Novel & Cerita Legacies Characters

Just the man I saved—and the man who was currently breaking my heart. ​"What are you doing here, Mr. Cromwell?" I asked, my voice trembling. "The 'Legacy' is inside." ​"The Legacy is a lie," he said, taking a step into the moonlight. "And you shouldn't be talking to Velez. He’s a vulture, Hannah. He doesn't want your talent. He wants to take the only thing I have left that's real." ​He didn't call me 'Martin.' He didn't mention the footage. He just stood there, the distance between us filled with the things he was too proud to say.

“…An honor?” For a moment, he thought he had misheard. Nobody ever spoke to him like that. Not in his world. Inside the Hayes mansion, he was called useless. A burden. A mistake. Honor didn’t belong anywhere near his name. He let out a short, bitter breath. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m not interested.” “This is not a joke, sir,” The voice replied immediately. “My name is Victor Hale. I am the chief steward of the Cross family.”

“But Lila has a life. Responsibilities.” I stared at my plate, appetite gone. Responsibilities. He always used that word when he meant obedience. Marco folded his hands calmly. “Her father structured things this way for a reason.” Adrian leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Protection. Legacy. All very noble.” Jacob’s voice cut in, low and even. “You don’t sound convinced.” Adrian’s eyes flicked to him. “I just think some legacies are better left in the past.” The room went still.

"Never take it off, Evelyn. Never let anyone see it. It is the only proof of who you really are." I touched the jagged edge of the jade, the cold surface grounding the panic rising in my throat. I didn't fully understand the weight of the corporate empire my parents had left behind, nor did I understand the depths of the greed that had turned my own blood against me. But I understood pain. I understood that the comfortable world I once knew was dead, and the child who used to play in the rose gardens of Coker Manor had to die with it. Suddenly, a loud, heavy knock echoed off the front door.

“I’ve waited years for this moment.” Matteo’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Who the hell are you?” She tilted her head, studying me with unnerving affection. “I’m the one who made sure you survived. The one who pulled the strings when the Architect grew too arrogant. I am the true Legacy.” Red laser sights danced across our chests from the shadows. Dozens of them. We were surrounded. I stepped out from behind Matteo, heart hammering. “You’re my aunt. You were supposed to be dead.”

This only made him get angry and beat her harder. “I don’t care if you die! I would not take anyone disrespecting me! You don’t do that to me!He kept blabbering like he was a god, insisting on being respected. He did not care if she died. Someone walks into the end and meets her being beaten by Quincy. It’s Andrew, Quincy’s beta who can only do nothing but watch Elena be beaten up. No one can stop Quincy from doing what he wants. It’s her parent’s fault for bringing her to such a man.

She might not be a legacy, something she has always told me she is glad she isn't, but other times when she is so tired, she wishes she was a legacy. Legacies don’t have to train, work out, and be perfect. At least not in terms of the heavier tasks of the pack. They just have to make the right connections, mate the right person and further the family lines. It’s a different thing for me, of course. And with Max being the one person who is going to stand on my side on the front lines, we do share a bond that not even Olivia can come between. It’s a friendship, a kinship.

Everyone who still mattered in the underworld had come. And not one of them had been told what she was about to say. She didn’t pause. She didn’t ask permission. She simply spoke. "Legacy is a coffin." The room stilled. "Bloodlines have made us weak. Inbred. Predictable. Every war you’ve fought was born from your grandfather’s grudge. Every alliance you’ve honored was bought with your father’s guilt. You call it tradition. I call it stagnation." Murmurs. She stepped forward.

His jaw clenched. “Watch your big mouth, little nosy bastard,” he said. The oldest of the lot—a Fat Man with the stained silk tie and short temper—leaned back in his chair and tapped the edge of his glass. “Calm down everybody! You can’t have both the girl and your legacy, Elky Jennings. You have to pick one or another.” Legacy? What a poetic word for a stash of blood money in a dodgy Swiss account and multiple floors of empty rooms with 18th century closets full of skeletons. I swallowed a smirk with my wine but my face didn’t move a muscle.

"My parents loved each other very much. My father would have died for my mother - he almost did, twice. But it didn't start out that way. He could have had his mark on her heart. But he missed his chance. The Legacy says that no snake in my lineage has been openly accepted by a spouse before, let alone been loved, before my parents, and ... I want to be better." "The legacy?" Shuule asked, confused. "This is something us snake beasts don't talk about often outside of our own kind, but you should know it. When we are born, we have the memories of our past generations. It lets us fend for ourselves as soon as we hatch, but the Legacies can be used for much more if one cares to study them. They