From His Beggar To His Heir

I will never forget the day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life.

Standing there in my pristine white wedding dress, my heart brimming with anticipation, I waited for my groom. Instead, what arrived was the news that he had been taken away by the police, accused of sexually assaulting a college student.

My mind went completely blank. Driven by pure instinct, I chased after the squad cars, desperate to defend him, to prove his innocence to the world.

But reality delivered a crushing, suffocating blowhe had turned himself in.

Faced with my absolute shock and confusion, he looked at me with eyes full of apologies and explained. He said the girls name was Daisy. Her family had found out she had been taken advantage of, and now, they were forcing her to marry the scumbag who had assaulted her. He couldn't bear to watch Daisy be condemned to such a tragic fate, so he stepped up and took the fall for the crime himself.

He told me Daisys family had agreed to drop the charges on one condition: he had to marry her.

As for the inevitable fallout at his job, the investigations, and the vicious rumors that would tear through our social circleshe hoped I could handle all of that for him. He and Daisy had already worked it out. It would just be a fake marriage. A three-year arrangement.

After three years, he promised, he would come back to me. He would give me another wedding. He begged me to wait.

Listening to this absurd, martyr-like confession, a strange, chilling calmness washed over me. I turned my back on him and walked away without a word.

Passing a stray dog on the sidewalk, I casually pulled the delicate tulle veil from my hair and draped it over the animal's head.

Donovan, did you really think Id be stupid enough to wait?

1.

I took another heavy pull from my glass.

Honestly, my friends hadn't cursed him out nearly enough. They went too easy on him.

Maybe the liquor was finally hitting my bloodstream. A different kind of regret started bubbling up in my chestthe regret that I hadn't slapped Joseph across the face when I had the chance three years ago.

I lost track of how many drinks Id downed. I pushed my chair back, swaying slightly as I stood up to find the restroom. The moment I was on my feet, the room tilted. The ground felt like a sponge beneath my shoes.

A coworker grabbed my arm, eyes laced with concern. I waved her off with exaggerated confidence and stumbled out of the booth.

It wasn't until I hit the hallway that I realized exactly how far gone I was. The recessed lighting seemed to pulse and sway. But I brushed it off, humming a tuneless melody as I made my way to the bathroom, and was still humming when I emerged.

And then.

I saw a painfully familiar silhouette standing at the end of the corridor.

The slope of the nose, the sharp line of the jaw, the profile...

Why... why did he look exactly like my ex-boyfriend?

I narrowed my eyes, squinting through the alcohol haze for a few long seconds. The longer I looked, the more certain I became.

It was Joseph.

The arrogant, manipulative sociopath who had cosplayed as a starving artist to trick me, the guy who had looked down his nose and told me Id hit the jackpot just by breathing his air.

"Dead man walking," I muttered under my breath.

2.

Before my brain could process the command, my body was already launching forward.

Smack

My palm connected with his cheek. The sound cracked like a whip in the narrow hallway.

The man clutched his face, his eyes blown wide in absolute, horrified disbelief.

I leaned in close, glaring at him, but something felt... off. This skin... wasn't it a little smoother than I remembered?

Then it clicked.

I crossed my arms over my chest, a mocking smirk twisting my lips. "Well, well. Haven't seen you in three years and you've somehow aged backwards. What, did you finally discover Botox?"

But I had the wrong guy.

The consequences of my impulsive, drunken rage were far more severe than I could have anticipated. The man called the cops.

During the fifteen agonizing minutes it took for the police to arrive, the cold draft cutting through the hallway sobered me up entirely. My coworker came sprinting out of the bar, staring at me in sheer horror. "Nicola... did you actually hit someone?"

I nodded, a sickening wave of remorse washing over me.

Liquid courage really does make fools out of cowards. I couldn't believe I had actually struck someone.

The police arrived shortly after. We were ushered into a bleak mediation room at the precinct. The moment the door clicked shut, the officer turned a stern, unforgiving gaze on me. "Alright. Let's hear it. What exactly happened here?"

I let out a dry, nervous laugh, entirely resigned to my fate. "Officer, I was completely out of line. I hit him, and I'm wrong for that. I'm more than willing to apologize and pay for any medical expenses, as long as... well, as long as he doesn't try to ruin my life over this."

The officer sighed, looking exasperated. "You look like a perfectly normal, quiet young woman. Why on earth are you going around slapping people?"

The corner of my mouth twitched. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I'm so sorry. It's just... he looks exactly like my ex-boyfriend. I had way too much to drink, and I just lost it. I thought he was the guy who ruined my life, and I... I just swung."

The cop took a deep breath, his expression a mix of pity and exhaustion. "Even if it was your ex, you can't just assault people in public. If he presses charges, you're looking at assault and battery. Do you understand that?"

I was drowning in shame, nodding frantically. "Yes, yes, I know. It's my fault entirely. The alcohol clouded my judgment. I'll apologize, I'll pay, I'll"

Before I could finish, the man sitting across the table let out a sharp, incredulous scoff.

"Looks like your ex?" He dragged his eyes up and down my body, his gaze scraping over my messy hair down to my scuffed boots. A blatant, cruel sneer settled on his face. "You?"

"Someone wearing head-to-toe clearance rack polyester, looking like a thrift store tragedy... and you think you dated someone who looks like me?"

He paused, as if savoring the insult, before delivering the final blow. "Honestly, with eyesight like yours, you should just donate your corneas to someone who actually needs them."

I buried my face in my hands, completely incapable of formulating a defense.

Who could have possibly predicted this? That there was someone out there walking the earth with Joseph's exact face. Drinking really ruins lives. I had just wanted one night to numb the pain of a ruined wedding. And now, I might not even get to sleep in my own bed tonight.

3.

Stripped of any right to defend myself, I kept my head down, staring blankly at the tips of my shoes.

Seeing my silence, the man leaned into his arrogance, completely unleashed.

"Officer, look at her. You see how insane this is, right? The woman is genuinely delusional!"

"She belongs in a psychiatric hold! What kind of nonsense is she spouting about me looking like her ex?"

"Any man who shares even three percent of my DNA would never be caught dead with someone of her... caliber."

I snapped my head up, unable to hold my tongue any longer. "Not three percent. You look ninety-nine percent like him! I literally thought he just got a chemical peel."

The man looked at me with unbridled disgust.

"That makes it even more impossible. The only person on this planet who looks that much like me is my older brother."

He rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with mockery. "And my brother? You definitely don't know him. He's operating in a completely different stratosphere than you. There are millions of miles of tax brackets between you two. You'd have to get down on your knees and thank God just to be in the same room as him. Date him? You couldn't even afford to dream about it."

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and the words died on my tongue.

Seeing me stunned into silence, the man threw his hands up in a dramatic, 'I told you so' gesture.

But it wasn't that I didn't want to fight back. It was that my brain had short-circuited.

His words... they sounded so familiar.

A girl from your tax bracket is lucky to even be breathing my air. You hit the jackpot with me. You should be down on your knees thanking God.

The exact same cadence. The exact same arrogance. The exact same suffocating condescension.

This brother he was talking about...

Maybe I really did know him.

Maybe...

Before my racing thoughts could land, the heavy door of the mediation room swung open.

The man, who had been aggressively running his mouth just a second ago, shot up from his chair. The haughty cruelty vanished from his face, instantly replaced by the exaggerated whine of a victimized child.

"Joseph! You're here! This crazy woman literally assaulted me! You have to destroy her for this!"

I slowly lifted my head.

My entire body went rigid against the hard plastic chair.

He looked at me.

His dark, fathomless eyes locked onto my face, and time completely stopped.

In the fraction of a second our eyes met, my palms began to burn.

For three years, I had fantasized about this exact moment. I had replayed our inevitable reunion a thousand times in my head. I thought I would slap him. I thought I would scream at him. I imagined standing tall, shoulders back, radiating success, letting him see exactly how brilliantly I had survived without him.

But three years hadn't diminished him. He was still the man who commanded the summit of the world. Dressed in an impeccably tailored, charcoal Brioni suit, the sheer, crushing weight of his authority was even more suffocating than I remembered.

He was lightyears away from the man who used to cram into my tiny, drafty apartment wearing pilled sweaters.

And me?

I was wearing a cheap, oversized hoodie Id bought on sale. My hair was a tangled mess, and I reeked of cheap tequila.

Beside him, the younger brother was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Joseph, seriously, you have to handle this. Call the legal team. Let's lock this psycho in an asylum!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Joseph slowly turned his head and looked at him.

Just one look.

The younger brother snapped his mouth shut, visibly shrinking back, terrified to make another sound.

When Joseph spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it carried an absolute, terrifying finality. "Apologize."

I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I cursed my own cowardice. Where was all that fire I had when I slapped his brother? Hand up, strike down, clean and brutal. Now, with the actual villain standing right in front of me, I couldn't even summon a single word.

My palm still tingled.

But I was stone-cold sober now. I knew the reality of the situation. The man standing before me had the power, the money, and the absolute ruthlessness to completely ruin my life with a snap of his fingers.

I folded.

I lowered my gaze. Even though every fiber of my being screamed in protest, I forced the words past the lump in my throat. "I'm sor"

"Not you," Joseph interrupted, his voice slicing through the thick air.

"Wyatt. Apologize to her."

4.

I sat there, dumbfounded.

Wyatt looked equally paralyzed. The color drained from his face as he choked out, "Joseph... what did you just say?"

Joseph's expression dropped by several degrees, the air around him turning arctic. "Wyatt, I said apologize. What gives you the right to speak to a woman like that? What kind of garbage were you spewing? Who taught you to behave that way?"

Wyatts jaw tightened in defiance. His lips parted to argue, but the sheer terror in his eyes forced him to swallow the rebellion.

Josephs dark eyes narrowed slightly. "And another thing. Didn't you swear to me you'd be back in your dorm by ten every night? Not only are you out past curfew, but you reek of alcohol. So, you're lying to me now?"

Wyatt physically flinched.

He had completely forgotten about the leverage. To get Joseph to buy him a new Porsche 911, he had sworn up and down: Ill study hard, Ill stay out of trouble, back in the dorms by ten, I promise.

Now, his entire facade had crumbled.

Wyatt nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Though his face was flushed with humiliated reluctance, he muttered, "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have insulted you."

But he couldn't let it go entirely. He added a petulant, "But she shouldn't have slapped me either... she needs to"

"Enough. The matter is settled," Joseph cut him off effortlessly. "It's late. Go home."

Wyatt's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He looked at his older brother, then at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

His face contorted with suppressed rage. He was the one who got hit. He was the victim here. How the hell did it end up with him getting chewed out, forced to apologize, and sent away like a scolded dog?

But he didn't dare say a word.

He knew exactly how ruthless his brother was. Joseph held absolute, terrifying control over the family empire. Their father deferred to him, their mother feared him, and even the ancient, cutthroat board members of the company wouldn't dare cross him.

If Wyatt talked back, that Porsche was gone, and his trust fund allowance would be frozen by morning.

Defeated, Wyatt shot me a venomous, secretive glare, before dropping his head and trailing miserably toward the exit.

I sat there, completely dazed.

The police officer, clearly eager to be done with the drama, sighed. "Well, since the aggrieved party considers the matter settled, we're done here. You're free to go, miss."

It took me a long moment to gather my bearings before I slowly walked out of the precinct.

The night wind hit me instantly, biting and cold, making me shiver in my thin hoodie. I stood on the concrete steps, tilting my head to look at the sky. There were no stars tonight. Just a solitary, crescent moon hanging in the dark, looking incredibly lonely.

A few feet away, I heard Wyatt dramatically whining by the curb.

"Come on, Joseph! You're already here, just give me a ride!"

He tried to play the pathetic card. "Joseph, please. My dorm locked its gates an hour ago. I can't get back in! Just let me crash at your penthouse tonight, please! I can't go back to our parents' house looking like this. Your driver can just drop me at campus in the morning!"

Joseph's face remained carved from stone. "You can stay at the penthouse. Call an Uber."

Wyatt stared at him like he had lost his mind. "I am your blood brother! Why do I have to get an Uber? You're getting in a car right now!"

Joseph ignored him entirely. His peripheral vision caught me standing on the steps.

He bypassed his brother and walked straight toward me. When he spoke, the ice in his voice melted into something almost agonizingly gentle. "Nicola. It's late, and it's hard to get a cab in this area. Let me take you home."

Behind him, Wyatt looked like he was about to have an aneurysm, his eyes darting frantically between his untouchable brother and the girl in the cheap hoodie.

I looked up at Joseph. A chaotic storm of emotions raged in my chest, a bitter, tangled knot I couldn't even begin to unravel.

Right now, less than three feet separated us. The amber glow of the streetlamp spilled across his face, casting deep, cinematic shadows over the sharp angles of his jaw and the intense, searching look in his eyes.

Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to maintain the boundary.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Leonard," I said, my voice deliberately flat. "My best friend is on her way."

As if on cue, the high-pitched beep of a moped horn pierced the quiet night.

Gemma pulled up to the curb on her battered vintage Vespa, the engine sputtering as she hit the brakes in front of the precinct. She spotted me instantly, kicked the stand down, and pulled a spare helmet from the storage box.

She marched up the steps, shoved the helmet onto my head, and loudly clicked the chin strap into place.

Gemma didn't spare Joseph an ounce of politeness. She knew exactly what he had done to me.

As she walked past him to get back to the bike, she dragged out her words, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm.

"Well, well. Look at the Wall Street royalty gracing us with his presence. Careful, you might catch something from us peasants."

She turned to me, making sure he could hear every word. "Come on, Nat. We need to stay far away from people like this. They might look like gentlemen in their custom suits, but underneath, they're nothing but rot."

She punctuated the insult with a massive, exaggerated eye roll aimed directly at Joseph.

She yanked me onto the back of the Vespa. The second I was settled, she gunned the throttle, and the little engine roared as we shot down the empty street.

I could hear Wyatt screaming obscenities in our wake. "Are you kidding me?! Who the hell does that trashy bitch think she is talking to us like that?! This is the worst night of my entire life!"

The cold wind whipped violently against my ears.

Wyatt's screeching faded into the distance until there was nothing but the hum of the tires on the asphalt.

I didn't speak. I just gripped the grab rails of the seat so tightly my knuckles ached.

There was a heavy, stinging pressure building behind my eyes. I sniffled softly against the chill.

Gemma felt the shift in my posture. She called over her shoulder, her voice softening. "Nat, don't tell me you're crying over that piece of garbage. Hey... if it hurts that muchjust lean on me."

I hesitated for a second, then slowly pressed my forehead against her back.

I wasn't crying.

I just told myself the wind was blowing a little too hard tonight.

5.

It was nearly midnight by the time I walked through my front door.

I turned the key as quietly as possible, but when I stepped inside, my mother was sitting rigid on the living room sofa.

She had clearly been waiting up for me.

Still rattled by the collision of my past and present, I forced a casual tone. "Mom, why are you still awake?"

The deep worry lines etched into her forehead relaxed slightly the moment she saw me safe. Her gaze swept over me, lingering on my face. "Nicola, why are you home so late? Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?"

I waved my hand dismissively, forcing a bright, easy smile as I dropped onto the couch beside her. "I was just in a really good mood tonight. Went out with the girls from work and had a few too many."

I leaned in closer to her, exaggerating a sloppy grin. "Smell me. Don't I reek of tequila?"

A shadow of doubt crossed my mother's eyes. She spoke quietly. "But you only ever drink like that when you're heartbroken or stressed. Did something happen tonight? Did you... run into someone?"

My stomach plummeted, but I kept my expression perfectly neutral. "Run into someone? Who would I possibly run into in a city this big?"

"I never said a name," she replied softly.

I was completely trapped. I couldn't find the words to spin a lie.

She sighed, her voice frail and tender. "Nicola, honey... I don't interfere in your love life. You know that. But as long as it's not him... As long as it's not Joseph. Not after what he did to"

She stopped herself, swallowing the rest of the sentence as if it were poison.

"Never mind. Let's not talk about him. I just... I never want to see you broken like that again."

A painful lump formed in my throat, burning all the way down to my chest. I forced the corners of my mouth up. "Mom, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. The only thing on my mind right now is making rent and keeping my head down at work. I don't have the luxury for anything else."

My mother looked at me, a deep, complicated sorrow in her eyes. Her lips parted, clearly wanting to say more, to dig into the old wounds.

But in the end, she just sighed and let the silence take over.

I knew exactly what she wanted to ask. She wanted to talk about three years ago.

And what exactly happened three years ago?