The Abandoned Heir

Taking advantage of their absence, I maneuvered my wheelchair toward my parents' bedroom. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the safe. I had a hunch. A quiet suspicion that I couldn't ignore.

The passcode was Ethan's birthday.

As soon as the lock clicked open, my breath hitched. I was hoping to find evidence of their schemes against me and I did. But I also found a thick leather-bound photo album sitting neatly inside. I hesitated before pulling it out.

Hundreds of pictures meticulously documented the fifteen years I had spent away from the Griffith Family. School photos, candid snapshots, moments that should have belonged to me—but they weren't mine.

From the very beginning, my parents had known. They had always known that Ethan wasn't their son. And yet, neither of them had ever revealed the truth.

They had still chosen to raise him as their sole heir.

Each photo told a story. Ethan at five, standing proudly in his tailored school uniform as my parents beamed beside him. Ethan at ten, posing in front of the Louvre, my mother's arm wrapped around him protectively. Ethan at fifteen, shaking hands with business executives, already being groomed for the empire that was meant to be his.

By the age of eight, he had mastered three foreign languages. At fifteen, due to his intelligence, he skipped grades and was admitted into a prestigious accelerated youth program at Harvard.

Ethan was the Griffith Family's pride.

As he grew older, my parents' smiles in the photos became more content, more at ease—because they had found their perfect son.

And with that, they had stopped searching for me.

Instead, they had poured everything into Ethan. They took him on lavish vacations, traveling the world together, seeing every breathtaking view life had to offer. They spared no expense.

By the time he graduated from university, he didn't have to fight for a place at Griffith Group. My father had personally brought him in, guiding him step by step until he was ready to take over.

Only then—only when Ethan had fully matured into the heir they had carefully cultivated—did they suddenly remember me.

They hastily retrieved me from the orphanage and brought me back into their home. But not as their son.

Not once did they acknowledge me in front of the media. I had been hidden in the shadows.

I thought it was because I wasn't good enough. Because I hadn't achieved what Ethan had.

So I worked. I studied harder than I ever had before, pushing myself to the limit, trying to carve a place for myself in their world.

But no matter how hard I tried, I could never be good enough.

The last few pages of the album held photos from Ethan's eighteenth birthday. My father had written something on the back of one of the pictures—his familiar scrawled handwriting, filled with warmth and love.

[Ethan, Griffith Group will always be yours. But in return, you must protect Owen forever.]

My lips curled into a bitter smile.

He had promised to keep me safe. And perhaps, in his own twisted way, he had.

By ensuring that I would never be able to walk again.