Chapter 9
Early that morning, the Whitmore estate was buzzing with activity. The housekeepers were stringing up decorations and arranging flowers–all in preparation for Aiden’s birthday celebration.
Since last night, Charles had locked himself in his study. He hadn’t stepped out once.
He opened a drawer, revealing a will lying inside.
It was the final testament left by his late father, clearly outlining the conditions and requirements for the next heir to inherit the Whitmore Group.
Charles stared at the document, a weight finally lifting from his chest.
At last, he was about to gain full control of the Whitmore legacy.
For generations, the Whitmores had abided by one rule–only those with a legitimate heir could inherit voting shares and control the family business.
Charles’s father had died young, but he had made sure to preserve that stipulation in his will.
To secure his place, Charles had no choice but to compromise with the senior board members.
Still, whenever he thought of Irene, unease prickled in his chest.
He knew this decision would break her more than anything else–but he didn’t see another way.
“How’s everything going back home? When is Irene arriving?
The assistant beside him answered respectfully, “Don’t worry, Mr. Whitmore I’ve already arranged for a stylist and a driver to pick her up.
Charles nodded, rubbing his throbbing temples. But the pressure in his head didn’t ease.
He hadn’t slept a wink last night, plagued by a gnawing sense of dread he couldn’t shake.
That image of Irene’s cold, distant back haunted him and deep down, he worried she might really leave this time
Still, for the sake of the Whitmore legacy, he had to harden his heart.
He silently told himself–after today, everything would go back to normal
Standing by the window, Charles watched as Margaret sat in the garden with Aiden nestled in her lap, doting on the boy like he was her greatest treasure.
“Aiden, it’s your birthday today, Grandma’s got you a very special gift. I think you’re going to love it.”
Alden gave her a sweet little “Thank you, Grandma,” and that alone was enough to make her laugh with joy.
“Elise, you gave me such a wonderful grandson. As long as I’m alive, no one will dare mistreat you.
Elise smiled gently. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore. It’s truly an honor to help continue the Whitmore legacy.”
“As long as you’re happy and Aiden grows up safe and healthy, I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
Margaret nodded in approval and patted her hand. “I know you’re a good girl. Not like that one from the Aldridge family–always thinking she’s too good for everyone.”
Elise didn’t reply. She merely lowered her gaze and stood quietly at Margaret’s side, the perfect picture of quiet elegance.
Just then, a housekeeper approached. “Mrs. Whitmore, the guests have arrived.”
Margaret nodded and rose to her feet, taking Alden’s hand.
As if recalling something, she turned to Elise. “Why don’t you head back and rest for now? There’ll be people from the Aldridge family
Chapter 9
attending today. It’s better if you don’t show up.
A flicker of resentment flashed through Elise’s eyes, but she nodded graciously and turned to leave.
The garden was already teeming with guests. Earlier that morning, Whitmore Group’s official account had posted an announcement: CEO Charles Whitmore was celebrating the birthday of his son.
Everyone knew that Irene had lost her ability to conceive after being injured saving Charles years ago.
So when this announcement dropped, curious eyes and eager tongues flooded the estate, all dying to know–where had this child come
from?
“Mrs. Whitmore really is blessed. Back then, we all thought…” The speaker trailed off, clearly fishing for answers.
As a century–old family empire, the Whitmores had always drawn attention, especially when it came to their successor.
Over the years, Charles and Irene had been a model couple. There were never any scandals or affairs.
Most had assumed the Whitmore line would end with them. So to see a child suddenly appear out of nowhere?
No one was buying the official story.
Margaret’s sharp eyes landed briefly on the speaker. Her gaze was so fleeting it made him wonder if he’d imagined it.
But when she spoke again, her tone was warm, almost grandmotherly. “Yes, Aiden was adopted from an orphanage. It’s fate that brought him to the Whitmore family.”
But that excuse was thin–and everyone knew it.
From somewhere in the crowd, a voice piped up, “Honestly, the kid looks just like Charles. Are we really supposed to believe he’s adopted?”
Chapter 9
