Chapter 5: A Crown Never Claimed
The night air over the Fenix estate was heavy with expectation. Kian's eighteenth birthday was fast approaching, and the world was already holding its breath in anticipation for the heir—the heir—to the Fenix legacy.
Inside the estate, behind the walls of polished marble and crystal chandeliers, a different tension simmered. The kind that could break silently, like glass underfoot.
Dmitri moved restlessly through the corridors, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him like a hundred-ton stone. He clenched his fists at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tight from the quiet rage that had been growing for years. Everything was slipping further from his grasp, and there was no one to blame but Kian.
The world, his father, and even the press had crowned him the heir. Dmitri had been groomed for the title since he was a child—taught how to command, how to lead, how to become what they needed him to be. But all of that, all of it, had never mattered in Kian's shadow.
Kian had never wanted the throne. He didn't care for the power, for the wealth, for the empire that Dmitri had been desperate to inherit. And yet, Kian had it all—effortlessly. With a silent indifference that only made Dmitri's simmering resentment worse. Kian was everything he was meant to be—minus the title that everyone had deemed his from birth.
And despite all the recognition Dmitri had, despite all his father's efforts to make him seem worthy of the crown, the world only ever whispered one name in reverence: Kian Fenix.
"The Golden Heir Turns 18: Fenix Empire Awaits Its True Crownless Prince."
"Kian Fenix: The Genius the Fenix Legacy Doesn't Deserve but Can't Deny."
"Dmitri Who? Public Praises Kian's Quiet Brilliance Over Notorious Half-Brother."
Every headline was like a wound, fresh and deep. And there was nothing Dmitri could do about it. Nothing to escape the crushing reality that, no matter how much he tried, he would always be second.
But what enraged him more than anything was Kian's total disregard for the power he had. Kian wasn't just indifferent—he was unbothered. Detached. While Dmitri struggled, clawing to prove his worth, Kian could have had it all without a single protest, without even trying.
And he didn't want it.
It wasn't just the public acclaim that Kian didn't crave. It was the quiet power—the complete control over the family legacy—that was what Dmitri couldn't bear. Kian could silence entire rooms with a glance, could bend the world to his will with nothing more than his presence.
It wasn't fair.
In the dead of night, with only the cold light of the moon shining through the glass, Dmitri found himself standing before the door of his father's office. He stood there for a long while, barely moving, just watching the dark shadows play against the walls.
For so long, he had lived in the shadow of Kian's brilliance, a brilliance that came naturally to him, as though he was born to lead. But what Dmitri couldn't understand, what he couldn't accept, was how Kian had never wanted it. He had never fought for it.
Kian had never needed to.
The weight of the thoughts in Dmitri's chest felt unbearable. The frustration. The bitterness. The envy. He could feel it all building, clawing inside him, suffocating his every thought.
His father's disappointment in him stung more sharply every day, even if it was never spoken aloud. Dmitri knew that every time his father looked at him, the distance in his eyes was palpable. The harsh truth was that Dmitri was nothing more than the product of his father's many mistakes. An accident of affairs. He had no place in the heart of the Fenix family. His father's love—and the legacy that should have been his—had always been reserved for Kian.
Victor Fenix had only one love—his mother. His mother, who was still in a coma, the second most powerful woman in the world. Kian had inherited all of her strength, her poise, her brilliance, and it made Dmitri want to scream.
Kian had been born the perfect heir. He didn't want it, but he was the only one who deserved it. Dmitri had always been told that he was the heir, but that title had always been a lie. It was Kian who had the right to claim it. The only legitimate son of the Fenix family. And the entire world was starting to see it.
The birthday party was a spectacle—everything that Kian had never wanted. His father stood proudly, playing the role of a doting parent, despite the guilt that Dmitri could see in his eyes. Kian stood in the midst of it all, quiet and aloof. Every eye was on him, but he was a statue, unmoved by the attention. He could feel the weight of it, the expectation, but he didn't care.
Guests, mostly business partners and influential names, surrounded him. The chatter of their praises washed over him, their smiles empty and full of expectation. They didn't know him. They didn't know anything about him, about the truth that lay behind closed doors. They saw only what they wanted to see—the genius son who was destined to inherit the world.
Dmitri's presence was always there, though. Like a shadow lingering just out of sight, his eyes always tracking Kian's every move. Dmitri didn't have the luxury of detachment. His bitterness had grown into something darker, something he could no longer hide.
Kian didn't need to look to know Dmitri was watching. He could feel it in the air, in the way the room seemed to contract with tension every time they crossed paths.
Victor clapped Kian on the back, too enthusiastically, as though trying to draw attention to his son. "Well, Kian," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "The world is waiting for you. To show them who you really are."
Kian's gaze briefly met his father's, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He didn't respond. His expression was as cool as ever, his presence commanding, yet so utterly indifferent. "I'm not interested in the spotlight," he said softly. "You know that."
Victor hesitated, the smile faltering for just a second. But he recovered quickly, giving a small nod. "I know, son. But they are. The world needs you."
Kian only nodded in response, as if he were humoring a child who didn't understand that he could never be owned.
Dmitri watched from a distance, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand, the edges of the crystal digging into his palm. He could feel the weight of the conversation pressing on him—his father's pride, Kian's unspoken superiority, the way everyone always looked past him. His place had always been secondary, and tonight, with every passing moment, the truth of it felt more suffocating.
Dmitri's bitterness had become his only companion. The world watched Kian, and in the darkness, Dmitri swore to himself that he would show them the truth—one way or another.
Kian might not want the crown, but Dmitri would make him feel it. He would make sure the world knew the truth about the real heir, even if it meant destroying everything.
The night dragged on, the chatter and laughter only a distant hum to Kian's ears. He had spent the majority of the evening standing in the center of the room, watching people speak around him. He let them. He didn't care. There was only one thing on his mind. The same thing it had always been.
His mother.
The night was nearing its end when he finally stepped away from the crowd. Without a word, he left the party, slipping out of the grand hall and making his way toward her room. He could hear the soft sounds of the party still carrying on in the distance, but his mind was already elsewhere.
The party was nothing but noise. And Kian was done with it.