I Inherited Trillions, Now What?

A day before the call

Caroline Blackwell woke up to the soft glow of morning sunlight filtering through the sheer white curtains of her dorm room. The space was a masterpiece of understated luxury—white marble floors glistened under the light, complemented by plush ivory rugs scattered strategically across the room.

The walls were a pristine eggshell hue, adorned with minimalist gold accents and framed art that hinted at old money and timeless sophistication. A crystal chandelier hung elegantly from the ceiling, casting delicate patterns of light, while a velvet chaise lounge sat near the bay window, inviting anyone to sink into its comfort.

This wasn't just any dorm room; it had history to her. The room once belonged to her father during his years at the academy.

Caroline had asked her grandfather for it when she decided to attend, and as always, her wish had been granted, he always seemed to cater to all her needs, and now her dad's room was hers now remodel in her style.

Yawning softly, she slid out of her satin sheets and padded across the cool floor to begin her morning routine. After freshening up, she changed into her school uniform—a design that spoke volumes of the institution's prestige. The uniform was tailored to perfection: a muted gray blazer with silver accents, a crisp white blouse, and a pleated skirt that fell just above the knee. Everything about it screamed elegance, from the fabric to the subtle crest embroidered on the pocket.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror, Caroline took a moment to examine herself. Her reflection stared back, polished and composed, yet her mind lingered on the day ahead.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, followed by Daphne's familiar voice from the other side of the door. "Caroline, let's go!"

"I'm coming," she called back, her tone calm but decisive.

Turning her attention to the pearl necklace resting delicately on the nightstand, she picked it up with care. The necklace, a gift from her father on her tenth birthday, held more meaning than any other possession. She traced her fingers over the smooth, cool pearls, her lips curving into a small, wistful smile. After fastening it around her neck, she tucked the necklace beneath her blouse, letting it rest close to her heart where it always felt safest.

With a final glance in the mirror, she squared her shoulders and headed to the door, ready to face another day.

Stepping outside, Caroline's eyes immediately caught sight of Daphne's long black hair, resting casually against the doorframe. That hair—sleek, dark, and flawless—always stirred a twinge of envy in Caroline. She had been "blessed," as everyone put it, with her mother's golden blonde locks, but she wasn't sure she agreed with the sentiment. Her mother... The thought made her pause for a moment.

For years, Caroline believed her mother was dead—a story her family had let her cling to. It wasn't until a year ago that the truth emerged. Her mother was alive, well, and practicing as a surgeon in the very city where Caroline had grown up. The revelation had shaken her to her core. The idea of reconnecting with someone she had unknowingly built a wall against felt overwhelming at first, but slowly, they had begun to rebuild something... fragile yet hopeful.

Daphne, unaware of the spiral of thoughts her presence had triggered, was still fixated on her phone. Caroline shook the memories away and called out, "Hey, Daph."

Daphne turned around, her expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. She didn't even bother with a greeting before groaning dramatically. "Ugh, can you believe this? My brother just bought a freaking plane and named it after me!"

Caroline smiled, biting back a laugh as Daphne hugged her tightly. Daphne's endless complaints about her brother, David Morgan, were as familiar as her own thoughts. It was always the same—he was too clingy, too annoying, too... over-the-top. Caroline, however, found his antics oddly endearing. David had a reputation as a "sis-con," but to her, his unabashed love for Daphne seemed sweet. At least he cared

."At least it's better than indifference," she thought, her mind flashing briefly to a pair of cold, black eyes that haunted her memories.

Out loud, she said, laughing, "Why are you even complaining? Isn't that a good thing?"

Daphne rolled her eyes as she pulled back from the hug. "Good thing? He should've named it after Catherine—his fiancée! Maybe then she'd take him seriously!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

Caroline laughed at her dramatics as the two began walking down the hall.

"And get this," Daphne continued, her tone dripping with exasperation. "It's not even a private jet. It's the official plane for the JP Morgan bank! The name's plastered across it in bold letters—'La Reine Daphne.' I mean, seriously? He's hopeless!"

Caroline burst into laughter, the sound echoing as they walked side by side. "La Reine Daphne," she repeated, amused. "Well, at least he's consistent.

"Daphne groaned again, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Too consistent, if you ask me."

As they walked, Caroline spoke thoughtfully, "Well, it's just one plane out of many. People are creatures of habit—they'll stick to what they know, so they might not even use it that much."

Daphne shook her head, an amused yet resigned expression on her face. "I doubt that. This plane is supposed to be a replica of a 'one-of-a-kind' plane." She paused, hesitating.

Caroline glanced at her, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Daphne looked uncomfortable, her fingers fidgeting slightly as she answered, "Uh, well... it's a replica of a plane your dad bought."

Caroline stopped in her tracks. "Dad's plane?" she asked, her voice laced with both surprise and unease.

Daphne sighed, already regretting bringing it up. "Yeah, apparently, David went to some big auction where your dad got that 'one-of-a-kind' plane. David was so obsessed with it after seeing it that he commissioned an exact replica—with your dad's approval, of course. And now... here we are." She rushed through the explanation, hoping the quick delivery would soften the impact.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Caroline's expression was unreadable. Then, to Daphne's relief, her friend forced a small smile. "Oh. That's... nice, I guess," Caroline said, her tone light but distant.

They stepped out into the hall, leaving the conversation behind them as they approached the front entrance.

Outside, a convoy of sleek black cars with heavily tinted windows lined the driveway. A few guards, dressed in sharp black suits, patrolled the area with measured, purposeful steps. Caroline and Daphne froze briefly, their attention drawn to the scene, when a thick Russian-accented voice cut through the air.

"What is she doing here?" the voice said in heavily accented English, the words sharp and laced with disdain.

Caroline turned her head sharply, her gaze falling on Ekaterina, standing off to the side with her arms crossed. Ekaterina's cold, disgusted expression was impossible to miss. Their eyes met briefly before Ekaterina rolled hers dramatically and strode off, heels clicking against the pavement.

Caroline watched her leave, her emotions kept tightly in check as she turned back to the cars. She was just processing the odd encounter when a deep, familiar voice rumbled close to her.

"Cousin."

Startled, Caroline looked to her side and saw Paul standing next to her as if he had materialized out of thin air. His intense presence was undeniable, but his words echoed in her head, repeating over and over.

"Cousin?" she thought, her mind racing. That could only mean one thing.

Her breath caught as her gaze shifted past Paul, landing on someone emerging from the shadow of the convoy.

A girl stood there, unapologetically striking in her appearance. Her hair was a vivid shade of purple, cut into a jagged, shoulder-length style that seemed as rebellious as her outfit—a patched leather jacket adorned with political slogans, combat boots, and ripped jeans. A sharp-edged determination radiated from her stance, a walking embodiment of defiance and protest.

Caroline's blood ran cold, her vision momentarily narrowing as her eyes darkened. The name slipped from her lips like a curse, barely audible but weighted with years of unresolved tension

."Gretha Rothschild."

Authors Gratitude

The man darted through the thick woods, his sharp, panicked breaths tearing through the silence of the night. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes as he sprinted past the jagged branches clawing at him like desperate hands.

Behind him, voices echoed through the trees, relentless and haunting.

"Return! Finish it! Write the report!"

Their words felt like knives, slicing into his already fraying sanity. His heart thundered in his chest as he pushed himself harder, his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air.

Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded in his leg. He stumbled forward, hitting the ground hard, a guttural scream ripping from his throat. Looking down, his eyes widened in horror. The Work Files—sharp as spears—had pierced his leg. He gritted his teeth, dragging his injured leg forward, blood staining the forest floor as the sound of footsteps grew louder, closer, merciless.

"No… no!" he muttered, desperation clawing at his voice.

Just as the shadows of his pursuers began to stretch toward him, a blinding light burst from above. A ray of energy struck him, searing through his body. He gasped, the pain in his leg vanishing as an overwhelming surge of strength coursed through him. He stood up, his body vibrating with power, his mind racing with realization.

The gods had heard him.

King of Gifts, Lord of Lords, TW_MIRAGE.

Luxurious Carius Sugar_Danny.

Golden Master Velsharoon.

Kaicius of Cenatment VisineAnt.

New God King8512743.

And so many more...

They had answered his silent cries. They had bestowed upon him a gift beyond comprehension. His leg, once mangled, now moved as if it had never been injured. Energy pulsed through him, every cell alive, every breath steady and strong.

He heard the footsteps closing in, but this time, fear did not grip him. He turned to face his pursuers, a defiant smile tugging at his lips. "Not anymore," he whispered.

Ahead of him, the 100 Chapter Valley loomed in the distance, its entrance glimmering with hope. He took a step forward, then stopped. Slowly, he turned back to the heavens.

Dropping to his knees, he bowed low, his forehead brushing the earth. His voice trembled with emotion, his heart swelling with gratitude.

"Thank you, my gods. From the depths of my soul, I thank you. For your gifts, for your power, for believing in me when I had nothing left."

The forest seemed to still, as if acknowledging his reverence. Rising to his feet, he smiled again, not with fear, but with purpose. His enemies may have chased him, but now, he was untouchable.

He turned toward the valley and sprinted forward, unyielding, unstoppable.

Thank you all so much! I truly love and appreciate every single one of you.

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