His Plea To Steal My Family

1 The welcome-home banquet was halfway through cutting the second tier of the cake when the fake heir suddenly grabbed my hand, his eyes brimming with tears. "Brent, could you... please move out first?" The grand ballroom fell dead silent. Whispers rippled through the guests. He looked like he was about to crumble right there, his voice trembling. "I know you're the true Smith heir. But I've lived here for eighteen years. Ever since you came back, I live in constant terror that I'll be thrown out." "Please, Brent, I'm begging you. Just move out for a little while. Give me time to adapt, please?" My father, Richard, instinctively pulled Tristan into his arms, his eyes red with heartache. My fiancée, Audrey, stepped up beside him, throwing a cold, disgusted glare in my direction. In the next second, luminous floating text flashed across my vision. [Don't you dare agree! You're the legitimate heir! Why should you leave?] [Call him out right now! He's intentionally backing you into a corner!] [Cry! Throw a tantrum! Make your parents feel guilty!] In my past life, I fell for those floating comments. I smashed a glass at the gala, forced my parents to pick between us, and created a massive scene. The result? The entire elite circle branded me a ruthless, ungrateful monster. My adoptive parents ended up dead and crippled because of Tristan's schemes, and I burned to death in a rigged fire. This time, I just let out a quiet, amused chuckle. … "Sure. If you're that terrified, I'll pack my bags." Tristan's sniffling hitched. He stared at me, dumbfounded. Audrey frowned, the harsh lecture she had ready completely catching in her throat. Some guests pitied me, others laughed silently, and a few already had their phones out, waiting for the wild child from the countryside to go insane. I reached over and casually straightened Tristan's crooked silk tie. "You're used to the main estate. Don't stress yourself out. I'll move into a hotel." Richard let out an immediate sigh of relief. But realizing how bad it looked, he hastily reached for my arm. "Brent, that's not what I meant. You just got back. How could we make you stay in a hotel?" Tristan burrowed deeper into his shoulder, tears spilling over. "Dad, I didn't mean to drive Brent away. I'm just... I'm so scared." Audrey immediately cooed softly, comforting him. "No one blames you, sweetie." I smiled. "Let's just do as he says." The floating text went wild. [Are you out of your mind? He told you to get lost and you're actually doing it?] [This is high-society power play, not a charity show!] [Give him an inch and he'll crush you into dust later!] I lowered my eyes, ignoring the glowing glyphs. In my past life, I thought the same way. I felt robbed of eighteen years. I thought I deserved a bedroom, a hug, a little favoritism. So I fought. I forced Tristan out of the master suite, forced my parents to admit he was just adopted, forced Audrey to honor her engagement with the real Smith heir. And what did I get? He faked a high fever, and Richard nearly fainted from grief. Audrey publicly sneered, "Bloodline isn't a pass for cruelty, Brent. You're heartless." By playing the delicate, fragile victim, Tristan turned everyone against me. In the end, my adoptive father was run down by a truck on a rainy night while trying to deliver evidence that proved my innocence. My adoptive mother died of illness under the stigma of blackmailing a wealthy family, asking me with her final breath, "Brent... are you eating well at the Smiths'?" I never had the heart to answer her. In this life, I won't fight for a room. A bedroom isn't a life. Audrey stared at me coldly. "Brent, don't play hard to get." I met her gaze with a soft laugh. "Don't worry, Audrey. I won't fight you for him either." Her expression turned rigid. Tristan clutched Richard's sleeve tightly. "The arrangement between our families was always meant for the two of you over all these years," I said, raising my glass just loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear clearly. "Since you only recognize him, keep it that way. I wish you two a long and happy life together." Muffled gasps broke out among the guests. Tristan's face drained of color. He wanted me to lose my temper, not to publicly bless them. Once the blessing was spoken aloud in front of high society, he and Audrey were bound together in the public eye. The romance was theirs, but so was the shared liability. After the banquet ended, the butler asked if I wanted to rest in the main house first. I shook my head. "Book me a hotel room. I'm leaving tonight." Richard panicked. "Brent, please don't do this. You're breaking my heart." I looked him dead in the eye. "Dad, Tristan said he's afraid." He choked on his words. Up on the landing, Tristan stood wrapped in a cashmere blanket, a glint of quiet triumph buried deep in his eyes. The hotel suite was silent. I unzipped my suitcase. I didn't have many clothes. Stuffed at the very bottom was a battered leather folder left by my adoptive mother, Hannah. She and my adoptive father, Thomas, ran a small pharmacy in a quiet upstate town. Growing up, I learned to sort pillboxes, check lot numbers, and verify invoices alongside them. When the Smith family finally tracked me down, everyone scoffed at the faint smell of antiseptic on my clothes. Only Thomas had neatly folded every single piece of my clothing before I left. "Brent, rich or poor doesn't matter. Just don't let anyone step on you." I pulled out the folder. Inside was a faded copy of an old ledger and a heavily worn security badge. The badge read: Aegis Pharma - Sector 7. The serial number ended in 07. It was the logistics pass from the old plant the year I was snatched away. Before I died in my past life, I finally learned that my disappearance had been no accident. I whipped out my phone and texted my adoptive sister, Zoe. Put the original badge into a bank vault. Dad and Mom shouldn't go out alone recently, and record every single unknown caller. Zoe replied in seconds. Are the Smiths picking on you again? My throat tightened as I stared at the screen. The ones who truly gave a damn about me were never my blood relatives. No. I moved out on my own terms. A string of exclamation marks flooded the screen. Bro, did they kick you out?! I chuckled softly and typed back: I walked out voluntarily. Standing outside the mansion is the only way to see what's really rotting inside. Early the next morning, the executive secretary arrived at my hotel to take me to Old Man Smith's estate. Grandfather was the sole surviving founder of Aegis Pharmaceuticals, holding the master keys to the family trust. In my past life, I wept and ranted in his study about how unfair life was. He had looked at me with cold disgust and asked, "Besides crying, what else can you actually do?" After that, he gave up on me entirely. This time, I walked into his sunlit study and placed three formal documents directly on his mahogany desk. "Re-verification of DNA Ancestry Records." "Archive Access Request for Aegis Sector 7." "Agreement on Smith Family Asset Boundary Division." The old man lifted his sharp eyes. "You just got back, and you're already dividing up the estate?" "Clarifying it," I corrected calmly. "Tristan can keep living in the main house, keep being the precious Smith son, and keep using family resources. That's fine by me. But every authorization needs to be spelled out in black and white." Grandfather narrowed his eyes. "Why?" "Because emotions can be messy, but accounts must be spotless." Silence stretched across the study. Suddenly, the old man let out a short, dry laugh. "You don't look like the pushover everyone saw at the party last night." "Too many eyes last night," I replied coolly. "Bad for business." He flipped through the pages. The luxury real estate, sports cars, personal drivers, PR team, and jewelry access Tristan enjoyed were all categorized as Smith Family Authorizations, not natural inheritance. His role as Executive Chairman of the Aegis Foundation would remain, but every grant approval, facial authentication log, digital signature, and public statement had to be archived and traceable. Grandfather set down his fountain pen. "You're giving him a graceful way out?" "I'm buying insurance for the family." He studied me for a long moment before signing his name with a heavy flourish. "Take this to your father." That afternoon, in the Smith living room. Tristan's face paled when he saw the document. Richard didn't understand the legalities; he just felt I was stirring up unnecessary trouble. "Brent, Tristan already let you move back... Why are you pushing this legal junk?" "Precisely because I moved out," I said smoothly. "It stops the press from claiming the Smiths mistreat their adopted son, and stops anyone from saying I came back to purge him." Audrey picked up the paper and scanned it. "This just ensures Tristan stays protected under the Smith name?" "Exactly." Her tense posture relaxed slightly. Evelyn, my biological mother, thought it over. "Sign it. It looks good to the public." Tristan had no valid ground to refuse. He signed his name with trembling fingers, tears welling in his eyes. As his pen pressed into the paper, I caught the white hue of his knuckles. Perfect. He had just personally turned the first key to his own ruin. I stayed at the hotel for two weeks, yet the family contacted me far more than they ever did in my past life. Evelyn sent clothes via the driver. Richard sent homemade soup, always looking like he wanted to say more. "Brent, don't hold a grudge against Tristan. His heart is frail; he can't handle stress." I took the thermos. "I understand." "Then when are you moving home?" "When he stops being terrified." Richard stood speechless. I didn't move back, but I started spending my days in the Aegis Archives. Grandfather had granted me temporary clearance. The flagship project of Aegis was called The Beacon Initiative. Twenty years ago, the company made its fortune off a rare-disease drug, later folding its entire neuro-pharma pipeline into Beacon. Rumor had it that after Tristan was adopted, Aegis miraculously secured key regulatory approvals. From then on, he was dubbed the family's blessing. He played the part brilliantly, gala dinners, hospital visits, children's foundation campaigns. He was always the face of gentle virtue. In the deep archives, however, I found an archived email. The sender was my adoptive mother, Hannah. Years ago, she had documented severe adverse reactions from that drug in local community pharmacies and urged Aegis to update its warning labels and clinical filings. Aegis had quietly adopted her recommendations back then. Only then did the regulatory approval pass. Staring at the printed email, my fingertips went icy cold. His so-called blessing was built on the quiet brilliance of my adoptive mother. The door opened. Tristan walked in holding a cup of coffee, a dutiful, innocent smile on his face. "Brent! I heard you've been grinding away in the archives. I brought you a hot latte." I didn't reach for it. His eyes instantly welled up. Outside the open doorway, several employees walked past, slowing their steps to peek inside. I reached out, took the coffee, and set it on the desk. "Thanks." Tristan glanced at the old files beside my hand. "The Beacon Initiative is really complex. It must be tough for you since you just got back. Grandmother used to say that in pharma, trust and consistency are everything." I looked up at him. "So you think it should be handed over to you?" He flinched, waving his hands in exaggerated panic. "That's not what I meant at all!" "Good." I handed him the draft schedule for the upcoming Anniversary Gala. "Aegis's anniversary is next month. You'll continue representing the foundation as the keynote speaker. The public loves your story. You can talk about Beacon while you're up there." A flash of greed lit up his eyes before he quickly suppressed it. "Is that... okay? You just came back..." "Your public image is solid, and the media knows you. You're the best fit." The floating text flared back up. [Are you insane?! He's going to use this to lock in his position as the true heir!] [Don't give him the spotlight!] [Take the microphone back!] I didn't even give the floating glyphs a second glance. Without a stage, how could he suffer a grand downfall? That night, Zoe sent me a photo. Bro, the manager of Sector 7 back then was Victoria Smith. She's currently the Executive Vice President. Aunt Victoria. Tristan's biggest ally. In my past life, when I was framed for leaking trade secrets, she was the first to hand over the evidence to the police. I texted back: Don't dig any deeper. Stay safe. Duh, I value my life. I smiled faintly at the screen. This time, we'd play it smart. A week before the anniversary, Tristan dominated the trending topics. #SmithFamilyBlessing #EighteenYearsOfLove #TheGentleFaceOfAegis Media outlets painted a tear-jerking narrative. How Aegis was on the brink of collapse until Tristan was brought home, how he started doing charity at thirteen, how the late matriarch called him the light of the Smith family. The comments were full of applause: [The real son moved to a hotel immediately. Guess the family knows who really matters.] [Tristan is the real gentleman here.] [Who cares about bloodlines? Contribution is what counts.] Evelyn frowned over the PR report. "Tristan, these articles are laying it on too thick." Tristan hung his head, looking pitiful. "Mom, I had no idea my team wrote it like that. If Brent is unhappy, I'll have them take it down immediately." Audrey immediately jumped to his defense. "Taking it down will only make us look guilty! Tristan has done charity work for years. It's normal for the press to praise him." Richard nodded along. "Exactly. Brent isn't that narrow-minded." Everyone turned to look at me. I casually flicked through the foundation's back-end authorization system. "The traction is great. The anniversary needs publicity." Evelyn blinked. "You don't mind?" "Would it matter if I did?" She went quiet. I slid the tablet across the table to Tristan. "Since the press will ask about charity projects, you should personally sign off on these three major patient support partnerships tonight." Tristan's fingers stiffened. "Doesn't the foundation's secretariat usually process these?" "You're the Executive Chairman," I reminded him coolly. "You always tell the media you're hands-on. You can't have other people signing your name forever." Audrey frowned. "Brent, there's no need to hassle him over paperwork." "When you take over your family firm, Audrey, do you let your secretary sign legal contracts for you?" Her face turned red with frustration. Tristan had no choice but to pick up the tablet. Facial recognition. Digital signature. Project confirmation. One after another. By the time he finished, his face was pale as chalk. I felt fantastic. On the night of the Aegis Gala, the grand ballroom lights were blinding. Partner hospitals, regulatory consultants, board members, press outlets, and financial influencers, everyone was present. Tristan stood under the spotlight in a bespoke tuxedo, looking like a delicate flower cultivated in a glass house. Audrey stood by his side. Noticing me, she leaned in and whispered coldly, "Brent, don't make a scene tonight. Tristan prepared for months." I smiled softly. "Relax. Nobody wants to see his full performance more than I do." She scowled. The event began, and Tristan stepped up to deliver the opening address for the foundation. His tone was soft, his cadence practiced. "I may not bear the Smith blood, but this family gave me my name, and taught me to honor every human life." Thunderous applause erupted. The main screen displayed photos of him visiting sick children, sterile hospital rooms, smiles, flowers, warm hugs. Picture-perfect PR. Then, the host transitioned into The Beacon Initiative. Tristan's eyes glistened with tears. "My grandmother handed this legacy to me with her blessing. I have never let her down." Just as his voice trailed off, the giant screen abruptly went black. An archived video cut in. In the footage, the late Mrs. Smith lay in a hospital bed, her voice frail but unmistakable: "Beacon... must never, under any circumstances... be given to Tristan..." The entire hall erupted into chaos. Evelyn bolted upright from her seat.