The night had barely passed when the world began to move again the powerful plotting from their mansions, and the ordinary rushing for survival.
Valeria woke before dawn, the faint chill of the Boston morning seeping through the cracks in her apartment window. Her alarm buzzed weakly beside her, the same one she'd bought second-hand from a thrift store two years ago.
She rubbed her temples and exhaled. Another long day classes, research, café shift, and a late-night delivery job.
"Just one more month," she whispered to herself. "One more month, and I can buy the new laptop battery."
Her stomach grumbled. She ignored it, packed her worn satchel, and headed for her morning shift at the café near the campus gates.
The bell above the door jingled as she walked in.
"Morning, Val!" the manager called, flipping pancakes at the counter. "You're early again."
"Habit," Valeria smiled faintly, tying her apron. "Morning rush will start soon. I'll prep the coffee."
But as she worked, whispers drifted through the café like low currents.
"Did you hear?"
"About yesterday?"
"They said he came to the campus—"
"The Adrian De Vere Leone."
Her hands froze mid-motion. Even the name made the air feel heavier.
"I heard he owns half the finance world," one girl said. "They say even professors bow when he enters a room."
Valeria bit her lip and focused on the steaming milk in front of her. She didn't want to remember that piercing gaze cold, analytical, terrifyingly intelligent.
Across the city, a sleek black limousine cut through the morning mist. Leonard sat opposite Adrian, a tablet in hand.
"Sir, about yesterday's presentation…"
Adrian didn't respond immediately. His eyes were on the skyline, pale sunlight glinting faintly against his watch.
Leonard cleared his throat. "The professors were impressed. The board is recommending one of the candidates from Harvard for an innovation grant. The same girl."
A pause.
Finally, Adrian's voice low, composed, perfectly measured. "Name?"
"Valeria," Leonard replied. "Top of her class in business analytics. Works multiple part-time jobs to afford tuition. Scholarship student. No family listed under emergency contacts."
Adrian's gaze flickered. "Background check?"
"Clean. No sponsors, no connections. She's… self-made, it seems."
"Self-made?" Adrian repeated quietly, the words lingering in the air.
"Yes, sir," Leonard confirmed.
The car fell silent again. The city blurred past. Adrian leaned back, his tone detached. "Send her portfolio to my office. I'll review it."
Leonard looked up, startled. "You'll review it personally?"
Adrian's eyes lifted from the window one look, cold and sharp enough to silence the question.
"Do I look like I repeat myself?"
Leonard immediately bowed his head. "Of course, sir."
But as the car glided through the city, Leonard couldn't shake the feeling there was something different in Adrian's voice. Something uncharacteristically human beneath that marble tone.
By noon, Harvard's halls buzzed like a beehive. The rumor had spread fast:
The De Vere Global Research Grant a rare opportunity that could change a student's life overnight.
At the café, Valeria poured cappuccinos with steady hands, trying not to listen.
"Apparently, the CEO himself might visit again," a student whispered.
"Are you kidding? Adrian De Vere Leone doesn't even visit his own subsidiaries!"
"Well, maybe he found a reason this time."
Laughter followed. Valeria exhaled slowly. A reason? What reason could someone like him have?
"Val!" her manager called. "Two caramel lattes for table three!"
She nodded, picked up the cups, and turned toward the counter only to freeze mid-step.
Because standing there tall, composed, and entirely out of place in a campus café was him.
Adrian De Vere Leone.
The chatter in the café died instantly. Students fell silent. Even the espresso machine seemed to hesitate.
Leonard trailed behind, tablet tucked under his arm, offering a polite nod. "Mr. Leone insisted on visiting personally, Miss Valeria."
Valeria blinked, momentarily stunned. "You—what—?"
Adrian's gaze fixed on her, cool and unreadable. "You work here."
She swallowed. "Yes, sir. Part-time."
He nodded once, eyes briefly lowering to the faint coffee stains on her apron a quiet contrast to her perfect composure the previous day. "Efficient," he murmured.
That single word. Low. Neutral. Yet it made her heart skip.
He accepted the cup she handed him his gloved fingers brushed against hers, cold and steady before he walked to the corner table and sat down without another glance.
Leonard offered an apologetic smile as he followed. "He doesn't talk much," he whispered.
"Noted," Valeria muttered, returning to the counter though she could feel it.
That gaze. Quiet. Heavy. Like he was studying her through invisible glass.
Half an hour passed before Adrian stood, finishing the last sip of his coffee. The entire café seemed to hold its breath.
He turned toward the counter once more. "Miss Valeria."
Her hands stilled. "Yes, sir?"
"You'll receive an email today. Be at the research building tomorrow. Nine sharp."
Her pulse spiked. "For… the grant?"
He didn't answer. Just one glance colder than ice, yet somehow burning before he turned and walked out, Leonard trailing silently behind.
The bell above the door chimed softly as they left.
And then the café erupted.
"Oh my god did you see that?"
"He talked to her!"
"She's the one for the grant!"
Valeria stood frozen for a moment, gripping the counter as if the floor might give way.
The man everyone in the business world feared the cold prince of the De Vere empire had come personally to speak to her.
And somewhere deep inside, under all her confusion and fatigue, something stirred not fear, not awe… but a quiet determination.
Whatever game this was, whatever reason had drawn Adrian De Vere Leone's attention to her she wasn't going to back down.
Not this time.
Far across the city, in a grand marble hallway, Chantel's heels clicked furiously as she descended the staircase of her mansion.
Her mother called after her, "Chantel, where are you going?"
"To campus," she said sharply. "I heard Adrian De Vere Leone showed up again."
Her father frowned. "Be careful, Chantel. That man isn't someone you trifle with."
She smirked, applying her lipstick in the mirror. "Oh, I don't intend to trifle with him. I intend to catch him."
And as her car door slammed shut, engines roaring down the hill the game that had only just begun was about to take a darker, sharper turn.