Chapter 8

Victor's eyes narrowed as he scanned the cemetery, his irritation simmering just below the surface. The funeral had drawn a larger crowd than he’d expected—too many unfamiliar faces. It was almost offensive. Jacob was never the type to have this many people care about him, was he? The idea feeding his frustration.

His gaze roamed over the gathered mourners, landing on a man standing apart from the rest. Tall, with dark hair and an unsettlingly calm demeanour, the man seemed oddly detached from the proceedings. He wasn’t grieving. He was watching—watching too closely.

Victor’s eyes lingered on him, a sliver of recognition tugging at the edges of his memory, but it slipped away as quickly as it came. Who the hell was he?

The stranger noticed Victor's gaze and looked away, a slight smirk playing on his lips as if he were amused by Victor’s scrutiny. The audacity irked Victor, but as he confronted the man, Amelia's cold hand slipped into his arm, guiding him away. He shot one last glance at the stranger, a sense of unease settling in his gut.

Jacob, in his new body, watched as Victor and Amelia moved away, their backs turned to him. He was safe, for now. Victor hadn’t recognized him—why would he? This face, this body… it, was entirely different from the one Victor had tormented all those years. But as Jacob stood there, his eyes following his brother, he felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and dread. He was a ghost at his own funeral, unseen and unheard, yet very much alive.

But he wasn't alone for long.

"Excuse me, young man," a voice interrupted his thoughts, rich with an old-world elegance.

Jacob turned to see an elderly man approaching him, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his eyes—sharp and probing—bore into Jacob with an intensity that made him want to step back.

"Do I know you?" Jacob asked, his voice steady despite the unease he felt.

The man’s lips curled into a faint smile, which was more of a calculated gesture. "Perhaps not, but you bear a striking resemblance to someone I once knew… a long time ago."

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced a casual shrug. "I think you’re mistaken. I'm just here to pay my respects."

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to peer through Jacob’s soul. "You may not know it, but you have the look of a Blackwell."

Jacob blinked, the name sending a jolt through his system, though he kept his expression neutral. "Blackwell? I've never heard of them."

The man chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. "Of course not. But tell me, young man, have you ever felt out of place? Like you didn’t belong in the life you were given?"

Jacob’s breath hitched, the man’s words cutting a little too close to the truth. He stiffened, masking his reaction. "Not really. I have always known who I am."

"And who might that be?" the man pressed, his tone soft, almost gentle, as if coaxing a confession from Jacob.

Jacob hesitated, feeling the weight of the man’s gaze on him. Something in him wanted to lash out, to deny everything, but the other part—the part that was still reeling from waking up in a morgue in a body that wasn’t his—was intrigued.

What if there was more to this?

"Why are you so interested in me?" Jacob asked, his voice a low growl. "What do you know about the Blackwells?"

The man’s smile widened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Ah, so you *do* have a spark of curiosity. Perhaps you’re more of a Blackwell than you realize. But, of course, you wouldn’t recognize the name. It was lost to you long ago. Tell me… what name do you go by now?"

Jacob swallowed, every instinct telling him to walk away, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He needed answers. "Jacob," he finally said, though the name felt foreign on his lips now.

The man’s expression softened, almost sympathetically. "Jacob, yes. A name that suited your old life, perhaps. But that life is gone now. And so is the name."

Jacob frowned, his mind racing. "What are you saying?"

The man took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I’m saying that you’ve been living a life that was never meant to be yours. The Blackwells have been searching for their lost heir for years, and now, here you are."

Jacob’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and hope battling for dominance. He wanted to believe it, to find some meaning in this new existence, but it all felt too surreal, too convenient.

"And even if what you’re saying is true," Jacob said slowly, "why should I care? What does it matter who I was or who I’m supposed to be?"

The man’s smile faded, replaced by a look of grave seriousness. "It matters because the Blackwells are powerful. And you are in charge of all that power, that influence, You are heir to an empire,Jacob"

Jacob stared at the man, a thousand thoughts swirling in his mind. It was tempting—so tempting to just believe and embrace this new identity. But something held him back.

"And what if I say no?" Jacob asked, his voice hardening. "What if I don’t want any of it?"

The man sighed as if disappointed. "You can refuse, of course. But you would be walking away from a legacy, from a life that was meant for you."

"And if you still need a reason," the man continued, "consider this: your father, the patriarch of the Blackwell family, passed away not long ago. You were… estranged when it happened, but he left everything prepared for your return. It was his dying wish to see you reclaim your place."

Jacob hesitated, his mind reeling, causing him a slight headache. The owner of this body had run away from home when he was just a child, too young to understand the weight of his actions. He had left behind a family he barely knew, but now he was being told that family had been searching for him all along.

The man’s voice softened. "Your father wanted you to come back, to take your rightful place as the heir. Now, that responsibility falls to no one else other than You, Jacob. "

Jacob shot him a look of distrust.

"And you think I look like my father?" Jacob asked, a flicker of doubt in his voice.

The man's expression softened, and for the first time, genuine warmth filled his gaze. "You do, young master. You have your father’s eyes and his determined spirit. He would be proud to see you standing here."

Jacob swallowed hard, emotions warring within him. The butler's words struck a chord, resonating with the part of him that longed for belonging .

"Come with me," He urged gently, extending his hand forward for a handshake. "Let me show you what your father left for you. Let me help you understand who you truly are."

Jacob hesitated for a moment longer before he took the hand and then nodded in agreement. "Alright, I’ll come with you."

"Good," the man said, holding Jacob's hand in a warm handshake. "Welcome back, Master Anderson Blackwell."

Jacob stared at the Butler before following him to the car, the name echoing in his mind.

Anderson Blackwell.