The Pauper Who Ruled the Campus

Chapter 10: The Heir Returns

Marcus lowered the phone slowly after his grandfather’s words faded from the line. The black SUV hummed beneath him, the city lights streaking past the tinted windows. Mr. Jack glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

“What did he say, Young Master?”

“He wants me at the Empire. Now.”

Mr. Jack nodded once. “Understood.”

Within minutes, the road ahead filled with headlights. A convoy of sleek black Mercedes-Benz vehicles appeared, pulling up in perfect formation. Engines purred like distant thunder. The lead car slowed, doors opening in unison. Men in dark suits stepped out, saluting sharply.

Mr. Jack brought the SUV to a stop. He turned to Marcus.

“I am sorry for everything you endured today, Young Master. It will not happen again.”

He saluted deeply, then drove off into the night.

Marcus stepped out. The white Mercedes in the center of the convoy waited, door held open by a silent driver. He slid inside. The door closed with a soft, expensive thud. The convoy moved as one, gliding through the city toward the hidden heart of the Griffin Empire.

The journey felt endless and instantaneous at once. Gates opened before them—massive iron structures adorned with the Griffin crest. Marcus thought they had arrived at the first checkpoint. But the cars continued, passing through manicured lawns, private lakes, and towering estates until they reached the innermost grounds: his grandfather’s personal residence.

Security teams lined the entrance—rows of men and women in black, standing at perfect attention. Mr. Leo waited at the front, hands clasped behind his back.

The car stopped. Marcus stepped out.

Mr. Leo bowed. “Welcome home, Young Master.”

He led Marcus up the marble steps. At the top stood an elderly man—tall, silver-haired, eyes sharp despite the years. His grandfather.

The moment their eyes met, the old man’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. He opened his arms.

Marcus walked straight into the embrace. His grandfather pulled him close, holding him tightly, as though afraid he might vanish again.

“My boy,” the old man whispered. “My only grandson.”

They held the hug for a long moment. Then the grandfather stepped back, eyes shining.

“Bring the wine,” he ordered a nearby waitress.

She returned quickly with a single bottle—deep red, label aged and priceless. The grandfather took it himself.

“This vintage is worth $3 million,” he said, pouring two glasses with steady hands. “Only twelve bottles exist in the world.”

They clinked glasses.

“To new beginnings,” the grandfather said.

Marcus sipped. The taste was rich, smooth, unforgettable.

The grandfather set his glass down. “Your father was my only son. When he died, your mother took you and ran. She wanted to protect you from this world. We searched for years. We tried to bring you both back, even before she passed. She refused. She said she could not lose you the way she lost him.”

He paused, voice softening.

“Before she died, she called us. She asked us to take you in when the time was right. We waited. We let you face hardship so you would grow strong. Now, you are ready.”

Mr. Leo approached, carrying a leather folder.

The grandfather took it. “These are the Empire documents. Sign them, Marcus. Become the heir.”

Marcus opened the folder. Page after page of legal text, seals, signatures. He signed every one—steady, deliberate.

When the last page was done, his grandfather hugged him again, tighter this time.

“Welcome home, truly.”

He turned to Mr. Leo. “Take him to the garage. Let him choose a car. Then to the fashion room. He has a car show to attend.”

Mr. Leo bowed. “This way, Young Master.”

They walked through corridors lined with art and history. The garage doors opened automatically.

Rows of cars gleamed under soft lights. Limited editions. Only three of each ever made. The lowest price tag started at $10 million. Lamborghinis, Bugattis, custom hypercars—each one a masterpiece.

Marcus walked slowly. His eyes stopped on a sleek white hypercar—curves like liquid silver, engine humming even at rest. The plaque read $50 million.

“This one,” he said.

Mr. Leo smiled. “Excellent choice.”

They moved to the Griffin fashion room. Rows of tailored suits, shirts, shoes—all custom, all perfect. Mr. Leo selected quickly—black suit, crisp white shirt, polished shoes. Marcus changed in minutes.

As they prepared to leave, Mr. Leo’s expression turned serious.

“Young Master, we have news. The people who killed your father… and poisoned your mother with that deadly disease… we have found them.”

Marcus froze.

“They were once the Royal Empire. After their crimes, they changed their name to Black Dove to hide. They are Baron Thorn’s family.”

The name hit like a thunderclap. Baron—the one who took Thalia, the one who mocked him, the one who thought he owned everything.

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “They made me an orphan. They took everything.”

Mr. Leo nodded. “They will pay.”

Marcus stepped toward the car. “I will crush them myself.”

He slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life—deep, powerful, alive. He pulled out of the garage, tires gripping the road like claws.

The convoy followed at a respectful distance.

His phone rang as he hit the highway. Mr. Leo.

Marcus answered on the speaker.

“Young Master.”

“What is it?”

“The management of Galaxy Corporation just contacted us. Elite-Star University is hosting their car show tonight at our newest event center. They are inviting the new CEO personally.”

Marcus’s grip tightened on the wheel.

Before he could respond, a notification popped up.

He opened it.

A video from Jackson.

Jackson stood in front of flashing lights, smiling wide.

“Big news, everyone! The new CEO of Galaxy Corporation is coming to the car show tonight! My father has connections with the manager, so I’ll make sure we all get some face time. And don’t worry—Marcus will be sent out the moment he shows up. That little $2 million the chancellor handed him? It’s already gone. See you all there!”

The video ended.

Marcus stared at the frozen image of Jackson’s smug face.

He smiled—slow, dangerous.

“Let’s see who sends who out of the event tonight.”

He pressed the accelerator. The $50 million hypercar surged forward, eating the road, racing toward the lights of the city and the reckoning that waited.