The Abandoned Heir

My father's words were calm, rational even, as if he truly believed what he was saying. "Rather than letting Owen get beaten down, it's better to hand everything over to Ethan. At least Ethan is capable and once he takes over, he won't mistreat Owen." My father let out a deep sigh, as if he had made a noble sacrifice. "This is the best solution—I'm doing this for Owen's own good." My mother remained silent. Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. The lawyer, caught in the middle of this cold, calculated betrayal, seemed to hesitate. But in the end, he quickly excused himself, leaving the room without another word. I pressed my trembling fingers against the wall, trying to steady myself, but my breath came in ragged gasps. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, my father pulled out his phone and took several photos of the equity transfer agreement before forwarding them to Ethan. His voice softened, dripping with pride as he made a call. "My good son, I've already spoken with the shareholders. The meeting has been postponed for three days. Owen won't be able to recover in time to attend, so you'll be the only candidate. Do well and I'll have a celebration banquet waiting for you when you return." My nails dug into my palm. "The car accident was a great idea." My father chuckled. "I don't need to tell you what to do next, do I? Make sure to switch Owen's medicine to vitamins—don't harm his health." The call ended. The sound of his voice still echoed in my ears. Tears slipped uncontrollably down my face. So, the car accident wasn't an accident at all. It was planned. Meticulously. Heartlessly. By the very people who were supposed to love me. Five years ago, the Griffith Family had brought me back from the orphanage. I still remembered that day—the warmth of my mother's embrace, the way my father had held me firmly by the shoulders, looking at me as if he had finally found something precious he had lost. They had sobbed uncontrollably, saying how much they regretted everything. "Owen, we've wronged you. We should have looked for you sooner." "We'll make it up to you. You'll never feel unwanted again." I believed them. For the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't just an abandoned orphan. I felt like I belonged somewhere. I thought I had finally found my place, that I was a prince in a fairytale who had been lost but was now home. They tried to make up for the fifteen birthdays I had spent alone, gifting me fifteen presents as blessings. My mother had personally picked them out, her face filled with guilt and love. "These are all for you, sweetheart. To make up for the years we weren't by your side." Not wanting to disappoint them, I had worked desperately hard. I threw myself into my studies, into business, into everything they wanted me to be. I only wanted to be worthy enough to stand by their side.

Afraid that I would overthink things, my parents reassured me, saying that no matter what had happened in the past, Ethan was only an adopted son. He would never pose a threat to me. "Owen, you're our real son," my mother had said, holding my hand tightly. "No one can take your place. Ethan understands this, too." I wanted to believe them. I spent an entire month meticulously preparing for the shareholders' meeting. I barely slept, pouring over documents, fine-tuning every detail of my proposal. I imagined the pride in my father's eyes, the approving nods from the executives, the feeling of finally proving myself. I wanted to surprise my parents, to make them proud of me. But in the end, it was all just an illusion—a fleeting, fragile dream. To them, I wasn't their long-lost son. I was just an obstacle standing in Ethan's way. I guessed, in their eyes, controlling Griffith Group was far more important than keeping me. The weight of that realization crushed me. My fingers curled against the wheelchair's armrests. The autumn air was crisp, but it wasn't enough to numb the ache in my chest. I didn't even realize how long I had been eavesdropping until a voice jolted me from my thoughts. "Mr. Owen, why are you here? It's chilly outside. If you catch a cold, Mr. Peter will be worried. Let me push you back inside." Hearing the housekeeper's voice, my parents quickly rushed to the door. They appeared at the doorway, their eyes widening in shock when they saw me. For a moment, their faces paled. Then, without hesitation, they took the wheelchair's handles and pushed me back to my room. My mother followed closely behind, her gaze darting to my face as if searching for any signs of distress. Sitting in the wheelchair, my expression was blank, my heart hollow. My mother knelt in front of me, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with sorrow. Slowly, she reached out and stroked my forehead, her touch filled with what seemed like genuine affection. "Sweetheart, it's my fault for not protecting you." Her voice trembled. She lowered her head, gripping my hand tightly. "Tomorrow, I'll have the doctors move into the house to take care of you. You will recover, Owen. One day, you'll be able to stand again..." Her words were filled with warmth, with love. But now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel it. Not anymore. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced myself to smile. My fingers tightened around her hand as I whispered, "Mom, I want to eat your sweet and sour ribs. Can you make them for me?" She blinked in surprise, then quickly wiped away her tears and nodded. "Of course! Whatever you want, I'll make it." She cupped my cheek gently. "As long as you're happy, I'd give you everything." My father was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he was still busy in his study, meticulously organizing the equity transfer documents, ensuring that everything was in Ethan's favor.

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.

I closed the safe with a quiet click. My chest felt unbearably tight, as if someone had placed a heavy stone inside it. Then, without hesitation, I took out my phone and booked a flight abroad for three days later. Since there was no place for me in this home, I would leave. At the dinner table that evening, my parents exchanged glances. Their silent communication didn't escape me. Though they tried to act natural, the guilt in their eyes was unmistakable. My mother placed an entire plate of sweet and sour ribs in front of me. The aroma, once comforting, now felt suffocating. With delicate precision, she picked up a piece, deboned it carefully and placed the tender meat into my bowl. Her hands trembled slightly. As if afraid I would be upset, she forced a smile and tried to comfort me. "Owen, don't worry. No matter what happens, our family's wealth is more than enough to support you—even if you can't walk again." She paused, her voice softening. "Rest assured. Your dad has already found the best doctors in the world. There must be a way to treat you." The sheen of unshed tears in her eyes almost made me falter. Holding onto my last shred of hope, I asked, "Can I still attend the shareholders' meeting?" My father's expression stiffened. A barely perceptible frown appeared between his brows before he sighed and said patiently, "Owen, you haven't recovered yet. I don't want you to tire yourself out. Why don't you just forget about the proposal?" "But, Dad, I spent a whole month preparing for it." My voice was quieter now, almost pleading. "I really want to go..." Perhaps it was because I had never asked them for anything before. Perhaps it was because, for the first time, I was openly showing my desperation. Whatever the reason, my parents hesitated. In the end, they reluctantly agreed. *** Early the next morning, I went to the hospital alone for a checkup. I wanted to know the truth about my condition, whether there was still a chance for me to stand again. I never expected to run into Ethan there. A group of Griffith Family bodyguards flanked him in an imposing formation. Their coordinated steps, the sharp suits, the cold vigilance in their eyes—everything about them screamed untouchable authority. Ethan, dressed in a crisp tailored suit, walked ahead of them with effortless confidence. From the side, I overheard the hushed discussions of the medical staff. "Griffith heir, huh? Quite the entourage. I heard his checkup alone costs over a hundred grand. The Griffiths sure don't hold back, do they?" "Yeah, he's about to inherit the company soon. Those bodyguards are on his dad's dime. They baby him. And get this—they snagged our best doc with a million-dollar paycheck just for him!" "He had it all. Best schools, his dad's personal picks. Compared to that, we're just nothing. I guess birth really is everything..." Every word stabbed into my heart like a dagger, leaving me breathless. They didn't know. No one knew that Ethan was adopted.

No one knew that my parents' favoritism toward Ethan was not just preference—it was a deliberate choice. Even though I, their real son, had been found, it had changed nothing. The heir had already been decided long ago. Compared to him, I was nothing more than dust beneath their feet. And my father... The moment he heard that Ethan had arrived for his checkup, he dropped everything and rushed over. His long strides were filled with urgency, his usual composed demeanor faltering for the first time. Then, his eyes landed on me. A flicker of panic flashed across his face before he quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. "Owen? What are you doing here?" His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension to it. Before I could answer, he quickly added, "I came to get your medicine and while I was at it, I brought your brother for a checkup." Afraid I would take it the wrong way, he hastily explained, "Don't misunderstand, son. Given your current condition, we can't afford to let anything happen to your brother. The company needs an heir—I had no choice but to schedule this checkup for him." I swallowed my bitterness and forced a smile. "I understand. It's my fault for being useless. At least with my brother here, he can help share the burden for the family." Relief visibly washed over my father's face. He reached out and gently patted my head. The gesture should have been reassuring. It should have made me feel like his son. But now, all it did was solidify the distance between us. "Owen, you're still the most understanding one." He smiled. "Once the shareholders' meeting is over, I'll finally be able to retire. By then, how about I take you and your mother on a trip abroad?" "If there's a place you like, we can even settle down there. A good mood will help with your recovery." Just then, the phone screen on my wheelchair lit up. Out of the corner of his eye, my father caught a glimpse of the notification. His smile faltered. "A plane ticket?" His voice dipped into suspicion. "Owen, why did you buy a ticket?" I picked up my phone and casually swiped away the message. "What ticket? It was probably just an ad from an airline." My father let out a breath of relief, not thinking much of it. With a slight nod, he personally ordered a driver to take me home. He didn't question me further and I didn't offer any explanations. As soon as I reached the front door, a pile of packages crowded the steps. Large, heavy boxes wrapped in luxurious packaging bore my mother's name as the recipient. The sheer number of them made the entrance feel suffocating. Curious, I leaned forward and carefully tore open the edge of one package. Inside, I found a sleek, branded laptop—the latest model, still in its factory packaging. I opened another. This time, it was a property deed for a high-end river-view villa in a prime location, the kind that was nearly impossible to purchase without deep connections. Every single one of these gifts had a small tag attached. For Ethan.

The weight of realization pressed heavily on my chest, but before I could process it, I heard approaching footsteps. I quickly set the package down and adjusted my expression just as my mother appeared at the doorway. She forced a smile, but the corners of her lips trembled slightly. "Owen, when did you go out? I've been so busy I didn't even notice." Her eyes flickered to the half-opened package and for a brief second, panic flashed across her face. "These are just some office supplies for your dad. They must have been sent here by mistake. Don't touch them. Come on, I'll help you inside so you don't hurt yourself." She spoke hurriedly, her words piling on top of each other as if she was trying to drown out any further questions. But I didn't ask anything. There was no point. I nodded silently and followed her back inside. Later that evening, I ate the warm soup she had specially prepared for me, but my heart had already turned ice-cold. For the next three days, my parents were busy preparing a grand celebration banquet for Ethan. They spent their time coordinating with the hotel, finalizing the guest list and arranging the perfect event. To them, nothing was more important. Meanwhile, I drank the medicines my parents gave me—though I already knew they had been switched with just vitamins. I quietly made the final revisions to my proposal, checking and rechecking every detail. But no amount of preparation could have readied me for what happened next. *** The day of the shareholders' meeting arrived. I dressed carefully, making sure I looked as professional as possible. Even if I couldn't stand, I wanted to be taken seriously. But they never even left me with the last shred of opportunity. Ethan was the first to present. I listened absentmindedly at first, assuming his proposal would be the typical corporate nonsense. But the moment his project proposal appeared on the massive screen, I froze. It was identical to mine. Every. Single. Detail. A chill spread through my veins. My mind went blank for a second, refusing to process what was happening. My fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. How? How did he get it? When the presentation ended, the entire room erupted into applause. My father was the first to stand, clapping enthusiastically, his expression brimming with pride. His smile stretched wide, his satisfaction almost glowing. Everyone praised Ethan for his talent, calling his project innovative and promising. They spoke of his limitless future, his potential to lead the company into a new era. And me? I wasn't even given a glance. My throat tightened, but before I could do anything, Ethan walked toward me and gripped the handle of my wheelchair, pushing me toward the stairwell. His grasp was firm as he maneuvered me into the isolated space. Once we were alone, his mask slipped. He glanced down at my legs, his lips curling into a contemptuous smirk. "What's the matter? Even after becoming a cripple, you still refuse to stay put? You just had to come out and steal the spotlight?"

My entire body tensed. Ethan crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to mine. "Seeing your own proposal with my name on it while you don't even have the chance to stand on that stage—does it hurt?" The air between us grew suffocating. His voice lowered to a whisper, dripping with mockery. "Owen, if I were you, I would've been better off dying in that orphanage. At least there, you could still walk. That's far better than this—being unable to even stand." My face gradually turned pale. My fingers trembled slightly, but I clenched them into fists to suppress my emotions. Ethan wasn't finished. "Oh, right. You still don't know, do you?" He chuckled. "It was Dad who stole your proposal and sent it to me." The words sent a sharp jolt through me. He leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against my ear. "He said that you're nothing more than an orphanage boy. Showing up at the meeting would only bring shame to the Griffith Family." My heart pounded violently against my ribcage. "Your education, your looks—you can't compare to me in anything. And the parents you fought so hard to reunite with? They're the ones who crippled you. Even I feel sorry for you." Just as I was about to react, he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. Caught off guard, my balance wavered and I tumbled down a few steps with Ethan. The sound of our bodies hitting the stairs echoed sharply in the empty stairwell. The commotion drew my father over. His face turned red with fury the moment he arrived. Without hesitation, he slapped me across the face. A sharp sting spread across my cheek. My head snapped to the side from the impact, my vision momentarily blurring. "You disgraceful brat! What do you think you're doing? That's your brother! How could you lay a hand on him?" I hadn't even gotten up when Ethan, ever so considerate, pushed my wheelchair toward me and helped me back into it. With a magnanimous expression, he said, "It's alright. Owen is still young. Seeing me present while he wasn't allowed on stage—it's normal for him to feel upset. I don't blame him." The shareholders, who had followed the noise, exchanged confused glances. "What brother? The Griffith Family has another son?" "Mr. Peter, you never mentioned this to us." My father's face darkened. He hesitated, clearly caught off guard. Then, he forced a stiff smile and answered, "No, he's just an adopted child. A foster son, that's all. He wants to join the company, but it was just a misunderstanding. Sorry for making everyone confused..."

Everyone exchanged glances before sneering. "So that's all he is—an adopted son? A cripple trying to compete with Mr. Ethan? That's way too ambitious." "Mr. Peter, even an adopted child should know his place. You've already done enough by taking him in. Why bring him into the company?" "Exactly! And now he's even laid hands on Mr. Ethan? You should just send him away before he causes more trouble." My nails dug deeply into my palm, drawing blood as it dripped down, the sharp sting a mere whisper against the storm raging inside me. The corner of my lips curled into a cold smile. I couldn't hold back my question. "An adopted son? Is that all I am to you?" "And what about my legs? Do you dare tell everyone the truth about how I ended up like this?" My father's expression darkened, his tone impatient, dismissive. "Enough! Owen, this is no place for your nonsense. Apologize to your brother!" Before I could say anything, Ethan put on his usual act of magnanimity and waved a hand dismissively. "Dad, it's fine. Owen didn't mean it. Let's just send everyone off first." Without sparing me a single glance, my father led Ethan downstairs to see the shareholders out. The last shred of familial affection in my heart was completely crushed, the weight of the betrayal settled into my bones. That night, my father was busy hosting Ethan's celebration banquet. He left me alone at home. As an afterthought, he had his assistant pack a few dishes and send them to me. Along with the food came a message of apology. [Owen, those people in the company today were major shareholders. I had no choice. Don't misunderstand. It doesn't matter what they think; you will always be our son.] [These are all your favorite dishes. Stay home and rest well. I'll bring you a gift when I return.] I stared at the message for a long time, my grip tightening around the phone. The fragrant aroma of the meal filled the air, but I had lost all appetite. My father still thought a few sweet words and empty gestures could patch up years of neglect and betrayal. How laughable. I didn't reply. Instead, I laid out the medical reports I took from my parents' safe and ignored the switched medication on the table. They had taken everything from me—my position, my dignity, my feet—and now, they expected me to simply accept it. No. Not this time. I packed my bags overnight. By the time the city lights dimmed and the world fell silent, I was already en route to the airport. *** After the banquet ended, my father finally had a moment to reflect. An inexplicable unease settled in his chest as he recalled everything that had happened at the company. Sighing, he turned to my mother, speaking softly, "Ethan is now the chairman. Why don't we take this opportunity to publicly announce that Owen is our son as well? This should stop people from badmouthing him." My mother's eyes welled up with tears, relief washing over her face. She immediately reached for her phone, eager to share the good news with me. Just as she was about to send the message, my father's assistant burst into the room, his face drained of color. "Sir, Madam, bad news! Mr. Owen has found out about the car accident! I can't reach him!"