I'd been staring at the same page of my Advanced Corporate Finance textbook for twenty minutes, and the words were starting to blur together like some kind of academic torture method. My third cup of coffee had gone cold an hour ago, but I was too stubborn to admit defeat and go back to my dorm room.
The Westbridge University library at 11:30 PM was like a cathedral of academic desperation. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, unflattering glow that made even the most put-together students look like extras from a zombie movie. The few remaining occupants were hunched over their laptops and textbooks with the kind of intense focus that suggested finals week, even though it was only the second week of the semester.
I'd chosen a corner table on the fourth floor, as far away from other people as possible. After the disaster of my first two days at Westbridge—complete with gossip blogs, mysterious benefactors, and dinner invitations I still hadn't figured out how to handle—I needed some time to think without Emily's well-meaning but overwhelming enthusiasm.
The Advanced Corporate Finance course was supposed to be for senior business majors. As a transfer student, I technically shouldn't even be allowed to enroll. But somehow my academic advisor had approved it, probably because my transcript from "community college in Ohio" showed I'd already completed all the prerequisite courses.
What my transcript didn't show was that those prerequisite courses had been taught by private tutors who'd charged more per hour than most people made in a week. Or that I'd been studying corporate finance since I was fourteen, not because I was some kind of child prodigy, but because I'd needed to understand exactly how my family's empire had been dismantled.
The textbook chapter on hostile takeovers was bringing back memories I'd rather keep buried. Reading about leveraged buyouts and asset stripping was like reading a detailed account of my own family's murder, just with more charts and graphs.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on the case study that was due tomorrow. Meridian Industries vs. Blackstone Corp—a classic example of how a smaller company could destroy a larger competitor through strategic manipulation of stock prices and carefully timed media campaigns.
The parallels to what had happened to Carter Technology were uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable.
I was so absorbed in my notes that I didn't notice someone approaching my table until a shadow fell across my textbook.
"Interesting reading material."
I looked up to find Ryan Hale standing next to my table, looking annoyingly perfect despite the late hour. While everyone else in the library looked like they'd been dragged through academic hell, he appeared fresh and alert, like he'd just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot titled "Billionaire Heirs Who Study Better Than You."
"Ryan," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. "I didn't expect to see you here so late."
"I could say the same about you." He gestured to the empty chair across from me. "Mind if I sit? I hate studying alone."
I wanted to say yes, I minded very much, but something about his tone suggested it wasn't really a request. "Sure," I said instead.
He sat down and glanced at my textbook, then at the scattered notes covering my table. "Advanced Corporate Finance. Ambitious for a transfer student."
"I like a challenge," I said, closing my notebook casually. No need to let him see how detailed my analysis had gotten.
"Professor Martinez's class," he observed, reading the course information from my syllabus. "I took that last year. Brutal workload, but you learn a lot about how business really works."
"How business really works?" I repeated. "As opposed to how they teach it in the regular classes?"
Ryan smiled, and for a moment he looked less like an intimidating heir to a business empire and more like a normal college student. "Let's just say Professor Martinez isn't afraid to use real-world examples that some people might find... uncomfortable."
I thought about the Meridian vs. Blackstone case I'd been studying. "You mean like companies that destroy their competitors through questionable legal tactics?"
"Exactly." His blue eyes sharpened with interest. "What did you think of the Meridian case?"
This felt like a test. "It was cleverly executed," I said carefully. "Meridian identified Blackstone's weaknesses and exploited them systematically. From a purely strategic standpoint, it was impressive."
"But?"
I hesitated. How much could I say without revealing too much about my own experience? "But it also destroyed thousands of jobs and wiped out the retirement savings of Blackstone's employees. Sometimes I wonder if there should be limits to what we consider 'clever strategy.'"
Ryan leaned back in his chair, studying me with that unnervingly intense focus I was starting to recognize. "Interesting perspective. Most business students see cases like Meridian as success stories to emulate."
"Maybe I'm not most business students."
"No," he said quietly. "You're definitely not."
Something in his tone made me look up sharply. Was that suspicion I heard? Or something else?
"What about you?" I asked, turning the conversation back to him. "Did you see it as a success story?"
"I saw it as a cautionary tale," he said after a moment. "Meridian won the battle, but they made a lot of enemies in the process. Sometimes the cost of victory is higher than people realize."
There was something in his voice—a kind of weight that suggested he was speaking from experience. I found myself genuinely curious about what lay behind his carefully controlled facade.
"Speaking from experience?" I asked.
Ryan's expression shuttered. "My family's been in business for a long time. You learn to recognize the patterns."
He pulled out his own textbook—the same one I'd been struggling with—and opened it to a page that was already covered with notes in precise handwriting. I caught a glimpse of his analysis of the Meridian case, and my stomach dropped.
His notes were good. Really good. The kind of deep, nuanced analysis that suggested he understood not just the surface-level tactics, but the psychological and political dimensions of corporate warfare.
"You take thorough notes," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Details matter," he said. "Especially when you're trying to understand how companies like Carter Technology ended up destroyed."
I went very still. "Carter Technology?"
"Another case study Professor Martinez likes to use," Ryan said, watching my face carefully. "Brilliant family business, innovative products, seemed untouchable. Then one day—" He snapped his fingers. "Gone. Wiped out by what most people assumed was a hostile takeover, but the details never quite added up."
My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to look only mildly interested. "What kind of details?"
"The timing, for one thing. Carter Technology was announcing a major breakthrough in quantum computing when the attacks started. Someone with inside information would have known exactly when to strike for maximum damage." Ryan paused, his eyes never leaving my face. "Makes you wonder if it was really just a hostile takeover, or something more personal."
I felt like he was reading me like an open book, searching for tells that would confirm his suspicions. But I'd had ten years to practice controlling my reactions.
"Sounds like a conspiracy theory," I said with a small laugh. "Sometimes businesses just fail."
"Sometimes," Ryan agreed. "But sometimes they're murdered."
The word hung between us like a challenge. I met his gaze steadily, even though everything inside me was screaming that he knew more than he was letting on.
"You seem to know a lot about this case," I said.
"I know a lot about a lot of cases. It's what happens when your family's business involves acquiring distressed assets." He said it matter-of-factly, but I caught the slight emphasis on "acquiring."
"Vulture capitalism," I said before I could stop myself.
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to put it. Though we prefer 'strategic restructuring of underperforming assets.'"
"Much more polite," I said dryly.
"Politeness is important in business. You can destroy someone's entire life's work, but as long as you're polite about it, society considers it acceptable."
There was something bitter in his voice that surprised me. "You sound like you don't approve of your family's business model."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
We stared at each other across the table, and I had the strangest feeling that we were having two conversations at once—the surface-level discussion about business ethics, and a deeper, more dangerous exchange about things we couldn't say directly.
"What's your major?" Ryan asked suddenly, changing the subject.
"Business, obviously. With a focus on financial analysis."
"Planning to go into corporate finance after graduation?"
"Maybe." I shrugged. "I'm interested in companies that have been... restructured. Understanding how they can be rebuilt."
"Rebuilt," Ryan repeated thoughtfully. "Not acquired or absorbed. Rebuilt."
"There's a difference."
"Yes," he said. "There is."
He opened his textbook to a different chapter—one on corporate restructuring and bankruptcy recovery. "If you're interested in rebuilding companies, you should look at this case study. Phoenix Industries. They went from bankruptcy to billion-dollar valuation in five years."
I leaned forward to look at the page, and our hands accidentally brushed as we both reached for the book. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me—not unpleasant, just... surprising.
Ryan didn't pull his hand away immediately. "The CEO was only twenty-five when she took over," he said quietly. "Everyone thought she was too young, too inexperienced. They underestimated her."
"Sounds familiar," I murmured, very aware of how close we were sitting.
"She had help, though. Someone with connections, someone who believed in her vision."
"A mentor?"
"More like a silent partner. Someone who preferred to work behind the scenes."
The way he said it made me think of my mysterious benefactor—whoever had paid my housing fees and sent those warning texts. "That must have been nice for her. Having someone in her corner."
"Sometimes the people trying to help you have their own agendas," Ryan said. "Sometimes protection comes with strings attached."
Was he warning me about something? Or was I reading too much into an innocent conversation about a business case?
"What happened to Phoenix Industries?" I asked.
"Still growing. Still succeeding. But the CEO learned that some partnerships come with unexpected costs."
I was about to ask what he meant when my phone buzzed. Another text from my unknown number:
Stop talking. Leave now. This is not a request. - A friend
I stared at the message, my blood running cold. Someone was watching us. Right now.
"Everything okay?" Ryan asked, noticing my expression.
"Fine," I said quickly, shoving my phone back into my bag. "Just Emily wondering when I'll be back."
But Ryan was already looking around the library with sharp, assessing eyes, like he was searching for threats. "Lena," he said quietly, "how well do you know your roommate?"
"Emily? We just met yesterday. Why?"
"Just curious." But his tone suggested it was more than curiosity. "Some people at Westbridge aren't who they appear to be."
"Are you?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it. Ryan turned back to me with an expression I couldn't read.
"That's a dangerous question to ask," he said.
"I'm starting to think this is a dangerous place to be."
"It is." His voice was deadly serious. "Which is why you need to be careful who you trust."
I wanted to ask if that included him, but something in his expression stopped me. Instead, I started gathering my books and notes.
"I should go," I said. "It's late, and I have class in the morning."
"Lena." Ryan's hand shot out to catch my wrist as I reached for my bag. His grip was gentle but firm. "The Meridian case—your analysis of their strategy. It was very sophisticated. More sophisticated than most graduate students could manage."
Shit. I'd revealed too much.
"I read a lot," I said.
"So do I." His thumb traced across my wrist, and I had to fight the urge to pull away. "Be careful, okay? Westbridge can be dangerous for people who know too much."
"I don't know anything," I lied.
"That's what makes you dangerous," he said softly. "People who pretend not to know things usually know the most important things of all."
He released my wrist, and I quickly gathered the rest of my belongings. As I headed for the elevator, I could feel his eyes following me.
Just before the elevator doors closed, I looked back toward the study area. Ryan was still sitting at our table, but he wasn't looking at his textbook. He was typing something on his phone with the kind of urgent focus that suggested he was reporting to someone.
As the elevator descended, I realized I'd made a critical error. In my eagerness to prove I belonged in the Advanced Corporate Finance class, I'd revealed knowledge that a community college transfer student shouldn't possess. Ryan had noticed, and now he was suspicious.
But there was something else bothering me. The way he'd warned me to be careful, the way he'd looked around the library like he was searching for threats—it almost seemed like he was trying to protect me.
From what? Or from whom?
My phone buzzed again as I walked across the quad toward Johnson Hall.
You did well tonight. But be more careful with your answers next time. He's smarter than he looks. - A friend
I stopped walking. Someone had been watching us. Someone who'd seen our entire conversation, analyzed my performance, and was now offering advice.
The really disturbing part? They were right. I had been careless with my answers. And Ryan was definitely smarter than he looked.
But the most disturbing part of all was the growing suspicion that Ryan Hale wasn't just investigating me because he was curious about a transfer student.
He was investigating me because he already knew exactly who I was.
And if that was true, then our "accidental" meeting in his conference room hadn't been accidental at all.
Back in my dorm room, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the puzzle. Someone was protecting me from the shadows. Someone else was watching my every move. And Ryan Hale was playing a game I didn't understand yet.
But I was starting to suspect that in this game, I wasn't the hunter.
I was the prey.
The question was: which of my new "friends" was planning to help me, and which one was planning to destroy me?
Because increasingly, I was beginning to think they might be the same person.