My 80-Year-Old Grandma Was the True Heiress

On Christmas Eve, the snow fell in relentless sheets.

The basement was damp and bitterly cold, the air thick with mildew. My grandmother, Elizabeth Roberts, lay curled beneath a stiff cotton quilt, her cheeks flushed an alarming red from the fever burning through her frail body.

"That old hag does nothing but burn through money! If she keeps staying here, we'll all be starving in no time!"

My aunt, Denise Roberts's shrill voice sliced through the thin wall.

I, Selene Roberts, clenched the last hundred-dollar bill I had left. It was meant to buy fever medicine for Elizabeth.

A thunderous bang exploded against the door.

It flew open under a brutal kick, and the temperature inside seemed to drop in an instant.

My uncle, Victor Roberts stood in the doorway, a coarse woven sack hanging from his hand.

He did not even glance at me before striding toward the bed.

My heart lurched. That was the kind of sack used for hauling garbage.

"Uncle Victor, please..."

I gripped his forearms, blocking his path.

"Please, just give us two more days. Grandma still has a fever. If you move her now, she'll die!"

Denise followed him in, pressing a filthy rag over her nose and mouth as if even breathing the same air disgusted her.

"Two more days? Selene, do you even hear yourself? This place is rented by me and your uncle! Your useless parents dumped you and this old burden on us and died. We've put up with you for years. We've done more than enough!"

Her sharp, narrow eyes were filled with venom. Over the years, I had heard those same insults more times than I could count.

"We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Please, Denise." I clutched at the hem of her pants, my fingers tightening until they ached.

"Get off me! Don't bring your bad luck onto me!" Denise kicked my hand away.

Victor had clearly run out of patience.

He drove his foot hard into my chest.

The pain knocked the air out of me. I collapsed onto the floor, curled in on myself, unable to make a sound.

In that brief moment, Victor yanked back the stiff quilt and dragged Elizabeth off the bed as if she were nothing more than a carcass, hauling her straight toward the door.

"No-!" My voice tore from my throat as I struggled to my feet and stumbled after him.

By the time I staggered into the alley, Victor was about to throw Elizabeth into a mound of snow.

"If you're going to drop dead, do it somewhere else. Not on my property."

There was a dull thud. Elizabeth let out a faint groan, then went completely still.

Victor and Denise exchanged a glance, brushed the dust from their hands, and walked away without looking back even once.

I crawled forward on my knees and pulled Elizabeth into my arms.

Her body was losing warmth far too quickly.

"Grandma, don't fall asleep... please." My hands trembled as I rubbed hers, trying to pass my own body heat to her, but my fingers were already numb with cold.

On a Christmas Eve meant for family reunions, Elizabeth and I were discarded like two sacks of trash.

I did not cry.

In that moment, tears were the cheapest thing in the world.

A low hum cut through the silence.

At the far end of the alley, two blinding beams tore open the darkness, the glare forcing me to shield my eyes.

Those were not ordinary headlights.

A convoy of black cars glided silently into the mud-soaked slum alley.

They were Rolls-Royce Phantoms, their obsidian bodies gleaming with a cold sheen beneath the falling snow.

Mounted on the front was not an ordinary license plate, but a diplomatic one.

The convoy came to a smooth halt. Twelve men in black stepped out in perfect formation and opened the doors in unison.

An elderly man with silver hair, dressed in a tailcoat, stepped out of the lead car.

In the cramped, filthy alley of the slum, he dropped to one knee without hesitation, the fabric of his trousers pressing straight into the dirty snow.

"Her Highness, the esteemed Grand Princess of the Hawthorne family," he said in a clear, resonant voice, every word heavy with unquestionable respect. "I have arrived late. You have suffered."

His words hit like a thunderclap.

Victor and Denise looked as though they had been struck by lightning.

Their mouths hung open. Whatever Denise had been holding clattered to the ground in a messy spill.

The disgust, contempt, and impatience they had worn on their faces for years twisted within a single second into ridiculous shock, then melted into something even more nauseating-groveling flattery.

"Oh my goodness!" Denise shrieked and scrambled into the snow, nearly tripping over herself. "I always said Elizabeth was extraordinary! What are you all standing there for? Help her up!"

She barked orders at the bodyguards while reaching out, eager to support Elizabeth herself.

"Get out of the way!" Victor shoved her aside, sending her stumbling. "You were the one who insisted on pushing Mom out just now!"

His face flushed red as he forced a smile at Elizabeth.

"Mom, I'm sorry I was late. That shrew disturbed you."

I watched the performance coldly, nausea rising in my throat.

"Have you no shame?" Denise snapped, losing all composure in front of the bodyguards. "Who was it that stole Elizabeth's money to gamble last month? Now you're pretending to be the devoted son? Too late!"

"Shut up!" Victor's face turned ashen as he raised his hand, ready to strike.

I stood to the side, a faint, mocking smile curving my lips.

This was what they called family. In the face of poverty, they were wolves.

In the presence of power, they were dogs wagging their tails.

Elizabeth coughed softly.

With Alfred Wexley, the butler, and two bodyguards supporting her, she slowly rose to her feet, trembling slightly as though overwhelmed by the spectacle before her.

Alfred bowed slightly. "Her Highness, the car is ready. Please."

Elizabeth did not move at once. Instead, she turned her gaze toward Victor and Denise.

They fell silent instantly, terrified that a single word from her would banish them.

"Let them come with us."

Elizabeth's voice sounded frail yet gentle, as though age had softened her mind. "After all... it was thanks to their 'care' these past years that we didn't end up dead on the streets."

At her words, Victor and Denise nearly burst with joy.

"Thank you, Mom! You're a saint!"

"I knew you loved us the most!"

They trembled with excitement, scrambling toward the extended Rolls-Royce as if afraid the opportunity might vanish.

Supporting Elizabeth, I helped her into the car and climbed in after her.

What I hadn't expected was that Damian Roberts, my long-missing father, showed up the moment he heard the news.

The way he hovered around Elizabeth, all smiles and lowered head, almost made him look like the picture of a devoted son.

Elizabeth seemed to forgive him and allowed him to come along as well.

My cousins, Owen Roberts and Lisa Roberts arrived soon after, dragged in at Victor's urging.

After more than ten hours in the air, the private helicopter descended onto a remote island in the heart of the Otraonia-Blackreef Isle.

Perched atop a cliff stood a medieval-style castle, its silhouette cutting sharply against the sea and sky.

The great hall inside the castle was dazzling, almost painfully opulent.

The dinner was set along a long table draped in white linen, silver cutlery gleaming coldly beneath the candlelight.

Alfred stood beside the head seat and gave a soft clap.

"Distinguished guests, in accordance with Princess Elizabeth's wishes, the Hawthorne family will initiate Project Apollo."

He smiled, though there was no warmth in his eyes.

"The family's hundreds of billions in assets must be entrusted to an heir with the strongest constitution and the finest bloodline. Tonight marks the first round of the core selection."

The moment they heard "hundreds of billions of dollars" and "heir," the atmosphere shifted.

The relatives who had been pretending to be polite tore off their masks in an instant, scrambling for the so-called spot.

My aunt, Miranda Roberts shot to her feet, pointing at Lisa across the table as she shrieked, "Mr. Wexley, I have something to report! Lisa's nose and breasts are implants! She doesn't meet the 'naturally strong' requirement at all! She's defective!"

Lisa's face twisted with fury. "You old witch, are you even my mother? You're just jealous I'm younger than you!"

The dining hall descended into chaos-accusations, insults, even shoving.

I sat quietly to the side, utterly out of place.

"Some people are just born unlucky," Denise said, wiping grease from her lips as she glanced at me sideways.

"Unlike us, who actually have a shot at inheriting the estate. Someone like Selene probably won't even make it past the first round."

The others seemed to find a convenient target and began pointing fingers at me in unison.

I let out a cold laugh, unwilling to dignify them with a response.

Just then, Alfred pulled out a medical report and walked over to me.

"I'm sorry, Miss Roberts. After testing, your genetic profile shows a congenital defect. You do not meet the enrollment criteria. You are eliminated."

The knife and fork slipped from my hand and clattered onto the plate.

I rose to my feet, jaw clenched, fury and resentment burning through me. "This isn't fair! I'm Elizabeth's granddaughter too! On what grounds am I eliminated?"

"Please leave."

Alfred gave a subtle gesture. Two tall bodyguards stepped forward at once, seized my arms without explanation, and escorted me out of the hall.

From his briefcase, Alfred produced a thick stack of documents entirely in foreign language and smiled at the remaining guests. "Congratulations on advancing. This is the high-yield dividend agreement for the family trust. Once you sign, the first payout will be transferred immediately."

Blinded by greed-and lacking the education to question what they were signing-not one of them bothered to examine the dense clauses.

They rushed forward, scrambling over one another like animals fighting for scraps.

No one noticed that the bold foreign language title on the cover did not describe a family trust dividend agreement at all.