The cover of every major magazine and newspaper was plastered with the same face: Liam Richardson's. Headlines screamed in bold fonts:
"The Richardson's Golden Grandson!"
"Liam's Smile Lights Up Grandpa Smith's Funeral!"
"Liam: The Next Heir?"
It was all the press could talk about—his poise, his composure, his charm. While the world swooned over Liam, other publications weren't so kind to Ethan. Some questioned his absence from public view, others accused him of being distant, cold, or even disrespectful during the funeral.
At the Richardson family's long oak dining table, the air was thick with tension. The entire family was seated, quietly eating their dinner. Only the clinking of cutlery and soft hum of background jazz could be heard—until Anna, sipping from a glass of rich red wine, decided to break the silence.
"Liam's birthday is coming up soon," she began, her voice overly cheerful, "and I would love to celebrate it at Dad's hall—with all of you in attendance, of course."
Stephanie didn't even glance up from her plate. "Anna, Smith Hall is reserved for grand Richardson family events—anniversaries, legacies, not birthdays," she said smoothly, with the hint of a smirk.
"I know that," Anna replied, her smile unwavering. "But maybe Liam's birthday can be the first exception? He deserves it."
"The tradition can't be changed—for Liam or anyone else," Stephanie said, this time meeting her gaze with a composed firmness.
"Ladies," Henry interjected, placing his fork down. "Let's not turn dinner into a debate." He turned to his sister. "Anna, you know the rule. Choose another location and you'll have my blessing. Let's eat in peace."
"But I don't see why not," Kenneth chimed in from across the table, always eager to side with Anna. "Have you all not seen the media for the past two weeks? All they talk about is Liam's grace. We should use this moment to honor him."
Stephanie turned slowly toward Kenneth, her expression unreadable. "Of course you'd say that. You're always on Anna's side—even when she's wrong. But let's be honest, Ken. Have you ever once seen Grandpa Smith allow a birthday to be celebrated in his hall? And since when did magazine headlines dictate what the Richardsons do?"
Anna's lips curled in amusement. "Just admit it, Steph—you're upset it wasn't Ethan on those magazine covers."
"Anna!" Henry's voice boomed across the table. "The children are here, for Christ's sake."
At that, Ethan quietly placed his utensils down, rose from the table, and excused himself without a word.
Henry's face darkened. "I don't want to hear another word, Anna."
"But you can't just dismiss Liam's birthday party like this, Henry. That would be favoritism," Anna pressed.
Henry sighed, then turned to Liam. "Liam."
"Yes, Uncle?"
"Do you want your birthday celebrated in your grandfather's hall?"
Before Liam could answer, Stephanie touched her husband's hand. "Honey—"
Henry gently pulled his hand away. "Let me handle this." He turned to Liam, who was looking toward his mother for guidance. Anna nodded insistently.
Liam cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. I would love to. But... it doesn't have to be a must."
"Liam," Anna muttered, clearly frustrated.
Henry smiled. "That's a wise answer. You're old enough to understand that Grandpa had his principles. But how about we celebrate your birthday in Winifred Hall instead?"
Liam's eyes lit up. "Really? That would be great. Thank you, Uncle."
"Winifred's nice," Anna muttered, sipping her wine. "I suppose you're not playing favorites after all." She smiled coldly toward Stephanie, then gently stroked her son's hair. "We're having your birthday party at Winifred's, darling."
Stephanie maintained her perfect composure throughout the meal, but inside, her blood simmered. She refused to lose control, even when pushed. Stephanie had always been a woman of grace—born to a middle-class family, brought into the Richardson world through marriage. Anna had assumed she'd be easy to boss around. But Stephanie was not the kind of woman to be subdued. She was elegant, articulate, and far more intelligent than Anna had ever anticipated.
When Stephanie solved a high-profile crisis in the Richardson company, winning Smith's admiration, the balance of power tilted. From that moment on, Anna's disdain deepened—because not only could she not control Stephanie, Smith value Steph more than her,his own daughter before his demise.
Later That Night
In Liam's room, Anna stood at the window, scrolling through photos and magazine headlines. "Why did you say 'it doesn't have to be a must,' Liam?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"It was clear Uncle wasn't going to allow it," Liam replied honestly. "And I don't want to fall out of favor with him."
Anna nodded slowly. "That was thoughtful of you. Still, Winifred Hall is fine. The media doesn't need to know the difference." She smiled to herself. "I'll pay Otto Magazine to cover it."
Otto Magazine—the most powerful media outlet in the country. If Otto wrote it, the public believed it.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Stephanie gently knocked on Ethan's door.
"Ethan? Are you in?"
"Yes, Mom," came the soft reply.
She stepped in and saw him sitting by the window, staring at the sky.
"You seemed upset earlier," she said.
"Upset? No," Ethan smiled faintly. "I just didn't want to make Liam uncomfortable."
Stephanie smiled and ran a hand through his hair. "You've grown so much," she said gently.
"Why do you and Aunt Anna always argue?" Ethan asked. "It's always about Liam and me."
"It's not an argument, sweetheart," she said. "It's... clarity."
"Clarity?" Ethan echoed. "I hope it doesn't become enmity between Liam and me."
She let out a soft sigh. "I promise, I'll handle things better from now on. I don't want this to come between you two."
"Thanks, Mom." He leaned in, hugging her. "I miss Grandpa."
"I know," she whispered. "You haven't been yourself since he passed. You barely eat. You barely leave your room."
"I just... I miss him."
There was a knock at the door, and Henry stepped in, smiling at the sight of mother and son embracing.
"Hey now," he said, arms outstretched. "Is there a hug left in there for your old man?"
Ethan laughed and welcomed his father's embrace.
Days passed. The mansion settled into a quiet rhythm, but the tension beneath its marble floors never truly faded. Ethan remained distant, his grief tucked behind cool stares and long silences. Liam, on the other hand, thrived under the spotlight. His photos were everywhere—on school noticeboards, in society columns, even splashed across digital billboards in the city. Yet, the more attention he received, the more something began to unsettle within him.
He would sometimes catch Ethan walking the halls alone, shoulders straight, face unreadable. Unlike before, Ethan never mocked him or showed resentment—he simply passed by, eyes forward.
At school, whispers grew bolder.
"Liam's going to be the next Richardson heir."
"Did you hear Ethan refused to even come out during the funeral?"
"He's not as strong as Liam. Not leadership material."
Liam heard it all—and though he never admitted it, it bothered him. Not because they doubted Ethan, but because he wasn't sure if he himself lived up to the version they painted.
One afternoon after school, Liam found Ethan alone in the estate's old library—an oak-shelved room lined with everything from dusty volumes to rare first editions. Liam hesitated in the doorway before walking in.
"I didn't know you still came here," he said quietly.
Ethan didn't look up from the leather-bound book in his hand. "Most people don't."
Liam took a slow breath. "I wanted to say... I'm sorry. About the funeral. About the magazines."
Ethan finally looked up, expression neutral. "Why are you sorry? You smiled. They wrote about it. You didn't do anything wrong."
"It feels like I'm replacing you," Liam said, wanting to hide the mockery tone,but Ethan was quite sharper than that.
Ethan chuckled—low, sharp, not unkind but laced with meaning. "You can't replace someone who stepped out of the spotlight."
"I didn't want the spotlight," Liam said,lying through his teeth.
"Then why are you still standing in it?" Ethan asked, closing his book. "You smiled for the cameras, took the interviews, let Anna parade you around like a trophy. You didn't say no."
Liam's jaw clenched. "I didn't say yes either."
There was a long pause.
"I'm not trying to be you," Liam added, softer now. "But maybe I'm trying not to lose myself either."
Ethan studied him for a moment before standing. He walked to the window, hands in his pockets. "You're lucky, Liam. You have someone fighting for you, every day, even if she's fighting for her own reasons. That kind of push? It can make you powerful. Or ruin you."
Liam stepped forward, unsure if the conversation was growing or fracturing.
"And you?" he asked. "Don't you have anyone fighting for you?"
"My mother," Ethan said simply. "But she doesn't fight. She waits. She watches. She trusts me to rise on my own."
"And do you want to rise?"
Ethan turned to him then—eyes darker than Liam remembered, like a storm not yet let loose.
"When I do," he said, voice quiet but sure, "you'll know."
Liam said nothing. He understood, in that moment, what Ethan had become—not a rival, not a victim, but a force waiting for its time. And whether the world liked it or not, the real story of the Richardson heir hadn't even begun yet.