The Hidden Trillionaire Heir of Royal Elite Academy

Royal Elite Academy

Royal Elite Academy sat on a hill overlooking the bustling city. The main gate was flanked by two guard booths resembling military checkpoints.

Arthur pulled the truck up to the academy's service delivery gate. A guard dressed in a black uniform approached.

"Delivery for Veronica Stephens," Arthur announced, holding up his work order.

The guard scanned the barcode on the paper, glanced at a tablet, and then waved him through. "Park at Delivery Zone Three. Someone will escort you to the reception courtyard."

Arthur parked the truck and stepped out. The atmosphere here carried a unique fragrance. It was cleaner and more expensive.

A girl in a blue academy blazer walked over to him.

"You must be the delivery boy," she said without waiting for a reply. "Follow me."

Arthur carried the crate containing the single handbag and followed her across the courtyard to a designated waiting area near the main fountain.

She paused at the entrance. "Wait here. The client will come to you."

Then she left without saying another word.

Arthur stood alone near the fountain, clutching the wooden crate like a servant waiting for his master. In the distance, he heard music playing, students laughing, and glasses clinking from somewhere beyond the main buildings.

He waited patiently.

Ten minutes later, a sleek white Ferrari SF90 Spider pulled up near the fountain. The convertible top was down, revealing Veronica Stephens in the driver's seat, her long black hair blowing softly in the breeze.

She was dressed in a cream silk dress, with diamond studs shining in her ears. A small designer handbag dangled from her wrist.

Three other girls sat in the car with her. They were pretty too, but they faded into the background.

Veronica stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the stone pavement. Her eyes roamed over Arthur completely. Then she looked away, as if the sight of him bored her.

"You are the delivery boy," she said. "I'm Veronica Stephens."

"Yes, Miss Veronica," Arthur replied. He kept his head bowed. He had learned long ago that people like this did not like being looked in the eye. "I've got your order. It says, 'From your beloved, Cassius.'"

One of the friends giggled. "Ooh, from Cassius? That's so romantic."

Veronica smirked. "Open it."

Arthur put the crate down on the ground. He pried open the lid with his fingers, careful not to damage the wood.

"There," he took a step back. "Have a look, Miss."

Veronica crouched and picked up the white leather handbag from the crate. She flipped it over in her hands, carefully inspecting the stitching, the gold trim, and the interior lining.

Her friends gathered around her, expressing their admiration aloud.

"It's absolutely gorgeous, Veronica."

"Cassius has excellent taste."

"You are so lucky."

Veronica held the bag up to the light, her face revealing nothing. Then she sighed as if the bag had personally offended her.

"I hate it."

Arthur felt his stomach drop.

Veronica tossed the bag back into the crate. It hit the wood with a thud.

"The leather feels stiff," she said, turning to her friends. "The gold trim's way too shiny. It looks cheap, like something a commoner would carry."

Her friends nodded along, agreeing with everything she said.

"Return it," Veronica said to Arthur. She waved her hand dismissively. "Tell Cassius to try again. Maybe next time he'll actually pay attention to what I like."

Arthur suddenly felt the earth move under his feet. That bag costs $250,000. He thought about his debt.

"Miss Veronica," he said carefully. "I can't return it."

Veronica's eyes snapped to him. "Excuse me?"

Arthur continued, his voice trembling despite his attempts to stay calm, "If I return it, the bank will charge me for the bag. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars will be added to my debt ledger. I cannot afford that. Miss, please. The bag is beautiful. Maybe you could—"

"I said I hate it," she repeated without any emotion.

"Please, I'm begging you, just keep it," Arthur pleaded like his life depended on it. "Give it away or throw it in your closet. Just don't ask me to return it, okay? I will lose everything. My mother is sick. She needs—"

Veronica stepped closer to him. The fragrance she wore was both floral and expensive. Up close, she was even more beautiful.

"Let me make something very clear," she said, her voice soft but deadly. "I don't care about your mom. I don't care about your debt, and honestly, I don't care about you either. You're a delivery guy. You exist to fetch things for me. If I do not like the thing you bring, you must take it back. Do you understand?"

She turned to walk back to her car.

"Miss, please," Arthur said, stepping forward out of desperation. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Veronica stopped. She turned on her heel and slapped him.

The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard. Arthur's head snapped to the side. His vision got blurry and he could taste blood in his mouth.

"How dare you touch me," Veronica snapped. "You are nothing. Do you understand? Nothing. Your entire existence is worth less than the bag you just brought me."

Her friends stared with wide eyes. They all just shut up, too scared to do anything.

As Arthur stayed silent, Veronica wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Make sure Cassius knows I want the blue one instead. The special limited edition. He'll know which one it is."

After that, she slid back into her Ferrari, started the engine, and drove away with her friends. The white sports car disappeared around a corner, leaving only the faint echo of its engine.

Arthur stood alone in the courtyard, with the wooden crate resting at his feet. Inside it, the white leather handbag gleamed under the afternoon sun.

He touched his cheek. It was wet with blood. One of Veronica's rings had actually cut him. He glanced around at the empty courtyard. The music and laughter from earlier had faded.

Arthur glanced back at the crate.

If he returned the bag, he would owe $250,000 to the bank. Not returning it would just make everything worse.

Arthur closed the lid of the crate and lifted it into his arms. It felt like a tombstone pressing down on his chest.

He headed back to the delivery truck. He did not know what he was going to do.

Arthur tossed the crate back in the truck. He plopped down in the driver's seat and just stared at the steering wheel.

For the first time that night, he broke down.

"I can’t do this anymore," he whispered hoarsely, his forehead dropping against the wheel. "I worked my butt off, took all the insults, and begged like a dog. But no matter what I do… it’s still never enough."

His shoulders trembled violently as a tear fell onto the steering wheel. "If this is what my life is worth, then what’s the point of living like this?”

At that moment, his phone suddenly rang. The sharp sound made Arthur flinch.

He lifted his head slowly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

It was his Landlord.

Thomas frowned. Something was wrong. His landlord never called this late.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Arthur!" The landlord's panicked voice burst through the speaker. "You need to get to the hospital right now. It's your mother. She collapsed in the apartment."

Arthur's blood turned to ice. The phone slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor of the truck.

His face went pale. "No!"