurse whispered to another, her voice low but clear. “They said she was… useless to society. Just an old woman, no point wasting such a resource on her.”

The words hit Elijah like a sledgehammer. His blood turned cold, his skin prickling with fury. A rich family? Someone had taken the heart, the heart that was supposed to save his foster mother, for someone else? For someone they deemed more worthy? His mother had been discarded, considered unimportant, worthless in the eyes of those with power and money.

Elijah’s fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. Rage boiled within him, bubbling up until he could hardly contain it. His heart pounded harder, faster, and a growl of frustration and grief threatened to rip out of his throat. How could the system be so cruel? His mother had been everything to him, and now, because of someone else’s greed, she was gone.

A cold, bitter hatred took root in his chest. His mother hadn't just died—she had been sacrificed. Sacrificed for someone wealthier, someone more connected, someone who could afford to push her aside as if she were nothing. They had taken her heart, and with it, they had ripped Elijah's own heart from his chest.

The messed up system had failed her, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

He wiped at his face angrily, trying to force the tears back, but they kept coming. Whoever had done this, whoever had taken what was rightfully his mother’s, would pay. They would know what it felt like to lose everything.

This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.