Chapter 2Birthright Claim? Grab a Number First

Peterson led Leo up to the third-floor guest suite.

I thought I might finally have a moment of peace, at least long enough to finish my tea.

The next second, my door was kicked open.

Leo stood in the doorway, pointing a finger at me.

“This room! I want this one!”

【Here we go! The classic ‘stealing the room’ scene!】

【See? I told you. This is more like it!】

I looked up, meeting his gaze calmly.

This was the master suite, the best room in the entire villa.

He certainly had an eye for real estate.

“Fine,” I said, closing my book and standing up.

“But I should warn you, this room gets the full force of the afternoon sun. It can get incredibly hot. And the soundproofing is terrible. When someone’s using the home theater downstairs, it sounds like artillery shells are going off next to your ear.”

Leo hadn’t anticipated I would agree so easily. The speech he had prepared died in his throat.

He stood there for a moment, stunned, before managing to force out a single, defiant phrase.

“I don’t care!”

“Alright,” I nodded. “Then make yourself at home.”

With that, I picked up my book and headed for the study next door, content to sleep there for the night.

Leo was left standing in the middle of the room, the triumphant excitement draining from his face.

At dinner, Leo finally got the tearful family reunion he’d been dreaming of.

My father, Richard Hebert, and my mother, Eleanor, were both, for once, present at the table.

Across the long expanse of polished mahogany, Leo sat opposite me. He spent a good few minutes working up his emotions before his eyes finally reddened.

“Dad, Mom…” he began, his voice choked with a carefully crafted vulnerability.

“You have no idea… what my life has been like all these years…”

He launched into a heart-wrenching tale of his childhood, of never having enough to eat, of being scorned by his adoptive parents, and of his heroic struggle to earn his place at MIT.

At the most dramatic moments, he even managed to squeeze out a few tears.

The comment stream was moved.

【Oh, poor Leo! He’s been through so much!】

【Mr. and Mrs. Hebert, look at your amazing son!】

But at the head of the table, the two people who mattered most were completely unfazed.

My father was wearing a Bluetooth earpiece, deep in a hushed, transatlantic conference call.

My mother, Eleanor, was meticulously marking up a thick art auction catalog with a special pen.

“This Monet’s Water Lilies,” she murmured to herself, “the estimate is far too conservative…”

The grand dining room was filled with the solitary sound of Leo’s sobbing, which echoed awkwardly in the vast space.

I was the only one paying him any mind, and only then to calmly cut into my steak and offer a piece of advice.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Leo’s crying stopped abruptly.

Finally, my father’s call ended.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked up at Leo, his brow furrowed in irritation.

“You,” he said, pointing a finger at Leo, his voice sharp with impatience. “Are being loud.”

My mother also looked up from her catalog, her gaze sweeping over him with a cool detachment.

“Peterson, teach the new young master some table manners. We do not speak while eating.”

With that, they both set down their silverware, rose from the table, and departed—one to his study, the other to her art gallery.

From beginning to end, they never once asked Leo how he had fared all those years.

Leo was left with his mouth agape, the tears forgotten in his eyes.

【Wait, what’s with this script?】

【Why aren’t these rich parents coddling him? Where’s the scene where they embrace their long-lost son and weep?】

【Is it just me, or is everyone in this family a little… off? Except for the new guy?】

I dabbed my lips with a napkin and stood up.

As I passed by Leo, I paused, looking at his utterly lost expression. I finally offered a quiet parting shot.

“Welcome home.”

He jerked his head up to look at me, his eyes filled with nothing but confusion.