My 80-Year-Old Grandma Was the True Heiress

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.