The Heir Who Died In The Closet Chapter 1

The first time I tried to end my life, I had just walked into the living room and saw the face of the fake young master—Brody Whitlock. It was the same face as the nanny who had spent five years tormenting me.

My parents found me and pulled me back, their eyes red and panicked. They promised, “We’ll never let him appear in front of you again.”

The second time, I was by the edge of the pool. Brody “accidentally” shoved me in. I gave up fighting, letting the water take me, pull me down into the deep, quiet dark.

I woke up again to the sight of my parents’ horrified faces. They swore by my bedside, “This time, we will make him pay.”

The third time, Brody locked me inside a walk-in closet.

As the air grew thin, and the suffocating darkness closed in, I finally gathered the strength to call out for help.

The call connected. I heard my parents’ voices, tired and laced with a desperate resignation:

“Can’t you just... let go of the resentment, Asher?”

“That was his mother’s crime, why are you punishing him for it?”

I quietly ended the call. In the narrow darkness, I slowly hugged myself.

I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I couldn’t let go of the resentment. So, I chose to let go of you.

* * *

The oxygen inside the closet was growing thin. The last flicker of self-preservation made me want to fumble for the handle, to find the release. The whole closet was swallowed by the dark, exactly like the damp, moldy basement I’d grown up in. I managed to shake off the trembling long enough to pull out my phone, needing a single sliver of light.

But the battery was on its final bar. It illuminated the space for barely a few seconds before dying again.

I smiled, a bitter twist of the lips.

Asher, isn’t this the freedom you wanted?

But why was I crying as I stood on the very edge of death?

I closed my eyes and drifted back to the moment they found me.

I was pulled out of that basement for the first time, finally seeing the warm, actual sunlight. For the first time, my mother held me. Her scalding tears fell, tracing paths down my cheek. Her voice shook as she spoke:

“Asher, my darling. Mama’s bringing you home.”

But when we reached the house, the first thing I saw was Brody’s face—the spitting image of the nanny.

That was when I truly shattered.

I scrambled frantically for a pair of scissors. Mom thought I was going to hurt Brody, and she scrambled to shield him. Dad yelled at me, a sound filled with sheer terror. “Are you insane?!”

But I turned the scissors on myself. Once. Twice.

Mom rushed me, holding me again, her body shielding mine this time. Even my father, always so rigid, had bloodshot eyes.

“Your father and I were wrong...”

“Please, don’t hurt yourself. We promise he won’t come near you again.”

After that, I genuinely didn’t see Brody at the house. Until the annual family gathering.

I saw him again, surrounded by the extended Whitlock relatives, like a tiny prince holding court. The whispers of the staff drifted to me on the cold air.

“Even if he’s not the heir by blood, they’ve raised him for fifteen years. There’s a bond.”

“The real son’s only been back for a few months. How can he compare?”

I stood out in the chilly breeze, my body numb, shaking uncontrollably. Then I watched Brody, his smile twisted with pure malice, walk toward me and shove me into the water.

“Guess what? Who do you think Mom and Dad actually prefer? You, or me?”

He jumped in after me.

My parents must have heard the splash. They came running in a panic. Two figures appeared in the water, but neither was swimming toward me.

My throat was filling, my consciousness blurring away.

It’s okay, Asher. I told myself. You’ve lived through worse. One more time won’t change anything.

The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. Mom was sitting by my side, her face an open map of guilt.

“Asher, I’m so sorry. Brody was screaming for help, and we thought he was the one drowning.”

“Next time, you have to tell us exactly what’s happening, sweetie. Only then can we rush in to save you.”

Dad swore to me, “I will make him pay for this.”

The next day, Brody was grounded from his video games for a single afternoon.

And then, later, Brody locked me in the closet.

I wanted to tell them I was hurt.

But they told me to let go of the resentment.

Mom and Dad, I truly couldn’t let go. Because I was already dying.