Melanie stood outside the massive, soundproof double doors of the Northwood Lecture Hall, the "mandatory" email still burned onto her retina. It was 7:55 AM. She felt underdressed in her carefully chosen blazer, overheated with anxiety, and profoundly, terrifyingly alone.
"Deep breaths, Mel," a voice chirped behind her. It was Chloe, looking impossibly polished and completely unfazed in a tailored, dove-gray suit jacket. "You look like you're about to take a final, not listen to a finance god speak."
"This is worse than a final," Mel mumbled, her voice strained. "This is the Kallen Capital Pitch Session. My scholarship is tied to them. Literally."
Chloe's usually bright eyes widened, a rare, momentary crack in her boundless confidence. "Wait, seriously? The Kallen Scholarship? Oh, honey. That's a whole different level of high-stakes. People literally sell their souls to get into that program." She paused, then recovered with a forced, practiced smile. "Well, good thing you have me. Let's go watch the shark feed."
Melanie numbly followed her inside.
The lecture hall had been completely transformed. The student seating had been entirely cleared. Instead, about fifty nervous-looking business students were clustered near the back, facing a single, raised podium at the front. The room felt cold, sterile, and silent, the air vibrating with suppressed panic.
And then she saw him.
He wasn't standing on the podium. Rhys Kallen was leaning against a black marble table in the center of the room, one hand resting on a stack of glossy documents. He was taller than she had expected, wearing a dark grey suit that looked less like clothing and more like tailor-made armor. Every line of his body conveyed a total lack of effort combined with absolute, concentrated power.
His profile matched the photo Sam had shown them, but the image hadn't captured the sheer, cold intensity of his presence. He was the center of gravity in the room, drawing all the air and light to himself.
His eyes—the cold, dark eyes of the "shark"—swept over the group, resting on each student for exactly one second. When they settled on Mel, a flicker of something sharp and assessing, so fast she might have imagined it, passed through them before they moved on.
"Good morning," his voice was deep, cutting through the silence with the precision of a scalpel. He didn't raise it; the microphone simply amplified its undeniable authority. "Welcome to the real world. My name is Rhys Kallen, and I do not waste time."
He bypassed all pleasantries. He held up a thick packet of paper. "This is your course project: A comprehensive pitch for an emerging market investment. It's due in three weeks. Fail to deliver a professional product, and you fail my masterclass. Fail the masterclass, and you may find your academic future... reassessed."
Mel's hands began to tremble. Reassessed. It was a soft word for a hard consequence: losing her scholarship, her reason for being here.
Rhys placed the packet back down and finally pushed off the table, taking a slow, predatory step toward the students.
"For those of you on the Kallen Capital Scholarship," he continued, his gaze—and Mel was certain now—resting directly on her, "the expectations are higher. You are not here to observe. You are here because I see potential. You are indebted to that potential. And that debt is due in full."
He didn't need to specify what "in full" meant. It meant total commitment, total success, and zero excuses. Mel felt the collective weight of her father's anxiety, Jenna's skepticism, and Chloe's fascination all crashing down on her at once.
He gave the group one last, penetrating stare, a challenge, a warning, and a promise all rolled into one cold expression. "Now, get your packets and get out. You have three weeks. I look forward to being impressed."
As students nervously rushed forward to grab the materials, Chloe squeezed Mel's arm. "Intense," she whispered, her voice tight with a strange mix of palpable fear and thrilling excitement. "The man is truly intense."
But Mel couldn't move. She could only stare at the remaining papers on the polished marble table, unable to force her feet forward to claim the document that now held the fate of her future. Rhys Kallen had just put a tangible, non-negotiable price tag on her dreams.