The life of Aurelius Valemont: The Heir (Part 6)
Matthew cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. He stood up, brushed off his uniform, and bowed formally to me—a curt nod of respect—before he turned and left, still slightly staggering.
I smirked. His ears were still visibly red. Meanwhile, Yumi remained frozen on the floor, mumbling something about wanting the ground to swallow her whole.
Peter kept muttering how he wished he could turn back time, reminiscing about the days of young love, while Philip was still cackling on the floor, enjoying every second of the chaos. Yumi, flustered beyond reason, tried her best to shut him up.
I smiled, taking a deep breath.
This—this ridiculous, warm, chaotic mess—was the moment of peace I wanted.
At least for now.
Aurelius: Age 12
I started noticing it more and more—how Matthew and Yumi always seemed to find themselves in the same place. Sometimes she'd be tidying the bookshelves while Matthew pretended to inspect the security layout nearby. Other times, she'd be dusting the windows, and he'd suddenly appear outside, polishing his weapon for the third time that day. Coincidence? Highly doubtful.
Philip was the mastermind behind all this. "Love is war," he said once while stuffing his mouth with biscuits, "and I, my dear heir, am the general." He'd wink dramatically and then push Yumi and Matthew together at every opportunity.
Matthew, despite his stoic, silent personality, was so obvious. He never spoke unless addressed—especially in Father's presence—but whenever Father sent him to fetch me, I'd catch him whispering something under his breath. Sometimes… Yumi's name.
Even funnier? Whenever I talked about Yumi—what she liked, how she laughed, the food she loved—he'd actually start taking notes. Real, scribbled notes. I'd pretend not to notice, but deep inside? That was adorable.
Meanwhile, Philip was training me on the side. Hacking lessons. Ruthless ones. The guy had no filter and no mercy. I remember once he cracked into a major bank's system in less than five minutes. Just to mess around. He stole one dollar, stared at it for fun, then returned it—with interest. It was like watching a mad artist paint.
But the peace never lasted long.
Father summoned me more often these days, drilling in lessons about bloodline, legacy, power. "You are my heir," he would say. "Act like it." Ever since Mama died, he tried to get closer to me, but the sight of him—the man who shattered my family—only boiled my blood. I bottled it in. I had to. Because losing my calm meant losing everything.
Beatrice, my second stepmother, was raising Leonard like a prince—Father's potential heir. But we all knew the truth. I was the chosen one. Leonard, barely two, was already drowning under Beatrice's pressure. It was cruel, honestly.
Then there was Laurel, my third stepmother. She had given birth a few months ago to a baby girl—Lilybeth. I'll admit it: she was adorable. Big eyes, soft giggles, and a smile that made everyone pause for a second. Even me.
And now, Theresa, the fourth wife, is pregnant. Again. And Father? He's married another one. Fifth wife. Her name's Anne. At this point, I've stopped counting.
But oh—there was that incident.
It happened two months ago.
Philip had somehow convinced Yumi to try a celebratory drink. "Just one," he said. "For courage." Turns out, Yumi is the biggest lightweight I've ever seen. Within minutes, her cheeks were flushed, her words slurred, and she couldn't walk straight.
And then she saw Matthew.
She stumbled toward him like he was the last hope on earth, grabbed his collar, and with trembling fingers… kissed him. Just a little one. A brief touch of lips.
Matthew passed out.
He actually passed out.
Philip laughed so hard he rolled down the hallway. I couldn't breathe from the absurdity of it. The next day, Matthew woke up claiming it was "dehydration." He avoided everyone. Yumi, on the other hand, was ready to bury herself alive. She couldn't meet his eyes for a week.
And me?
I was just enjoying the show.
Peter really raised his grandson into a hacking maniac. The man may be the Valemont family's librarian, but to me, he was more than just a keeper of books—he was warmth, wisdom, and sharp sarcasm disguised in a gentleman's smile. He treated me like another grandson, and I guess that made me and Philip unofficial hacking siblings.
It was around lunchtime when I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find Matthew standing stiffly, as always. "What?" I asked, half-expecting a summons.
He leaned in slightly, his voice low but clear. "Lunch. Master Victor." His lips barely moved, but I noticed them more now—because Matthew, who rarely spoke to anyone, always opened up to me these days. Probably because Father kept dragging me into his meetings.
My eyes grew cold. "Lunch" meant more than food.
This was the first time Father had called for a family lunch.
He never once did this when Mama was alive. And now, with four wives and another on the way, he suddenly wants to play house?
Coward.
I clenched my jaw and nodded, trying to keep my emotions buried deep. Matthew guided me down the hallway to the grand dining hall.
The table was absurdly long and lined with golden edges—fancy, cold, and empty in every way that mattered. His wives sat neatly along the sides like decorative porcelain dolls. Father took the head of the table, of course. Dozens of bodyguards stood at their posts around the room. Maids stood stiffly, eyes down, as if they'd been carved from marble.
Typical.
I took my seat quietly and reached for my silverware. The others did the same. No one spoke. No one smiled. It felt like dining inside a freezer locked in Antarctica.
Then, all of a sudden, Father broke the silence.
"Rise," he said.
I was just about to take a bite when his voice cut through the cold air like a blade. Everyone stood up immediately, their chairs scraping lightly against the marble floor. I followed, my movements slower, controlled.
Father stood at the head of the table, hands behind his back, the very picture of authority. His eyes scanned the table—his wives, the maids, the guards… then they landed on me. That familiar weight of his gaze—expectation laced with pressure, like he was sculpting me with nothing but stares and silence.
He cleared his throat.
"I gathered all of you today," he began, "because we are no longer a scattered household. We are a family. And a family should eat together."
Now you care about that? I thought bitterly, but kept my face unreadable.
Beatrice, sitting tall with Leonard in her lap, smiled politely. Laurel cradled baby Lilybeth in her arms. Theresa, clearly exhausted from the pregnancy, leaned subtly into her chair for support. Anne, the newest addition, looked stiff, like she was still adjusting to the frozen nightmare she'd just married into.
Father continued, "This home must reflect unity and discipline. Especially now that Aurelius is growing. As my heir, he will be under more observation and scrutiny. His behavior must set the standard."
So this lunch wasn't about family. It was about control.
I kept my expression neutral. "Understood," I said coolly.
He nodded with approval, then gestured toward the table. "You may all sit."
We returned to our seats in silence.
As I slowly reached for my fork again, I could feel Matthew's eyes on me from where he stood by the door. Watchful. Protective. Like he always was. Peter's words echoed faintly in my mind: "You're not just surviving, Aurelius. You're becoming something they can't tame."
I forced myself to eat, each bite mechanical. Around me, the room was full… yet I had never felt more alone.
Then he spoke again, his voice deep and deliberate.
"I have something to announce to you all," he said, laying down his utensils with a soft clink. "It concerns the Valemont estate."
The room stilled even more than it already was. Beatrice's smile twitched. Laurel shifted Lilybeth in her arms, tense. Even the maids, trained to be statues, subtly tilted their heads in interest.
I didn't look at him, not directly. I focused on the food, but my ears were wide open. I could feel my fork tremble slightly in my grip. His announcements were never just announcements—they were warnings, commands, or traps in disguise.
Father leaned forward slightly, folding his hands atop the table.
"In a year," he began, "we will be hosting the annual Valemont Gala. This time, it will not just be a display of wealth or allies. It will be an introduction."
An introduction?
He turned to me.
"To present Aurelius as my official successor."
All eyes turned to me.
My stomach sank.
He went on, "Though he is young, it is time the world knows where the legacy of Valemont is headed. He will begin taking public responsibilities, both at internal and external levels. His training will intensify. His mistakes will be less tolerated."
I clenched my teeth behind closed lips.
"You will all do your part to support this. Any act of defiance, disobedience, or tarnish to this family's image—will not be forgiven."
A cold shiver passed down my spine. He was declaring war on any threat—internal or external.
Beatrice looked like she was trying not to scoff. Laurel held Lilybeth a little tighter. Anne kept her head down, silent, unreadable. Theresa looked too exhausted to respond.
Then he looked at me again.
"Do you accept this responsibility, Aurelius?"
The silence was unbearable.
I lifted my eyes and met his gaze, not blinking.
"Yes," I said.
But in my chest, a thousand versions of no were screaming.
I gripped my fork tighter, the polished silver biting into my palm.
"Father," I said, my voice calm but edged like a knife, "I will be thirteen when the time comes."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he gave me that unreadable look again—the one that made my blood boil.
"All the more reason," he replied. "You'll no longer be a child. You will carry the name Valemont, not just in blood—but in power."
I swallowed hard. The air felt thicker than before. Around me, no one dared to speak. Even Philip, who would usually whisper some sarcastic remark, was unusually silent. Beatrice tilted her wine glass and sipped, feigning disinterest. Laurel avoided eye contact. Anne finally looked up but blinked away quickly. And Theresa—her hands were clenched around her stomach.
I forced myself to breathe.
"You're asking me to become you."
A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Approval, perhaps. Or amusement. Or both.
"I'm telling you to become better," he said.
That was a lie. He didn't want better. He wanted a mirror. A puppet with fangs.
Still, I bowed my head slightly. "As you wish."
He nodded, satisfied.
And just like that, the conversation was over.
Aurelius: Age 13
It was finally time.
The annual Valemont Gala—an event so grand it could silence cities. Even the maids, the servants, the kitchen staff, and the ever-stoic bodyguards were all dressed in their finest. Polished shoes, crisp suits, flawless gowns. Every thread and button screamed power and perfection.
The mansion glittered under golden chandeliers, the halls filled with the clinking of champagne glasses and murmured conversations in different tongues. Politicians, crime lords, business moguls, even royalty—every monster wearing silk masks.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in black with a crimson tie—my father's favorite color. Beside me was Matthew, still unreadable as ever in his sharp suit, and behind me, Philip adjusting his cufflinks with a smug grin. Yumi? She wore the softest silver gown that caught the light with every step, her hair pinned up, eyes scanning the crowd like a wary dove among wolves.
"You look sharp," Philip whispered to me, elbowing my side. "Almost like a villain."
"Isn't that the point?" I replied quietly, keeping my gaze down at the guests below.
That's when I saw him—Victor Valemont—making his entrance. All conversation stopped. A silence fell over the hall like a shadow. My father didn't need to speak to command. He simply was.
He raised his glass and began to speak.
Victor stood at the center of the marble floor, every spotlight drawn to him like he was the sun himself. His presence devoured the silence. Holding a glass of aged wine, he lifted it with poise.
"Esteemed guests," his voice echoed—deep, controlled, the kind that made people stand straighter. "Tonight is not only a celebration of power, but of legacy. The Valemont legacy."
He paused. The air felt heavier. My jaw clenched.
"I present to you…" He turned toward me. "My heir. Aurelius Valemont."
Whispers rose like a tide from below. Eyes turned. Some skeptical. Some curious. Others… afraid.
I took a deep breath, suppressing the tremble in my fingertips, then descended the staircase. My steps were silent, deliberate. Every inch of me trained to emulate the man I despised.
Victor watched me with pride in his eyes, but I saw it for what it was—a twisted satisfaction. A man pleased with his puppet finally dancing on command.
As I reached the final step, I stood by his side. The audience applauded, though I knew the applause wasn't for me. It was for the role I was about to play.
Victor placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "He has been trained in discipline, warfare, politics, economics… and soon, he will join me in managing our global affairs. At thirteen, he is already stronger than many of you in this room."
The crowd gave another round of applause. I didn't flinch.
Then he leaned closer to me, voice low and sharp. "Do not disappoint me."
I didn't answer. I only raised my own glass to the crowd, eyes cold.
"To the Valemont Empire," I said.
They repeated it like a chant. "To the Valemont Empire!"
Victor smiled.
And I swallowed the rage down with a sip of red wine, tasting the bitterness of blood and legacy on my tongue.
Later that night…
The grandeur faded into shadows.
The corridors of Valemont Manor were silent once more—just cold chandeliers swaying slightly, long carpets muffling every step, and the weight of legacy pressing against the stone walls. I peeled off the tuxedo jacket, fingers trembling as I walked alone toward my wing of the mansion.
Behind closed doors, the cheers still echoed in my head. To the Valemont Empire. What an empire of rot.
I entered the library.
Peter was there, dozing with a half-open book in hand. Yumi was curled on a chair near the fireplace, drowsy. Philip was lying on the carpet, hacking tablet clutched like a teddy bear.
Only Matthew stood by the window, arms folded. He turned when he saw me.
"You did well," he said quietly. "You didn't shake."
I let out a dry laugh. "I was shaking inside."
He nodded once. "That's what it means to be a Valemont."
I sat beside the fire, the warmth barely reaching the ice inside my chest.
Peter stirred. "My boy… you courage looked like your mother tonight."
I blinked. My throat closed.
Yumi opened one eye. "She would've been proud, Aurelius."
I didn't answer.
Philip yawned. "You were cool. Like... cold-blooded mafia boss cool."
A small smile tugged at my lips, just briefly.
Then I whispered, to no one and everyone at once:
> "I will play his game… but I will never be him."
The fire crackled.
Matthew closed his eyes and nodded.
And in that quiet room, I carved a vow deep into the marrow of my soul:
One day, I'll tear down this empire. Brick by brick. Bloodline or not.
End of chapter 46.