REVENGE OF THE ILLEGITIMATE HEIR

consequences.

Quinn stormed out of the building, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. His jaw was set, the muscles straining as he tried to suppress the storm of anger building inside him. His car, a sleek black sports car,a perfect symbol of both his wealth and recklessness…sat waiting just outside.

He yanked the door open and slid inside, gripping the steering wheel with a force that turned his knuckles white.

“Stupid old man,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with frustration. The engine roared to life, its guttural growl mirroring his simmering rage. “Always needs someone to blame.”

The tires screeched as he pulled onto the street, weaving through traffic with a careless urgency. The city lights blurred past, streaking into gold and white smears against the dark windows. But no matter how fast he drove, the sting of his father’s words clung to him, refusing to let go.

---

In the quiet, marble-lined hallway, Dimitri leaned against the cold wall, his posture relaxed but his mind racing. His face betrayed nothing, even as his thoughts churned like a storm. Years of being the family’s damage control,the one who stepped in and cleaned up the messes…had taught him how to keep his emotions in check.

“Dimitri,” a sharp voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He turned to see his father’s assistant striding toward him, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. Her petite frame belied the authority she carried, her sharp eyes locked on him as she clutched a tablet against her chest.

“Your father wants to see you,” she said crisply, her tone leaving no room for delay.

Dimitri adjusted his jacket, nodding. “He’s still in his office?”

She nodded. “He hasn’t left.”

Without another word, Dimitri pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the office. The door was ajar, and through the gap, he saw Levan seated behind his imposing desk, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“You called for me?” Dimitri asked as he stepped inside, his voice steady.

Levan gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Dimitri complied, lowering himself into the chair and folding his hands in his lap.

Levan took a slow sip of his drink before speaking, his voice as heavy as the weight of the empire they both carried. “I need you to handle Quinn.”

Dimitri blinked, momentarily thrown. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Clean up his mess,” Levan said bluntly. “Talk to the press, reassure the clients, and ensure everyone knows this scandal won’t affect the business.”

Dimitri’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, though his face remained composed. “Why me? He’s your heir. Shouldn’t he be the one fixing his mistakes?”

Levan’s eyes narrowed, his voice hardening. “Do you honestly think Quinn is capable of managing this? He’d make it worse. No, Dimitri…you’re the only one I trust to handle it properly.”

The word trust lingered in the air, both a balm and a burden. Dimitri had yearned for his father’s acknowledgment, but not like this. Not as a crutch for someone else’s failures.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, his voice calm but firm. “But this can’t keep happening. You need to start holding him accountable.”

Levan leaned back in his chair, swirling the whiskey in his glass as though searching for answers in its amber depths. “And how do you propose I do that?”

“By making him earn what he has,” Dimitri replied without hesitation. “No more handouts, no more cover-ups. If he’s going to inherit this company, he needs to understand what leadership actually means.”

Levan let out a slow exhale, his gaze fixed on the glass in his hand. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll think about it. For now, focus on damage control.”

Dimitri stood, his resolve unshaken. “I’ll handle it. But don’t expect me to keep carrying him forever.”

---

Across town, Quinn parked his car in front of a dimly lit bar, a far cry from his usual upscale hangouts. Tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for polished surfaces and curated cocktails. He needed something grittier, something real.

Pushing through the door, he stepped into the haze of cigarette smoke and the tang of stale beer. The low murmur of conversations barely registered as he slid onto a barstool.

“Whiskey,” he muttered to the bartender, his voice rough.

The drink burned on its way down, but it was a welcome distraction from the chaos in his head.

“Rough night?” a voice drawled from beside him.

He turned to see a woman with striking features…high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and an air of confidence that seemed out of place in the dimly lit bar.

“You could say that,” he replied, raising his glass in a mock toast.

“Let me guess,” she said with a smirk. “Daddy issues?”

Quinn chuckled, the sound bitter but genuine. “Something like that.”

She extended a hand. “I’m Vera.”

“Quinn,” he said, shaking it.

Her smirk widened, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I know who you are. Everyone does.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re talking to me. Brave or reckless?”

“Maybe a little of both,” Vera replied, leaning closer. “But I like trouble. And you, Quinn, are trouble.”

---

Back at the office, Dimitri worked late into the night, the glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. His desk was strewn with notes and drafts, each one a piece of the puzzle he was trying to solve.

By the time he stepped out, the city was silent, the streets bathed in the orange glow of streetlights. As he made his way to his car, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, frowning at the message from an unknown number.

“Careful, Dimitri. Not all scandals are meant to be cleaned up.”

He froze, his eyes scanning the empty street around him. A chill crept down his spine, the kind that spoke of more than just words.

This, he realized, was only the beginning.

—-------

Back at his penthouse, Quinn sprawled on the plush leather couch, his head resting against the cool fabric. Between him and Vera sat a half-empty bottle of wine, its crimson contents glinting in the soft light from the city skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hum of the city below was a faint murmur, but Quinn’s focus was entirely on Vera. She was sharp, witty, and surprisingly easy to talk to—a rare combination in his world.

“You know,” Vera said, lazily swirling the wine in her glass, “you’ve got the whole ‘bad boy heir’ thing down to a science. So, what’s next on your scandal itinerary?”

Quinn smirked, her teasing pulling him out of his lingering tension. “Haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll disappear for a while. Let the world miss me.”

Vera leaned in slightly, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. “Or,” she said with a mischievous glint, “you could do something unexpected. Shake things up a bit.”

Quinn arched a brow, intrigued despite himself. “And what exactly would that look like?”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, enigmatic and inviting. “That’s for you to figure out. But if you’re thinking of stirring up some chaos, I might just be your co-conspirator.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Quinn felt a flicker of something other than apathy or anger. He didn’t know where this conversation,or this night…might lead, but for the moment, he was content to let it unfold.

---

The penthouse grew quiet after Vera left, the hum of the city below a faint, persistent reminder of the chaos he was trying to forget. The half-empty wine bottle on the coffee table stood as evidence of his failed attempt to unwind. Quinn leaned back, closing his eyes, but his momentary peace was shattered by the insistent buzz of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he didn’t need to read the name to know who it was. He sighed heavily. “Of course,” he muttered, answering the call.

“Quinn,” Ava’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a whip. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Not tonight, Mother,” Quinn replied, already bracing for the familiar tension she always brought. “Can this wait until morning?”

“No,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “I’m coming up.”

Before he could protest, the call ended. Minutes later, the door to his penthouse swung open. Ava swept in, her silk scarf trailing behind her and her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. She didn’t knock…she never did.

“Quinn Apollo,” she began, her tone filled with authority and disdain. “What were you thinking?”

He groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Do we really have to do this? I’ve already had the lecture from Father.”

“Clearly, it didn’t sink in,” Ava retorted, her eyes blazing. “Do you have any idea the damage you’ve caused? The media is eating this up, the board is on edge, and your father….”

“Stop,” Quinn interrupted, his voice colder now. “Don’t act like you care about what Father thinks.”

Ava’s perfectly painted lips pressed into a thin line, her manicured fingers drumming against the back of a chair. “Do you think I enjoy this? Watching him tear into you? You’re my son, Quinn. I raised you better than this.”

Quinn let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. “Did you? Because all I remember is you teaching me that money fixes everything, that I can do whatever I want without consequences.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, her voice lowering into something colder. “Don’t you dare blame me for this. If anyone is responsible, it’s Dimitri.”

Quinn blinked, her words momentarily stunning him. “Dimitri? What the hell does he have to do with any of this?”

Ava’s expression hardened, her tone dripping with venom. “Everything changed when he came into our lives. Your father was mine, Quinn. Ours. And then that woman…” she spat the word like poison, “....dumped her child on us and ruined everything.”

“Mother,” Quinn said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Dimitri was a child. He didn’t ask for this.”

Ava ignored him, her bitterness spilling over unchecked. “Your father doted on him, gave him a place in our home, in our family. And what did we get in return? Distance. Coldness. Everything we built, he handed over to that boy.”

Quinn shook his head, exasperation clear in his voice. “Dimitri didn’t take anything from us. If anything, he gets the worst of it. The staff treat him like he doesn’t belong, Father uses him to fix problems, and you…” He stopped, jaw tightening.

“And I what?” Ava demanded, her voice rising.

“You treat him like a curse,” Quinn said bitterly. “You blame him for everything, but really, you just need someone to hate.”

For a long moment, Ava stared at him, her eyes narrowing as though weighing his words. Then she straightened, her tone icy. “You don’t understand, Quinn. You never will. That boy stole everything from us. If you’re too blind to see it, then maybe you’re not as clever as you think.”

Quinn’s temper flared, but his voice remained steady. “You know what, Mother? Maybe it’s time you stopped blaming everyone else for your problems. Dimitri didn’t ruin this family. You and Father did that all by yourselves.”

Ava’s expression twisted, her fury barely contained. Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched to the door, her heels clicking sharply with each step.

Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Don’t let me hear about another scandal, Quinn. If you drag this family’s name through the mud again, don’t expect me to clean up after you.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving Quinn alone in the suffocating silence.