Magnus Valecrest
(Past)
Magnus Valecrest had never believed in love.
He believed in alignment.
The first wife had been a mistake made in youth—beautiful, earnest, and disastrously unconnected. She had loved him loudly, demanded things he could not afford to give at the time. When she failed to produce a son quickly enough, the problem solved itself. Love, Magnus learned early, was inefficient.
The second woman had understood him better.
She had been quieter. Observant. Willing to wait. She had never asked for promises—only proximity. When she became pregnant before the first wife did, Magnus understood opportunity when it presented itself.
People later called it scandal. He called it structure.
Magnus sat now in his private study, years later, reviewing old documents. Property transfers. Trust arrangements. Names that no longer carried weight. He had built his family the way he built his business—by anticipating weakness.
Helena had never complained. That was her greatest strength and her greatest flaw. He had elevated her, publicly, legally. But elevation came with terms. Other women would come. Other children. That was the price of legacy.
He raised sons who mirrored him in ways that satisfied and unsettled him.
Adrian inherited his discipline.
Lucien inherited his appetite.
And the other boy—Elias—had inherited his mind.
That, Magnus thought, had been the real mistake.
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Magnus reached for the final document.
It was an amendment—technical, precise, written in language designed to appear neutral. It didn't remove anyone outright. It only clarified. Defined succession. Narrowed interpretation. Ensured continuity.
He read it once more, not out of doubt but habit.
Primary inheritance to legitimate male heirs.
Contingent rights conditional.
Discretion retained by the estate.
Magnus signed his name with steady pressure, the ink dark and unbroken. He did not smile. He never did when business was done correctly.
The paper slid into the folder. The folder into the safe.
A soft click sealed it.
Magnus leaned back, satisfied. The future, at last, had been simplified.
He did not consider how often certainty invited rebellion—or how easily a signature could become evidence instead of control.