William was sprawled on the sofa, glued to another episode of his favourite show when his father walked in. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice:
*”Son, we need to talk.”*
*”Go on then,”* William muttered, eyes still fixed on the screen.
*”Emma came to see me. Says you’ve been acting odd lately. Anything wrong?”*
*”Fine. Everything’s fine,”* he brushed it off.
*”Fine?”* Jonathan Wilson silently picked up the tablet from the table, opened a photo, and turned it towards his son. William looked—and froze.
Once, Jonathan and Olivia were the picture of love—built a business together, walked through life side by side, but it wasn’t until they were thirty-eight that they finally had their long-awaited son. William was adored, spoiled, raised without discipline. He grew up selfish, entitled, and lazy.
Barely scraping through uni—thanks to his parents’ money—William declared he was *”burnt out.”* He refused to work, insisting *”there’s plenty already.”*
Jonathan pushed for independence, but Olivia shielded him:
*”Let him have a break. Plenty of time for stress later.”*
Her husband just sighed, knowing the boy was hopeless.
William lived for pleasure. Parties, holidays abroad, a revolving door of women. Crashed the expensive car they gave him—walked away, but his mum ended up in hospital from shock and died a year later. With her went any restraint in William’s life. He drained her savings, barely hiding it.
Then he brought home a new fling—Chloe. Young, flashy, reckless. His dad saw trouble straight away. Tried to talk sense into him:
*”Sophie’s the one. Smart, steady, dependable. She’s loved you since you were kids.”*
*”Sophie’s boring,”* William shot back. *”Chloe’s a laugh.”*
But the laugh turned sour fast. A rowdy party wrecked the house, the maid in tears, his dad furious.
*”Either sort yourself out or get out.”*
William smirked.
*”Can’t I have guests in my own house?”*
*”It’s *my* house,”* Jonathan said calmly. *”You own nothing but the flat. Go there—party all you like.”*
He left but kept draining his mum’s account. Chloe, it turned out, wasn’t in it for love. Two years later, they were broke—even sold the flat to pay debts. Then Chloe vanished with another man, leaving William with a baby in his arms.
So he came crawling back—six-month-old Alfie in tow, gaunt, broken, humiliated.
*”I’ve got nowhere else,”* he whispered.
His dad let him in. But laid down three rules: clean up his act, get a job, and marry… Sophie.
And Sophie said yes. All those years, she’d never stopped loving him. Treated Alfie like her own—until the DNA test proved he really was Jonathan’s grandson.
Three peaceful years followed. William seemed changed. Worked, stayed in, cared for his family. Then—odd behaviour. Missing evenings, mood swings. His dad hired security. And got the proof: William was seeing Chloe again.
*”Why?”* Jonathan slammed the tablet down.
*”She’s Alfie’s mother,”* William said.
*”She’s your ruin. Stay away. And make sure *she* stays away. I’ll see her stripped of every right.”*
A week later, William disappeared. Last seen getting into Chloe’s car.
Jonathan never recovered from the betrayal. Sophie and Alfie were with him at the end. And William? He turned up four months later—tanned, polished, Chloe on his arm.
*”Hey,”* he smirked at Sophie. *”You haven’t changed. We’re here about the inheritance.”*
*”Waste of time. It’s settled,”* Sophie said. *”Alfie, love, go upstairs. Your dad and I need to talk.”*
The boy obeyed. Then Sophie, voice steady:
*”Everything belongs to me and Alfie. Legally, I’m his mother.”*
*”What?”* Chloe gasped.
*”Paperwork’s done. Your rights are void. You get nothing.”*
*”We’re his *parents*!”* Chloe snapped.
*”No.”* Alfie’s quiet voice came from the stairs. *”Parents are there. Sophie’s my mum. You’re nobody.”*
Security showed them out in silence. William knew—he’d lost. Again.
