Stolen Legacy

Wyatt strode into the opulent living room of the Winslow Mansion.

Arthur Winslow met him near the entrance, his face pinched with deep impatience. "Did Hazel agree to annul your engagement with her?"

Wyatt shook his head slowly. He shifted his gaze toward Gwen Winslow, who remained perched on the velvet sofa. She looked docile and sweet, presenting a stark contrast to Hazel's stubborn edges. "We have broken up. The annulment is just a matter of time. Sorry to keep you waiting again, Gwen."

Gwen offered a soft, timid shake of her head. Her eyes brimmed with manufactured tenderness. "It is alright. I will be happy as long as I am with you, Wyatt."

Wyatt felt a swell of pride expand in his chest. His heart turned to mush under her gentle gaze. He knew without a doubt he had made the right choice in picking her over his actual fiancée.

He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and sighed. "I was just going to visit Hazel, but she was with another man. It was that firefighter from last night."

Arthur slammed his palm hard against the mahogany end table. "Old habits die hard, huh? You should have dumped her from the start! She does not deserve you at all!"

Wyatt offered a solemn nod of agreement. Hazel was far too filthy, and her reputation was a liability.

Arthur waved a dismissive hand in the air, his tone dripping with disgust. "Honestly, let us not bother with her. She can do whatever she likes. I will just pretend I never had such a shameless daughter!" He let out a harsh scoff before pivoting the conversation toward a much more lucrative topic. "I heard a while ago that Clayton Caldwell, the scion of Caldwell Ventures, has just returned to the country. You should meet him as Zenith Group's CEO when you have the chance, Gwen."

Gwen’s eyes widened with a sudden rush of unchecked greed. "Are you letting me take over the company, Dad?"

Zenith Group was not just an ordinary corporation. It was the lifeblood of Hazel’s late mother, built from the ground up through years of grueling effort. Giving the CEO position to Gwen meant stripping Hazel of her rightful inheritance. It was tearing away the one legacy Hazel desired most in the world and handing it to the daughter who had done nothing to earn it.

Gwen sprang to her feet and rushed over to hug her father's arm with bright enthusiasm. "Thank you, Daddy! I will not let you down!"

Arthur patted her hand with profound affection. "Of course I trust you."

Gwen tilted her head, feigning innocent curiosity. "By the way, the Caldwells are the richest family in the city, aren't they? I heard Clayton was also said to have a child abroad, but there is nothing known about the mother?"

Arthur offered a serious, calculated nod. "Word is that his grandfather Oscar Caldwell was taken ill, and Oscar has asked Clayton to return and take over the family business. Clayton has been bringing the Caldwells' business in the foreign market to new heights. His understanding of business is said to match even Oscar's prime years. You are around the same age, Wyatt. Try to make his acquaintance. The Caldwells basically own Alden City, after all."

Wyatt stood taller, adopting an ambitious but humble posture. "I have spoken to my father about it myself. I will visit the Caldwells once Clayton formally takes over."

Gwen pressed a finger to her lip, murmuring her thoughts out loud. "He is only twenty-seven, right? But he is already so young and successful. I wonder what he looks like?"

Wyatt shot her a sharp, assessing look. "It is Oscar Caldwell's seventieth birthday next month. We will be able to meet him then. What, are you interested in him?"

Gwen quickly stepped closer and grabbed the lapel of Wyatt's jacket, purring soft reassurances. "No way! I am only interested in you, Wyatt. I think he must be ugly, which was why he got dumped! He probably looks like those middle-aged men with those giant bellies. In Alden City, only you have it all, Wyatt: looks, success, and family connections."

Wyatt could not hide the victorious, arrogant smile stretching across his face.

Far away from the cheerful, sycophantic atmosphere of the Winslow Mansion, the bleak hospital ward presented a depressing reality.

Hazel sat alone on the edge of the mattress. Her stomach delivered a hollow rumble, reminding her of her skipped meals. The thought of Wyatt briefly flared in her mind like a spark of dull anger, but she refused to shed a single tear for him. He was a lying cheat and not worth another hour of her sorrow.

Before she could reach for the nurse call button to order something off the cafeteria menu, the heavy ward door swung open.

A man in his fifties strode into the room. He wore a crisp, tailored suit and carried himself with practiced discipline. Two young ladies in their twenties trailing close behind him in immaculate uniforms.

The older man stopped at a polite distance and offered a proper bow. "Good day, Ms. Winslow. I am Clayton Caldwell's valet, but you can call me Hobson."

Hazel blinked in mute confusion, her brows knitting together as she looked at the sudden entourage.

Hobson gestured to the two maids standing behind him like pristine statues. "This is Clara, and this is Ruby. They are professionally trained maids that Mr. Caldwell has brought to assist you, and you may order them around as you require while you are staying here." He then turned a stern look on his staff. "Girls, present Ms. Winslow's lunch, please."

Clara and Ruby moved with synchronized precision. They brought over large, insulated containers and began laying out an assortment of lavish dishes on the overbed table. The rich aroma of tender fish, seasoned broth, and vibrant greens filled the sterile air. It was a scrumptious feast that looked bizarrely out of place in a hospital room. Ruby respectfully presented a polished knife and fork with both hands, keeping her head bowed.

"Please enjoy your meal, Ms. Winslow." Ruby stepped back into her station against the wall.

Hazel stared at the elaborate spread. She thought Clayton was definitely overdoing it. He did not have to go to such lengths for her, especially since the fire at his hotel must have inflicted severe financial damages.

She accepted the knife and fork with a quiet, hesitant sigh. "Thank you."

The food tasted incredible, melting over her tongue and warming her neglected stomach. As she took a few bites, Hobson quietly slipped a pair of thin reading glasses onto his nose. He produced a little notepad and a pen from his breast pocket. He stood observing her every bite like a silent hawk, recording her subtle reactions to the food.

Hobson took a measured step forward. "Apologies if the food is not to your taste. May I ask if you have any sort of preferences, or ingredients you do not like?"

Hazel paused with her fork suspended over the tray. She was stumped by the intense scrutiny of a mere hospital lunch.

She lowered the cutlery and met his watchful eyes. "No."

Hobson did not press her. He simply retreated to his corner and resumed his quiet observation.

His pen scratched lightly against the paper: *Ms. Winslow prefers fish, but is averse to carrots and onions.*

He looked up again, his sharp eyes connecting the dots as he noted the identical aversions. He drew a neat line at the bottom of the page and penned one final summation: *Refer to Mr. Edward's preferences.*

Once Hazel finished eating, Clara and Ruby cleared the table in sheer seconds. Hobson then presented a small, sleek box.

He opened the lid to reveal a brand new mobile phone, equipped with a working SIM card.

Hazel accepted the device with a murmur of thanks. Hobson bowed one last time and left the ward immediately, never once overstaying his welcome.

Clara and Ruby remained stationed by the door, ready to serve.

Hazel maneuvered her body into the standard hospital wheelchair provided near the nightstand. "Do not mind me."

She grabbed the metal rims and pushed herself into the corridor. She had promised Edward a visit, and keeping promises was a hard rule for her. Beyond that, there were distinct boundaries she felt she needed to negotiate directly with Clayton Caldwell.

She wheeled to the neighboring door and knocked with a firm fist.

The door opened almost instantly.

Clayton's towering form blocked her path. His sheer size seemed to dominate the hallway. His broad shoulders and muscular waist filled the frame, while his long legs rooted him to the spot. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing his tanned, chiseled hands.

Hazel's gaze fell to his skin. She noticed the fresh, stark white bandages wrapped securely around his right wrist. He had carried her through a sea of roaring flames with those very arms.

Averting her eyes quickly to mask a flutter of complicated emotion, she gripped her wheels. "Is Eddie in?"

Clayton kept his powerful frame parked in the doorway. "Yes, but he is having a nap."

Hazel felt a sudden quiet rejection. She wondered if he was using sleep as an excuse to keep her far away from his son.

She forced a tight smile and pursed her lips in defeat. "I will come by later."

A weak, small voice suddenly echoed from the confines of the room, piercing through the quiet tension of the hallway.

"Are you there, Mommy? Can you sleep with me?" Edward called out.

Before Hazel could even begin to process the sweet plea, Clayton stepped out of the room and cleared the entrance.

"I need to step out for the moment. Please keep him company if you are not too busy, Ms. Winslow," Clayton said with a low, commanding tone. "Eddie just had an appendix surgery, and his doctors have insisted on bed rest. Help me coax him to sleep if you can."

With that single demand, Clayton strode past her wheelchair. He disappeared down the long corridor without waiting for her nod of consent.

Hazel stared at the empty air left in his wake. She was mystified by the man's reckless behavior. Was he not afraid that his adorable son would develop unhealthy attachments to a total stranger masquerading as a maternal figure?

"Mommy?" Edward called out again, sounding small and vulnerable.

Hazel wheeled herself over the threshold and approached the hospital bed. She inhaled a sharp, deep breath, wrestling with her logic before deciding to refrain from correcting the tired child.

She locked the wheels and leaned closer to the mattress. "Alright, just take a nap. I will be here with you."

Edward offered a bright, sleepy smile. "Thanks, Mommy."

The little boy reached out with fragile effort, wrapping his small, pudgy hands firmly around her forearm. He dragged her arm against his small chest, treating it like an anchor.

He let out a huge yawn, closed his eyes, and tumbled straight into sleep at the very next instant.

Hazel sat frozen beside the bed. She watched the gentle rise and fall of the boy's chest. She felt envious of his ability to doze off with such inherent trust and ease. She had been taking melatonin pills for years and still suffered through hollow, wakeful nights.

Waiting several minutes until his breathing steadied, she tried to slowly slip her hand out of his tender grasp.

The moment her skin slid a fraction of an inch, Edward's little hands tightened around her wrist with sudden, fearful strength.

"Mommy, do not leave me..." he murmured into her sleeve, a frown marring his smooth forehead.

Hazel felt a hard, invisible ache bloom in the center of her chest. She stared at Edward’s tiny, flushed cheeks. The deep maternal instinct she never realized existed within her surged with overpowering force. She wondered what kind of heartless mother could ever abandon a child radiating such innocent love.

The overwhelming tenderness shattered her usual icy defenses. She could not force herself to pull away. Succumbing to the warmth in her chest, she leaned over the cold metal guardrail. She brushed her lips against his temple, pressing a firm, secret kiss into his soft hair.

As she slowly lifted her head from the boy's face, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Hazel dragged her gaze up toward the doorway.

Clayton was standing just inside the room. He leaned casually, yet predatorily, against the heavy doorframe. His dark, impenetrable gaze watched her every move with a suffocating intensity, capturing the intimate display of affection she had thought was entirely private.

Hazel stopped breathing. She was caught red-handed showering another person's child with raw affection, pinned helplessly in place under his crushing, silent stare.