The morning sun cast long shadows across Houston University's pristine campus, highlighting the stark divide that split the institution down its very core.
Gerald Martinez pulled his worn denim jacket tighter as he walked past the gleaming Ferraris and Lamborghinis in the east parking lot, the rich wing's territory.
His scuffed sneakers made barely a whisper against the polished marble walkways, a sharp contrast to the confident clicks of designer heels and leather loafers that dominated these paths.
At nineteen, Gerald had learned to navigate the treacherous waters of privilege with the skill of someone who had no choice but to adapt or drown.
His dark, curly hair fell across his forehead as he kept his head down, avoiding the casual glances that reminded him daily of his place in this ecosystem.
The faded logo on his secondhand polo shirt told its own story a knockoff of brands that his classmates wore without thought, their authentic versions costing more than Gerald's monthly food budget.
The university's architecture itself seemed designed to emphasize the hierarchy. The west wing, where Gerald's cramped dormitory sat, featured basic concrete structures with small windows and practical furnishings.
Meanwhile, the east wing boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, and facilities that resembled luxury hotels more than student housing. Houston University didn't just educate the elite. it reinforced their superiority at every turn.
Gerald's phone buzzed with a familiar notification. Another errand request. Danny Ashworth's name flashed on the screen, and Gerald's jaw tightened.
Danny represented everything Gerald both envied and despised about this place, effortless wealth, casual arrogance, and the kind of confidence that came from never having to worry about basic necessities.
"Gerald, buddy," Danny's voice carried that particular tone of false friendliness when Gerald answered. "I need you to pick up something special for me. Belmont Florist on Fifth Street. Ask for the premium bouquet, they'll know what I mean. I'll transfer the money plus your usual fee."
Gerald checked the transfer notification: three hundred dollars. Enough to cover groceries for two weeks, maybe three if he was careful. "What's the occasion?"
"Anniversary gift. One month with my girlfriend." Danny's voice carried a smugness that made Gerald's stomach turn. "You know how these things are, got to keep the romance alive."
The line went dead before Gerald could respond. He stared at his phone, Danny's words echoing in his mind.
Gerald remembered his girlfriend.
The memory of Xavier's last words to him still cut deep: "I can't keep pretending this works, Gerald. I have bills to pay, a lifestyle to maintain. You understand, right?" She had said it so casually, as if their year together had been nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.
Belmont Florist occupied a corner of Mayfair City's most exclusive shopping district. Gerald felt underdressed the moment he stepped through the glass doors, surrounded by arrangements that cost more than his monthly rent.
The florist, a middle-aged woman with perfectly manicured nails, looked him up and down before reluctantly acknowledging his presence.
"The premium bouquet for Danny Ashworth," Gerald said, trying to keep his voice steady.
She disappeared into the back room, returning with an elaborate arrangement of white roses and baby's breath. The crystal vase alone probably cost more than Gerald's entire wardrobe.
"Mr. Ashworth requested specific delivery instructions," she said, handing him a small card. "To the university gardens, by the fountain."
Gerald's heart sank as he read the address. The gardens were Xavier's favorite spot—their spot, back when such things mattered. He had proposed meeting there for their first official date, back when he still believed love could bridge the gap between their worlds.
The afternoon sun filtered through the oak trees as Gerald approached the central fountain, the elaborate bouquet feeling heavier with each step. Laughter carried on the breeze, familiar and cutting. He rounded the corner and froze.
Xavier and Yuri sat on their old bench, her perfectly manicured fingers tracing patterns on his chest. She wore a designer sundress that Gerald recognized from the Chanel boutique windows, the same store where she used to drag him to "window shop," pointing out items she claimed to merely admire but clearly coveted.
Yuri looked up first, his smile faltering when he spotted Gerald. "Well, well. The delivery boy arrives." His voice carried the same casual cruelty that seemed to come naturally to his kind.
Xavier turned, her expression shifting from surprise to something that might have been pity—or maybe just annoyance at the interruption. "Gerald? What are you doing here?"
"Delivery," Gerald managed, holding up the bouquet. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.
"From Danny?" Yuri's smile returned, wider now. "How thoughtful of him to send his favorite errand boy."
He stood up, making a show of dusting off his expensive slacks. "Though I have to wonder, does it ever get old, Gerald? Playing messenger for people who actually matter?"
Xavier laughed, the sound hitting Gerald like a physical blow.
"Don't be cruel, Yuri. Gerald's just trying to make ends meet. Aren't you, Gerald?"
Her tone carried that same false sympathy she had used when breaking up with him, as if poverty were a disease she couldn't risk catching.
"At least I'm honest about what I am," Gerald said, his voice gaining strength. "I don't pretend to care about people just to throw them away when something better comes along."
Xavier's expression hardened. "Excuse me? You think I threw you away? Gerald, I have a lifestyle to maintain. I have bills you couldn't even comprehend. My handbag costs more than your monthly allowance from whatever scholarship keeps you here."
She gestured to her Louis Vuitton bag with casual dismissal. "I need someone who can actually provide for me, not someone I have to provide for."
"Right," Gerald said, setting the bouquet down on the bench with deliberate care. "And Yuri can provide those things."
"Yuri understands how the world works," Xavier replied. "He doesn't live in some fantasy where love conquers all. This is real life, Gerald. Bills don't pay themselves with good intentions."
Yuri wrapped his arm around Xavier's waist, his Rolex catching the sunlight. "Nothing personal, Gerald. It's just business. Supply and demand. I supply what she demands, and you... well, you don't."
Gerald looked at them both, these people he had once considered important in his life. Xavier, who used to claim she loved him for his authenticity, his dreams, his determination to build something meaningful despite his circumstances.
Now she sat there defending her betrayal with the casual brutality of someone who had never truly understood struggle.
"You're right," Gerald said finally. "It is business. And business is finished."
He turned and walked away, leaving the expensive flowers on the bench. Behind him, he could hear Xavier's forced laughter and Yuri's triumphant chuckle, but their voices seemed to fade as he moved further from their world and back toward his own.
The next morning brought literature class and its own particular form of humiliation. Blondie Stevens, the class president, stood at the front of the room with the kind of confidence that came from generations of inherited wealth. Her designer blazer probably cost more than Gerald's entire semester budget, and she wore it with the casual elegance of someone who had never had to consider price tags.
"As we approach midterm examinations," Blondie announced, her voice carrying clearly through the lecture hall, "I want to remind everyone about the outstanding examination fees. The university requires payment of one hundred thousand dollars per student to cover administrative costs and facility usage."
Gerald's stomach dropped. One hundred thousand dollars. The number seemed impossible, abstract, more money than his family saw in a year.
Blondie's eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on Gerald's section. "Payment is due by Friday. Students who haven't settled their accounts won't be permitted to sit for examinations." Her smile was perfectly polite, but her meaning was crystal clear. "I'm sure everyone understands the importance of meeting their financial obligations."
Around him, Gerald's classmates barely reacted. For them, one hundred thousand dollars was lunch money, pocket change, the cost of a weekend shopping trip. They pulled out their phones to make transfers or ask their parents' assistants to handle the payment. It was that simple, that effortless.
Gerald sank lower in his seat, calculating frantically. His savings account held exactly four thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven dollars—the result of months of running errands, tutoring sessions, and part-time work in the university kitchen. Even if he could find more work, more errands, more ways to scrape together money, he had less than a week.
Three days of relentless hustle followed. Gerald ran errands from dawn to midnight, his phone constantly buzzing with requests from students who needed someone to fetch their dry cleaning, deliver packages, or handle tasks they considered beneath them. He carried designer bags worth more than cars, picked up custom suits from tailors who looked at him with barely concealed disdain, and delivered gifts between lovers who would never know his name.
By Thursday evening, Gerald's body ached from exhaustion. He collapsed onto his narrow dormitory bed, the room's concrete walls seeming to close in around him. Rick, his dorm supervisor, had already stopped by twice asking about the examination fee. The unspoken message was clear: pay up or pack up.
Gerald pulled out his phone to check his account balance: eight thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars. Still nowhere near enough. He had pushed himself to the breaking point, taken every available job, swallowed his pride countless times, and it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
His phone buzzed with a banking notification, and Gerald almost ignored it, probably another insufficient funds warning or fee notification. But curiosity made him glance at the screen.
Account balance: $1,008,412.
Gerald stared at the number, certain he was hallucinating from exhaustion. He closed the app and reopened it. The number remained unchanged. One million, eight thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars.
His phone began to ring.