The Unchosen One

The Lancaster Family follows an ancestral rule: the family heir must marry before turning twenty-five. This rule is engraved behind the plaque in the Lancaster Family's ancestral hall, handed down through the generations. My name is Vincent Lancaster, the sole heir of the Lancaster Family in this generation. There are still three months until my twenty-fifth birthday. My father placed a stack of documents on the redwood table before me. There are nine sets of documents, each corresponding to an heiress of a wealthy family. "Vincent, these nine have all been carefully screened; their family backgrounds and characters are worthy of you." My father's voice carried an unyielding authority. "Choose one and finalize the marriage contract as soon as possible." I stared at the documents on the table, my fingertips trembling involuntarily. Memories of my past life surged like a tide. In this very room, with these very nine sets of documents. Without hesitation, I picked up Viola Scott's file. Viola Scott, the cherished jewel of the Scott Family, breathtakingly beautiful with a gentle and refined temperament. At that time, I believed I had found the love of my life. We married swiftly, and the days that followed were truly sweet. She gave birth to a son, whom we named Truman Lancaster. I thought such happiness would last forever. Until that fateful day. We went on a seaside vacation, and she suggested diving. I wanted to accompany her, but she smiled and said she wished to be alone for a while. Unable to persuade her, I was left to wait by the shore. What came next was the terrible news that she had been caught in an undertow. I rushed into the sea as if possessed, but found only her abandoned diving mask. At her funeral, I held her portrait, my hair turning white overnight. I vowed never to marry, dedicating all my energy to the family business and our son. Day by day, I transformed from a spirited young man into an elderly man in the twilight of life. Truman Lancaster has already taken control of most of the Lancaster Family's enterprises, dutiful and wise. I believed I would leave this world quietly, carrying only memories of Viola Scott. Until that fateful dusk. A figure, both familiar and strange, appeared at the door of my hospital room. It's Viola Scott. She looked as young as she did back then, yet a trace of weariness now lingered in her eyes. In her hands, she held a black urn. "Vincent, I have returned." Her voice was soft, laced with a hint of guilt. I was stunned, forgetting even to breathe. Isn't she supposed to be dead? "The undercurrents of those years were an illusion I deliberately created." She approached the hospital bed and set the urn on the bedside table. "Charles and I have always loved each other, but family pressures forced us into this arranged marriage." Charles, Charles Goldberg. That name sounds familiar. The Goldberg Family and the Scott Family have been long-standing close friends; Charles Goldberg and Viola Scott grew up together. "Inside this urn lie Charles's ashes." She gently caressed the urn, her gaze tender. "He passed away last year." I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. "There is one more thing I must tell you." Her eyes locked onto mine, filled with deep regret. "Truman is not your child." With a deafening crash, my world shattered completely. The son I have guarded with my entire life is, in fact, my rival's child. All the deep affection I gave has turned into a cruel joke.