The Graham Heir—I Am Not An Adopted Nobody

Robert stood under the old oak tree at the eastern end of campus, his back damp with sweat, his shoulders aching beneath the weight of a cheap, worn-out backpack. The sun hovered mercilessly overhead, yet he didn’t dare slow down earlier—lateness meant deductions, and deductions meant hunger. He had just delivered an errand for a student, another “small favor” that took hours but paid crumbs.

He straightened up, exhaled deeply, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

That was when he heard the laughter.

Loud. Carefree. Arrogant.

A circle of students sat and stood not far from him, surrounding a single figure who lounged comfortably on a campus bench like a king on his throne. Malcom Steffan.

Everyone on campus knew that name.

Malcom Steffan was a spoiled brat and a certified billionaire heir. His family was worth over twenty billion dollars, with businesses spanning energy, real estate, private defense, and finance. His monthly allowance alone was ten million dollars, an amount that made even the wealthiest students raise their brows. Aside from the Arab princes and princesses enrolled in the school, Malcom ranked among the highest in allowance—and he made sure everyone knew it.

Right now, he was in his element.

“…I’m telling you,” Malcom said loudly, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, “ten million a month is becoming an insult at this point. I’ve been pushing my dad to double it. At least twenty million. How else am I supposed to keep up with the Arab royals? Or Edward Emmett?”

A few gasps followed. Some impressed. Some exaggerated.

Edward Emmett’s name carried weight.

Edward was one of the untouchables. Old money. Prestige. Legacy.

Malcom smirked proudly, enjoying the reaction. Around him were both guys and girls—beautiful, rich, dressed in designer outfits that probably cost more than Robert would make in a year. They listened to Malcom with admiration, laughter bubbling out freely.

Then Robert strolled closer, exhausted, head slightly lowered, clothes plain and visibly worn.

The laughter shifted.

Malcom noticed him instantly.

His eyes gleamed.

“Oh,” Malcom said suddenly, sitting upright. “Speaking of Edward Emmett…”

He turned back to the group, his voice rising theatrically.

“Allow me to introduce you all to someone very special.”

Malcom stood up.

“This,” he said, pointing openly at Robert, “is Robert Emmett. The adopted bastard of the Emmett family. Or should I say… former adopted bastard.”

The group burst into laughter.

Malcom continued, merciless. “He used to live like a prince. Luxury cars. Private jets. Five-star everything. But thanks to Edward and his father, he’s been put back in the gutters where he belongs.”

The laughter intensified.

One girl wrinkled her nose exaggeratedly. “No wonder the air suddenly smells different. Bastard stench.”

Another scoffed. “Paupers and bastards shouldn’t even be allowed here. This school is about prestige.”

“Yes!” another chimed in. “He’s a stain on this campus.”

Agreement followed in waves.

“A disgrace.”

“An embarrassment.”

“A walking reminder that trash always returns to trash.”

Robert stood there quietly, fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He had heard worse. Much worse. Over time, insults lost their sharpness and became dull background noise—painful, yes, but familiar.

Malcom raised a hand. “Relax, everyone. Don’t worry yourselves. This stench will soon be gone.”

He smiled cruelly. “Not just from our presence… but from the school entirely.”

Robert’s brows twitched slightly.

That was new.

It was the first time Malcom had openly threatened to get him expelled.

Still, Robert said nothing.

He inhaled slowly and reminded himself why he was there.

Business.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a neatly arranged file, holding it out. “Your assignment. It’s complete.”

Malcom reached out casually to take it—

—but before his fingers touched it, one of his friends swiftly produced an expensive silk handkerchief, folded carefully, and used it to receive the file instead.

Gasps. Laughter.

The friend meticulously wiped the edges of the file with exaggerated caution. “Just being careful,” he said smugly. “Wouldn’t want contamination.”

The group roared with laughter.

Robert’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

Malcom finally took the file, flipped through it, eyes scanning the contents. His expression shifted—just slightly. A nod followed.

“Brilliant,” Malcom admitted calmly. “As always.”

Robert looked up. “Thank you.”

Malcom chuckled. “Don’t get excited. That wasn’t a compliment.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering. “The only thing you’re good at—since Dylan died—is being brilliant. And what does that get you? Petty assignments. Pennies. In the real world, you’ll still end up working for people like us.”

Robert exhaled softly. “I understand.”

Then, calmly, “You paid me one thousand dollars upfront. You promised to pay the balance when the work was done.”

Malcom raised a brow. “Balance?”

“Yes,” Robert said evenly. “One thousand dollars.”

Malcom laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

Malcom gestured lightly to his friend’s handkerchief. “Who’s paying for the ten-thousand-dollar handkerchief my friend used to wipe infections off the file?”

“That’s not my problem,” Robert responded. “There’s nothing wrong with the file,” he added quietly. “So please pay me what you owe.”

The atmosphere shifted.

Malcom stepped forward, towering over Robert. They were the same height—but Malcom was bulkier, muscles shaped from years of gym sessions and karate training.

He poked Robert hard in the chest. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

Robert’s voice softened instantly. “I’m just asking you to pay me my balance.”

Malcom shoved his head.

“I said I’m not paying you,” he growled. “Do something about it.”

Cheers erupted.

“Yeah!”

“Beat him again!”

“Like last time!”

Two weeks ago.

Robert remembered.

The pain. The humiliation.

Seeing where things were heading, Robert raised his hands slightly. “Forget it. Keep the balance.”

Malcom grinned—and pushed him hard.

Robert stumbled and fell to the ground.

“Get up,” Malcom commanded. “And leave. Or you’ll suffer worse consequences.”

For a moment, something dark flickered in Robert’s eyes. Rage. Raw and violent. He wanted to bury Malcom right there.

But he breathed.

Slowly.

He got up, dusted himself, and walked away.

‘Someday,’ he promised silently, ‘you’ll regret this.’

****

Robert headed toward another location to submit a different assignment.

That was when a sleek luxury car pulled up beside him.

The door opened.

Chloe Matthews, his girlfriend of over a year, stepped out.

For a second, Robert forgot everything.

“Chloe,” he said, a faint smile appearing.

She didn’t return it.

Things had changed.

Ever since Dylan Emmett died—his adopted father—everything had changed. Once, Robert was the adopted son of a multibillionaire. He lived in luxury. He was respected. Admired.

Now?

A fallen-from-grace nobody.

Chloe walked up to him, her friends following closely—Silver, Tracy, and Julie.

She showed him her Shoppers.com chart. “Pay for this.”

Robert stared.

Two million dollars.

He swallowed. “Chloe… how do you expect me to—”

“I barely make fifty thousand a month now,” he added quietly.

Laughter erupted.

“Did he just say fifty thousand?” Silver mocked.

“That’s our weekly nail budget,” Tracy scoffed.

Robert shook his head. “All I have is fifteen thousand.”

The girls laughed harder.

Silver pulled out her phone. “Watch this.”

She called her boyfriend. “Clear my chart.”

Two million dollars.

Cleared instantly.

Tracy dialed next. “Hey Malcom… yeah, I know you’ve been asking me out. Listen, I need a tiny favor. Clear my cart? Perfect. We’ll see about tonight, okay?”

Malcom’s voice came through loud enough for everyone to hear. “Anything for you, Tracy.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “I don’t do boyfriends. But seriously, Chloe. Cut him loose.”

Robert stood there, silent, shame crushing his chest.

Chloe looked at him coldly. “You’ll hear from me.”

They drove off.

Robert sighed.

This wasn’t the life he planned.

Then his phone rang.

“Hey, big bro,” Anna’s trembling voice came through. “They sent me home. School fees.”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand.”

Robert closed his eyes.

He only had fifteen.

“I’ll fix it,” he said.

A woman’s voice came on the line next. Rose Emmett—his adopted mother. She sounded worn out but trying to be strong.

“Robert, don’t stress yourself too much,” she said gently. “I’m feeling a little better now. The fever’s gone down. I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow. I can help.”

“No, Mom,” Robert said quickly. “You’re still recovering. I’ve got this. I swear.”

One way or another.