At the bar…
The smell of alcohol and despair hung heavy inside the booth of the bar. Silas, his face flushed and drawn, tilted back another shot, the amber liquid vanishing down his throat in a single gulp. Each swallow was a desperate attempt to erase the truth glaring back at him from the bottom of the glass.
For years, he had believed himself to be a Sullivan, basking in the privileges and comforts that came with the name. But now, faced with the reality of his true parentage, Silas found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty, stripped of the identity he had clung to for so long.
The echo of the revelation pounded in his head: he wasn't a true Sullivan. A chilling emptiness replaced the familiar sense of belonging. Everything he thought he possessed – the grand houses, the family name, his position in the company, and the very foundation of his identity – had dissolved into a cruel illusion.
What right did he have to any of it?
