Chapter 1: The Heir’s Public Betrayal

I am a king. A dying king.

The title sounds grand, doesn’t it? But right now, lying here in my mahogany four-poster bed—God, this thing always felt too big—I couldn’t feel anything but the weight of the years pressing on my chest. The high ceiling overhead, painted with old scenes of glory, seemed to mock me. All I could feel was the heaviness, squeezing the air from my lungs. The room smelled of old books and lemon polish. The fireplace crackled in the corner, the only thing keeping the silence from swallowing me whole. My breath was shallow, every inhale a reminder: I wasn’t going to be around much longer. God, I hated that smell.

As I was preparing to hand the crown to my eldest son, he just lost it. Out of nowhere, he dropped to his knees in the grand hall—right there, in front of everyone—and started sobbing like a kid who’d lost his puppy. “Dad, I’m really in love with Ellie Grant. All I want is to spend my life with her.”

He didn’t care one bit about the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the storm outside, or that the entire family—uncles, aunts, cousins, half the staff—were watching. He didn’t care. His voice cracked, bouncing off the marble floor, and I caught my sister-in-law grabbing her pearls, her face twisted in horror. For a second, I wondered if the morphine drip had finally pushed me over the edge and I was hallucinating this mess.

“Please, Dad, let me divorce my wife so I can marry Ellie for real.”

He sounded like a kid begging for a new bike at Christmas. Not the heir to a legacy that’s centuries in the making. My jaw clenched so hard I thought I might break a tooth. Somewhere, the family dog whimpered and slunk under a side table, smart enough to want no part of this.

My eyes—hell, I thought I’d closed them for good—flew wide open. I couldn’t help myself. “What’d he just say?” I asked, voice trembling, turning to the butler at my side.

My butler, Mr. Jenkins, a man who’d seen everything from Prohibition to whatever you call this, adjusted his glasses and leaned in. If Jenkins was rattled, you knew it was bad. “Sir, your son says he wants to divorce the general’s daughter—she’s in charge of the National Guard at the border—and marry a woman from a strip club who claims she’s from the future.”

There was a heavy pause as the words landed. I almost laughed. Almost. Jenkins’ voice was steady, but I noticed his hand shaking as he handed me my water glass. The chandelier flickered with the storm, as if the house itself was scandalized by the news.

Once I got confirmation, I swear, I could’ve come back to life. That’s how mad I was.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might punch right through my ribs. Almost comical. But not quite. There was nothing funny about watching your legacy unravel in real time. I half expected a camera crew to jump out, yelling that I was on some twisted reality show.

I am a king. Not the kind who throws people in the dungeon just for fun or orders executions at breakfast. I kept my head down and did the work. Worked my whole life for this country. Now, at the very end, my own son was making a fool of me.

I remembered the late nights in the study, going over budgets, meeting with governors, making the tough calls. Everyone else had gone home. I’d always tried to be fair, to be just. Now, my own flesh and blood was determined to torch it all for some love story straight out of a soap opera.

He knelt in the pouring rain, clutching a half-dressed young woman, and shouted his nonsense in front of the mansion: “I’ve been your puppet for over a decade, just drifting through life.”

The storm had turned the driveway into a river, but there he was, soaked to the bone, holding Ellie like she was the last life raft on earth. I bet the neighbors across the street were peeking through their curtains, already dialing up the gossip hotline. Thunder rumbled, and my son’s words seemed to ride the wind right up to my window.

“It wasn’t until I met Ellie that I realized life could be different.”

He paused. It wasn’t until I met Ellie... “She’s kind. She’s fun. She gets me. And she’s nothing like those uptight, old-money girls in the city. I want to spend my life with her. Please, Dad, let us be together.”

His voice cracked again, and for a second, I saw the little boy he used to be—begging to stay up late to watch fireworks on the Fourth of July. But now, instead of sparklers, he wanted to set fire to everything I’d built.

All the staff and the group of relatives who’d been waiting for me to kick the bucket stared, wide-eyed, at the pair in the rain.

Aunt Linda dropped her wine glass. The twins, usually glued to their phones, stared with their mouths hanging open. Even the cook peeked from behind the kitchen door, flour still on her hands. No one moved. It was like one wrong breath would send the whole house of cards crashing down.

My daughter-in-law was so embarrassed she looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her. She hesitated under her black umbrella, then stepped forward. “Can’t this wait until later?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, the kind you use in church when you don’t want to disturb the peace. She looked like she wished the earth would swallow her whole. Her cheeks were flushed, the rain making her mascara run. I actually felt bad for her—she didn’t deserve this circus.

But my son? He completely missed the point. He was blind to the tension in the hall. He stood up, shoved my daughter-in-law aside, and hugged the young woman, his eyes full of resentment. “Megan, do you think I don’t know what you’re up to? Acting all sweet and patient just so you can make Ellie’s life miserable if she ever moves in here.”

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and unfair. I felt my jaw tighten. Megan’s hand squeezed her umbrella so hard her knuckles turned white, but she didn’t say a word. My son’s voice rose, echoing off the columns, like he wanted the whole world to hear his pain.

“Ellie’s right—you women who’ve never seen the world, trapped in your little cages, have rotten hearts. All you do is scheme and plot against each other.”

Ignorant. Cruel. Take your pick. His words stung, more for their stupidity than anything else. The staff exchanged glances, not sure if they should step in or just fade into the wallpaper.

“I won’t let you hurt Ellie, not even a little. I promised her my whole life. You might be my wife on paper, but it’s time to step aside.”

That tone sent a chill down my spine. Even the rain seemed to pause, like the heavens themselves were waiting to hear what Megan would say.

Now it was Megan’s turn. She stared at him like he was nuts. But when she saw how serious he looked, she actually burst out laughing, right there in the rain.

The sound was sharp, almost defiant—a laugh that said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It echoed off the brick, slicing through the tension like a knife. For a moment, even my son faltered, not sure what to do.

“Fine. Go ahead and divorce me now.”

She said it with a shrug, like she was agreeing to pass the salt at dinner. Not ending a marriage. The courage in her voice made me prouder of her than I’d ever been of my own son.

Megan lifted her chin, looking down at them as the rain poured down, then turned and walked back into the hall.

Her heels clicked on the marble, each step a declaration of dignity. Good for her. She didn’t look back, not once. The staff parted for her like the Red Sea, and I caught a glimpse of her wiping away a tear she refused to let anyone see.

No one even breathed.

The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife. Even the grandfather clock seemed to hold its chime, unwilling to break the spell. You could almost feel the air buzzing.

This kind of spectacle? You didn’t see it every day.

You’d have to go back generations—maybe to the time Uncle Henry eloped with a jazz singer. Even that felt tame compared to this.

They say hearing is the first sense to go when you die. But I could hear every word of their conversation, clear as day.

Each syllable rang in my ears, sharp and undeniable. Death could wait. My family’s mess needed my full attention.

That one line—asking me to approve his divorce—stuck with me, echoing over and over. My muddled mind felt like it was about to explode. I snapped my eyes open and grabbed the butler beside me.

My hand, cold and frail, found Jenkins’ sleeve. He looked startled, but didn’t flinch. That steadiness meant everything to me.

“He… what did he say…?”

My voice was weak. But the urgency? That was real. I needed to know I wasn’t imagining things.

I was afraid I’d misheard.

Part of me hoped I had. Maybe this was just a fever dream, a side effect of too many painkillers and not enough sleep. But the look on Jenkins’ face told me otherwise.

The butler bowed his head, struggling to explain, “Sir… your son says he wants to divorce his wife… and marry someone else…”

He hesitated, like saying it out loud might make it less real. I closed my eyes for a second, wishing I could wake up in a saner world.

Divorce his wife… marry someone else…

The words echoed in my mind. Each time, it hit harder. My son, the heir, ready to throw everything away for a woman he barely knew.

Afraid I hadn’t understood, the butler repeated, “Your son wants to divorce the general’s daughter—she’s in charge of the National Guard at the border—and marry a woman from a strip club who claims she’s from the future.”

Jenkins’ voice was almost apologetic. I could see the pity in his eyes. It made me want to scream.

Now I was wide awake.

Adrenaline shot through me, clearing the fog from my brain. Hell, if death wanted me, it was just going to have to wait.

I’m a king. I should be dead by now. But at this moment, my own son has made me so angry, I’m alive again.

I felt the old fire in my veins. That same fire had gotten me through wars. Through scandals. Through betrayals. If my time was up, I’d go out fighting—not fading away.

Bracing myself, I slowly sat up. I ignored the family doctor’s look of disbelief.

The doctor, a kindly man with a face like a worried basset hound, reached for my arm, but I waved him off. There were bigger problems than my failing heart.