Shadows of the Forgotten Heiress

Reginald woke with a start, his body stiff from the long hours spent in an unfamiliar chair. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nose as he shifted slightly, his gaze settling on the unconscious figure before him.

Seraphina lay still, her breathing even, her face peaceful yet eerily lifeless. He had been here for hours, refusing to leave her side, despite the caretaker's repeated assurances that they would inform him when she woke up.

Outside the ward, Nicholas sat in frustrated silence, arms crossed over his chest. His grandfather's stubbornness was nothing new, but something about this girl— this mystery— had latched onto the old man's heart. Nicholas couldn't understand it, and it gnawed at him.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seraphina stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as she slowly opened her eyes, her pupils dilating as they adjusted to the harsh hospital lights.

She turned her head, and her gaze landed on Reginald, the old man who had visited her before, the one who had collapsed upon seeing her.

"Sir, are you fine?" she asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Reginald smiled, relief washing over him as he reached out, his calloused fingers gently caressing her head. "You are still as polite."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Are you familiar with me? The me from the past?"

Reginald shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Well, this is the first time we've actually seen each other."

Seraphina's sharp instincts immediately latched onto his choice of words. "Then how do you know I was polite before? You said 'still.'"

Her observation made the old man chuckle. There was an intelligence in her gaze, one that told him she wasn't the type to accept answers at face value.

"Well," he admitted, "you were polite when I saved you."

A frown settled on her face as she tried to piece together the fragments of her shattered memories.

"What happened to me?" she asked hesitantly. "How did I end up like this?"

Reginald leaned back slightly, sighing as he recalled the events of that night. "That's something I was hoping you could tell me," he said. "I was trekking through the mountains, trying to escape from my grandson—" he gestured toward the door where Nicholas sat sulking—"when I slipped and injured myself. That's when I found you, lying in a pool of blood."

Seraphina's breath hitched. Blood. Gunshots. Pain. There was a faint flicker of something, a feeling rather than a memory, but it slipped through her grasp before she could hold onto it.

Reginald continued, his voice gentle yet firm. "You had two gunshot wounds—one in the shoulder and another below the chest. Fortunately, neither hit any vital organs, but your pulse was dangerously weak when I found you."

He paused, observing her. She was listening intently, her eyes filled with questions she hadn't yet voiced. Then, he continued, "At that time, I was in the middle of a conversation with my grandson—the tall, handsome one you saw earlier."

She interrupted him almost immediately. "Well, he isn't that handsome."

Reginald blinked in surprise before letting out a hearty chuckle. "Oh? Did you see anyone more handsome than him?"

Seraphina thought for a moment but found nothing concrete in her mind. Still, the feeling remained. "I don't know. I just feel like that."

Reginald smirked. "Fine, it's that brat's fault—always staying up late and ruining my good genes."

Seraphina let out a small laugh, the first real one since she had woken up.

Something about Reginald's humor, his warmth, made her feel at ease despite the uncertainty clouding her mind.

Reginald continued, "Anyway, I asked Nicholas, and he brought the rescue team. We took you to the hospital, but given your injuries, we assumed you had enemies. To keep you safe, we kept this whole thing from the police and the public."

Seraphina processed his words carefully before speaking. "Or maybe my family—if I have one—hid my information to protect me, thinking I ran away."

Reginald nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unanswered questions. Seraphina blinked a few times before softly saying, "Thank you, sir… for saving me."

Reginald's eyes twinkled with something unreadable. "Well, I don't do things for free."

A faint smile ghosted across Seraphina's lips. "As long as it doesn't go against my instincts, I'll do as you ask."

He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning serious. "Work for me."

She tilted her head, intrigued. "How?"

"First, you need to graduate from college. I'll arrange for you to enroll in a private institution. After that, you can choose any field you want within my industries." He held out his hand. "Is it a deal?"

Seraphina studied him, her sharp gaze searching for deception. Finding none, she nodded. "It's a fair deal."

Reginald leaned back, satisfied. "Now, about your name. We don't know who you are, and until we do…" He paused before offering, "Let's just say Seraphina. And since I saved you, take my surname for now."

Seraphina hesitated, then murmured, "Seraphina Grantham."

In a remote luxury villa in another city, a man strode inside, twirling a key effortlessly around his finger.

The quiet hum of the lavish estate was disrupted only by the soft click of his shoes against the marble flooring as he ascended the grand staircase.

As he entered his dimly lit bedroom, his gaze fell upon the lone figure sitting rigidly in the middle of his bed.

He smirked, his voice laced with amusement. "Did you figure it out?"

The woman on the bed lifted her head, eyes burning with fury. "That was my one year of effort," she hissed. "And you destroyed everything. You knew all along… I need to save my mother."

The man chuckled, stepping closer until he was towering over her. He bent down, his fingers tilting her chin upward with an almost mocking gentleness.

"I only wanted one thing from you," he murmured. "Give it to me, and in return, ask for anything you want—money, properties, lucrative deals, a VIP lifestyle."

The woman let out a bitter laugh, her lips curling in disdain. "You have a fiancée. Remember that."

The man's smirk faltered for a brief moment before he regained his composure. "You're well-informed," he admitted. "But why does it matter to you? I asked you to be a substitute. A substitute is not my fiancée."

His voice dropped an octave, laced with unshaken confidence. "So, you should be smart enough to realize—I will never marry her, let alone love her."

He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, his tone cruelly nonchalant. "If you want to save your mother—who, by the way, has hefty medical bills waiting—become my lover. It's that simple."

He straightened, his gaze dark and unwavering. "This time, I took away your hard-earned newcomer award. Next time, I'll take your resources. I'll blacklist you, ban you from the industry. Let's see how you plan to save your mother then."

The woman's body trembled as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. With a voice filled with raw anguish, she shouted, "How can you do this? You're a monster! If you want her, propose to her! Fight for her! Why are you punishing me?"