Posing as the Billionaire's Grandson

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Posing as the Billionaire's Grandson

By: ari noana OngoingUrban/Realistic

Language: English

Chapters: 31 views: 197

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Adam Thomas has endured hell as a scholarship student at the elite boarding school, tormented for years by the sadistic brat Paul Auclair, the spoiled grandson of a billionaire hotelier. But when one of Paul's pranks leaves him fighting for his life, Adam sees the chance to settle the score. During a hospital visit, Adam meets Paul's father Philippe Auclair, the black sheep of the family. Philippe fears his estranged father will write him out of the will if his son doesn't show up for the holiday gala. He strikes a Faustian bargain with him: pretend to be Paul for the night and secure the family fortune. Posing as Paul, Adam is thrust into the opulent world of the Auclairs, And with Paul out of commission, nothing will stop him from exacting the ultimate revenge from the inside. But how far is he willing to go, and who will he become, before the deception destroys them all?

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31 chapters
The shrill beeping of my watch alarm jolted me awake. I fumbled to silence it, squinting at the early morning light filtering through the dingy curtains. With a sigh, I hauled myself up and shuffled to the bathroom down the hall. The frigid water shocked me into full wakefulness as I splashed my face. Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stared back at my reflection in the spotted mirror. Stringy blond hair fell across a bony face dominated by thick eyebrows and owlish glasses. I looked like a scarecrow brought to life. After changing into my uniform - a secondhand blazer and slacks whose faded gray hue mirrored my own nondescript presence - I headed downstairs to the bustling dining hall. Students filled the tables, boisterous and lively in crisp uniforms as they devoured plates of eggs and toast. The savory scents made my stomach rumble. I joined the line for lukewarm oatmeal, keeping my eyes downcast. Their chatter and laughter enveloped me, yet I may as well have been a ghost d
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The library was my sanctuary at Wellington Prep. Surrounded by the musty smell of old books, I could almost forget about the constant dread of navigating the halls. Today after classes ended, I settled into my usual tucked-away study nook. Taking out my books, I was soon lost in mastering proofs for AP Calculus. Numbers and formulas always made sense, unlike people. I didn't notice the time passing until the librarian came by, reminding me they were closing up in 15 minutes. As I packed up, laughter echoed from the hallway outside. I recognized that mocking tone with a sinking feeling. Poking my head out, I discovered Paul and his cronies loitering right outside the library doors. They were tossing a small object between them, snickering. With a sigh, I walked up and held out my hand. "Alright Paul, give it back." He blinked innocently. "Give what back?" "Whatever you took from me. Let's just get this over with." Paul laughed. "Wow, so quick to accuse me! Maybe I'm just han
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Paul's fist flew at my face. I ducked just in time, the blow sailing past my ear. Laughter rang out from his cronies watching nearby. "Come on, fight fair!" Paul taunted. Before I could react, his foot hooked around my ankle. I crashed to the ground, gravel biting into my palms. He loomed over me, features twisted in ugly determination. This wasn't just a prank - he wanted to hurt me. I scrambled up, holding my hands out placatingly. "Paul, think about this. We'll both get expelled if you keep-" His punch slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over in pain as the gang cheered him on. "Yeah, not so smart now, are you?" Paul jeered. He shoved me down again. I lay there gasping, glasses cracked and askew. This was pointless. I had to get away. Ignoring the fiery pain in my side, I staggered to my feet and backed towards the school, never taking my eyes off Paul. With a savage grin, he glanced around and picked up a heavy tree branch, testing its weight. My bl
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The steady beep of the EKG machine punctuated the stillness in Paul's hospital room. I sat slumped in the chair at his bedside, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. Nearly two days had passed since the accident that left him comatose, with no indication of when he might wake up. The sound of the door opening made me look up as a disheveled man hurried in - Philippe Auclair, Paul's father. His bloodshot eyes were lined with worry as he moved to his son's side. "Any change?" Philippe asked hopefully, though his expression fell as I shook my head. "No, he's been like this the whole time. But the doctors think he could wake up soon." I studied Philippe's worn features, sensing the weight on his shoulders. Philippe sank into the chair next to me with a heavy sigh. As the youngest Auclair son, he was never prepared to lead the family biz. And Paul, as the baby, was even less ready to step into that world. In the short time since we met, Philippe has word-vomited his whole life sto
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As soon as I entered this private millionaire meeting, I recognized some faces from business magazines and news interviews. But more importantly, Paul's relatives were all here - uncles, aunts, and cousins who are executives in the company. There was Richard Auclair, Philippe's older brother and current President of Auclair Hotels. He's expanded their portfolio of five-star properties across Europe. His other brother Claude Auclair is the Executive Vice President of Casino Operations, overseeing the company's global chain of luxury casinos and entertainment venues - we're talking Vegas on steroids. Then there's Juliet Auclair, Philippe's sister, who runs Auclair Cruise Lines as Chief Operating Officer. Under her leadership, they've cornered the high-end cruise market with over-the-top luxury liners. And of course Auguste Auclair himself, the founder and current Chairman of the Board. At 80 years old, he still runs the empire with an iron fist. Seeing all Paul's accomplished re
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Slipping away to an empty hallway, I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. My clothes suddenly felt constricting, as if I had been playing dress-up in someone else's skin all night. I longed for the comfort of my own shabby, but honest, life once more. After what felt like endless Mingling, I finally detached myself from the Auclairs, desperate to escape before I was exposed. As I was leaving, Philippe grabbed my shoulder tightly. "Thank you again for everything tonight." I met his gaze solemnly. "I hope you figure a way out of this situation you've created." I paused. "Paul's condition is still very delicate, even if the doctors try to sound optimistic..." Philippe's face clouded with worry. "You're right. But I couldn't destroy the one shred of hope my father still has in me and my family. Paul has never gotten any love from the rest of them." I sighed. "Enough excuses. I expect the agreed-upon payment in my account by tomorrow morning." Philippe looked taken aback
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The pungent scent of antiseptic hit my nose as I walked through the dingy halls of City General Hospital alongside my grandmother. The wheelchair I pushed creaked and rattled over the cracked linoleum tiles. This had become our dreary routine - three times a week I'd help Gram get to her physical therapy appointments. Not that the sessions seemed to be helping much. If anything, her health only deteriorated more rapidly. "How are you feeling today, Gram?" I asked gently as we waited for the elevator, trying to sound upbeat. "Oh, just fine dear," she said, giving my hand a light pat even as she struggled for breath. Her skin was paper thin, blue veins starkly visible. But her eyes still held a spark of lively spirit. The elevator groaned as it carried us up to the third-floor therapy wing. Sanitized, clinical - this place was worlds away from the warmth of family. But it was all we could afford. I helped Gram out of the wheelchair and onto the exam table, where her therapist soon
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My phone buzzed, the screen flashing an unknown local number. Likely a telemarketer. I almost sent it to voicemail before reconsidering - it could be the hospital with an update about Gram. “Hello?” I answered cautiously. “Adam, thank god," came Philippe Auclair's strained voice. "I've been trying to reach you. How did you get this number?” I asked sharply. Philippe cleared his throat. “My assistant looked it up, but that's not important now. Why are you working with my niece Agatha?" I bristled at his intrusive tone. "That's none of your business. Our arrangement doesn't concern you." "Look, you don't understand how dangerous she is," Philippe pressed urgently. "Agatha has no good intentions getting involved.” I gave a harsh laugh. "And you do? At least your niece is honest about what she wants." Philippe sputtered indignantly. “Now see here, I only had the family’s best interests at heart...” “Save it,” I cut him off. “I'll stop working with Agatha when you can pay me even h
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The next day, having some time before my next "appointment" with the Auclairs, I decided to do additional research on the family and their business empire. Details were important if I wanted to play the heir apparent convincingly. Wrapped in the back corner of the library, I opened my laptop and began searching for information about the famously reclusive family and Auclair Company assets. To my annoyance, unambiguous facts were scarce. Searching through business journals yielded mainly vague corporate announcements: the acquisition of a new premium hotel chain here and the arrival of elite cruise line ships there. Dry remarks celebrating expansion and profit reveal nothing about the empire's leaders. There are no enlightening descriptions of the executives assisting Auguste Auclair in building his empire from the ground up. His children, Richard, Claude, and Juliet, were hardly more than names mentioned in passing about whatever venture they currently oversaw. Philippe Auclair mi
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The day I was supposed to go golfing with Auguste Auclair and his millionaire business partners had arrived. Philippe and I carefully planned to continue the farce of me impersonating his son Paul. My attire had to be flawless—an expensive polo, fashionable sunglasses, and even a light self-tanner—to achieve the desired wealthy golden boy appearance. Examining my appearance in the mirror, I noticed a tiny resemblance to the arrogant jerk Paul. But I instantly dismissed the unpleasant idea. Auguste's desire to golf in the winter seemed weird to me, but Philippe explained that it was primarily an excuse for the tycoons to gather and gossip freely. I'd have to try to insert myself into their private chats. Philippe trained me on country club culture and news about Auguste's social circle to help me play my role conv
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