The Lost Heir: Trials of an Empire Reclaimed

Chapter 001

The clink of silverware echoed through the grand dining hall, a stark contrast to the silence that surrounded him.

Silas, stooped over in his usual servant-like posture, placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of his wife, Lilian. She didn’t acknowledge him. She rarely did.

“Too cold,” she said, pushing the cup away with a flick of her manicured hand. Her voice was sharp enough to slice through his heart.

“I’ll make another one,” Silas murmured, his tone almost apologetic.

“Do it quickly,” her mother Veronica, seated at the head of the table, snapped. “And this time, don’t embarrass us with your incompetence.”

Silas nodded, avoiding eye contact. His shoulders sagged as he turned to the kitchen. The scorn in their voices no longer stung as it once had.

He had grown numb to the daily barbs and sneers. Yet, deep down, a small part of him still longed for a kind word, a glimmer of approval—especially from Lilian.

In the kitchen, the staff exchanged pitying glances but said nothing. They knew better than to get involved. Silas worked quickly, trembling slightly as he prepared a fresh cup.

A weak smile flashed on his face for a brief moment. “The things we do for love” he thought to himself.

Back in the dining room, Lilian was laughing at something her younger brother had said. She looked radiant, as always.

Her sleek black hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her designer dress clung perfectly to her lithe frame.

Silas’s heart clenched. Despite everything, he adored her. It was unbelievable but it was the truth

He placed the new cup in front of her and stepped back, waiting.

She took a sip, her expression indifferent. “It’s fine,” she said curtly, as though granting him a favor.

“Finally,” her brother muttered, rolling his eyes.

Mark stood there for a moment, unsure if he should leave or wait for another command.

“Why are you still standing there?” Lilian’s father barked. “The garden needs weeding, doesn’t it? Or are you too lazy even for that?”

“Yes, sir,” Silas replied softly. He turned and walked out, his steps heavy.

Out in the garden, the sun beat down mercilessly. Silas wiped the sweat from his brow as he pulled at stubborn weeds.

His hands were calloused, his nails cracked and dirty—a stark contrast to the polished, glittering world of his wife’s family.

“Hey, idiot!” a voice called. Silas turned to see Lilian’s brother, his face twisted in a smirk. “You missed a spot. Are you blind or just stupid?”

Silas swallowed his pride and nodded. “I’ll fix it.”

“You’d better,” the younger man sneered before sauntering back into the mansion.

Silas exhaled, staring at the ground. This was his life: a punching bag, a servant, a joke.

But no matter how much they ridiculed him, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He loved Lilian too much.

Later that evening, as Silas carried a tray of desserts into the living room, Lilian’s laughter rang out again.

She was surrounded by friends, each of them as glamorous and wealthy as she was.

“Silas, stop standing there like a statue,” she snapped. “Serve the guests.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied, forcing a smile.

Her friends giggled, whispering to one another. Silas felt their eyes on him, felt the weight of their mockery.

“Honestly, Lilian,” one of them said, “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“He’s useful,” Lilian said with a shrug. “In his own pathetic way.”

The laughter that followed was like nails on a chalkboard. Silas’s hands trembled, but he said nothing. He never said anything.

As the night wore on and the guests finally left, Silas cleaned up the mess they had left behind. The house was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the dishwasher and the faint sound of Lilian’s heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Silas,” she said, her tone icy.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to iron my dress for tomorrow. I need it first thing in the morning.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

She turned and walked away without another word.

Alone in the kitchen, Silas leaned against the counter, exhaustion seeping into his bones. His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him.

He pulled it out, expecting another spam message or perhaps a reminder for a chore he had forgotten. Instead, his eyes widened as he read the text:

“Master, the council awaits your command. Your presence is requested at the Crimson Hall.”

Silas blinked, rereading the message. His heart raced. Master? Council? Crimson Hall? It had to be a mistake. He was no one. A nobody.

Another message followed almost instantly:

“Do not ignore this summon. The legacy of the Lancaster Clan lies with you.”

Silas’s breath hitched. His palms grew clammy. He had heard of the Lancaster clan. They were the most powerful and biggest clan in the city. Rumored to be even above the state government.

Who were these people that texted him, it couldn’t be the real Lancaster clan, can it? How did they know him? And why were they calling him… Master?

He glanced around, paranoid that someone might have seen the message. But the kitchen was empty.

A third text came through, this time with an address. It was in the wealthiest district of the city, a place he had never dared to step foot in.

He deleted the messages, his mind spinning. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. It must be. Maybe one of Lilian’s cruel brothers had set it up.

It won’t be the first time they had pulled different pranks on him just for their amusement. That was the only sensible explanation.

But as he finished cleaning and headed to his small, cramped room in the servants’ quarters, the words from the text lingered in his mind.

“The legacy of the Lancaster clan lies with you.”

Silas stared at the cracked ceiling, sleep eluding him. For the first time in years, he felt something other than despair.

He turned all round the bed, completely disturbed.

It wasn’t hope, not yet. But it was a spark—a tiny flicker of curiosity, of defiance.

Whoever had sent those messages knew something about him that he didn’t.

And for the first time, Silas wondered if there was more to him than the pathetic, beaten-down man everyone saw.

Tomorrow, he would find out.