Grace’s POV

The car glided smoothly through Starport’s upscale districts, carrying me toward a destiny I never imagined. As we left the city center behind, the urban landscape gradually gave way to sprawling estates hidden behind imposing gates and perfectly manicured hedges.

“We’re approaching Wilson Manor, Ms. Wilson,” Barry interrupted my thoughts.

The car turned onto a private road bordered by ancient oak trees. As we rounded the final curve, I caught my first glimpse of Wilson Manor and felt my breath catch. The massive stone structure rose before us, grand and imposing against the afternoon sky. Gothic arches framed enormous windows, and ivy climbed parts of the façade, speaking to its age and permanence.

“This building is at least two hundred years old,” Barry explained as we drove up the circular driveway. “The Wilson family was among Starport’s first pioneers.”

The car came to a smooth stop at the bottom of wide stone steps leading to massive double doors. Barry came around to open my door, and I stepped out, tilting my head back to take in the full scope of what was apparently my ancestral home.

“It’s… impressive,” I managed to say, trying to maintain my composure while my heart raced.

“It was built in 1823,” Barry continued as he guided me up the steps. “Your great-great-grandfather commissioned it after establishing the family’s shipping empire.”

The doors opened before we reached them, revealing a grand foyer with a soaring ceiling and a sweeping staircase. My footsteps echoed on the marble floor as I followed Barry through the entrance hall into a wood-paneled corridor lined with paintings of stern-faced men and women who shared my eyes.

“The family portraits,” Barry said, noticing my gaze. “That one there is Brandon Wilson, your grandfather. He’s currently recuperating abroad, but has been informed of your identification.”

I nodded, still taking everything in. Barry led me to an elegant meeting room where dark wood paneling and leather-bound books created an atmosphere of old money and tradition.

“Please, sit,” he gestured to a leather armchair. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you,” I replied, sitting down and trying to appear more composed than I felt.

As he began explaining my situation, I struggled to process what he was telling me.

The family business was vast, with most assets held by my father, and smaller portions in the hands of my grandfather and uncle.

Now the inheritance had come to me, which meant I had become Wilson Group’s largest shareholder.

“Of course, this position comes with certain responsibilities,” Barry continued. “The board will expect you to take an active role in company governance, and there are family obligations to consider as well.”

“Family obligations?” I repeated.

Before Barry could elaborate, the door suddenly burst open, and a striking blonde woman in her fifties swept in, followed by a young man around my age in an impeccable suit.

“So this is Robert’s bastard,” the woman said coldly, her eyes raking over me with undisguised hostility.

“Ms. Wilson, may I present Mrs. Elizabeth Wilson, your father’s widow, and Mr. Andrew Wilson, your father’s adopted son,” Barry said, his tone remaining professionally neutral despite the tension that had suddenly filled the room.

I stood, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze directly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said, my voice steady.

Elizabeth’s lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. We all know why you’re here.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, puzzled.

“The Morgan family and Wilson family’s marriage alliance, with Grace as the main character,” Charles said with a smile.

The younger man who had entered with Charles stepped forward and handed me a gold-embossed business card. “Mr. Morgan extends his dinner invitation,” he said. “Seven o’clock. We’ll send a car for you.”

Elizabeth’s demeanor transformed at the mention of Morgan. “Morgan?” she repeated.

“I think Grace should be free to leave now, shouldn’t she, Elizabeth?” Charles said, his tone gentle but brooking no argument.

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before nodding curtly to the security guards, who immediately backed away.

“We’ll continue our discussion another time,” she said to me, the threat in her voice barely concealed.

As Elizabeth and Andrew left, Charles turned to me with a sympathetic look. “I apologize for that welcome, Grace. Elizabeth has been… protective of her position since your father died.”

“Thank you for your timely intervention,” I said, still processing what had just happened.

“Come,” Charles said, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable.”