Thursday afternoon rolled around, bringing with it a gray, drizzly sky that matched the mood in the library.
I sat at a corner table on the third floor, my notes spread out. I wasn’t nervous. A week ago, the idea of sitting alone with Claire Montgory would have made sweat through my shirt. Now, I was just checking my watch, hoping she wouldn’t be late so I could get to the gym before it got crowded.
At 3:05 PM, she hurried in. She looked frazzled—hair slightly damp from the rain, clutching a coffee cup like a lifeline.
"I am so sorry," she breathed, dropping her bag onto the chair opposite . "The line at the café was insane, and then I couldn’t find my ID, and—"
"It’s fine," I said, cutting off the spiral. "Sit down, and catch your breath first."
She sank into the chair, exhaling a long breath. She looked at , really looked at , and her shoulders dropped an inch.
"You’re really calm about this," she said. "Most guys... they get weird when I’m late. Or they try to buy coffee."
"I’m not most guys," I said simply. "And I already have coffee." I tapped my thermos. "Let’s see the damage. Where did Aris lose you?"
She pulled out her midterm. It was a bloodbath of red ink.
"Everywhere," she admitted, sliding it across the table. "Supply and demand curves make sense. But once he starts talking about elasticity and marginal utility... my brain just shuts off."
I looked over the paper. It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart; she was just overthinking the concepts.
"Okay," I said, grabbing a blank sheet of paper. "Forget the textbook definitions. Think about it like... concert tickets."
"Concert tickets?"
"Yeah. If Taylor Swift cos to town, how much are you willing to pay?"
"Whatever it takes," she said instantly.
"Exactly. Perfectly inelastic demand. But if it’s a local band you kind of like, and the tickets are fifty bucks?"
"I’d probably pass."
"Elastic demand. Price goes up, you bail." I started drawing the curves. "Aris makes it sound like math, but it’s just human behavior. It’s about what people want and how badly they want it."
Claire watched draw, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, it cleared.
"Wait," she said, pointing at the graph. "So the steeper the line..."
"...the more desperate the buyer," I finished.
She looked up at , a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Oh my god. That actually makes sense."
"See? You’re not bad at this, you just needed to view it from a different perspective."
We worked for another forty minutes. It was... normal. Pleasant, even. The pedestal I had put her on for years crumbled completely. She wasn’t a goddess. She was just a girl who chewed on her pen when she was thinking and worried about her GPA.
[Social Connection Deepened]
[Claire’s Respect: 15]
[Status: Ally]
"You’re really good at this," she said, closing her notebook. "You should be a TA."
"I don’t have the patience for grading," I said, packing up my things.
"Well, you had patience for ." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Hey, a bunch of us are going to grab pizza later. To celebrate surviving the week. You should co."
The invitation hung in the air. It was casual, friendly. The kind of thing I used to dream about.
But then my phone buzzed on the table.
Sofia: Vanguard settled. We got the IP rights. Champagne at my place. 8 PM.
I looked at the text, then back at Claire.
"I can’t," I said. "I have plans."
Claire’s smile faltered, just for a second. "Oh. With... the girl from the other day?"
I hadn’t told her about Sofia. I hadn’t told anyone. But people talked.
"Yeah," I said. "Sothing like that."
"She must be special," Claire said, trying to keep her tone light. "You never used to be this... busy."
"I didn’t think you noticed," I said, standing up. "Study those curves, Claire. You’ll ace the final."
"Thanks, Jake. Really."
I walked away, leaving her at the table. I didn’t feel a pang of regret. I felt relief.
...
The transition from the library to Sofia’s penthouse was jarring, as always.
One minute I was explaining supply and demand to a sorority girl; the next, I was stepping out of an elevator into a room that slled of expensive candles and victory.
Sofia was waiting for . She was wearing a black dress that looked simple but probably cost more than my car. She held two flutes of champagne.
"To the Singapore deal," she said, handing a glass.
"To the Singapore deal," I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.
We drank. The champagne was crisp, cold.
"Thorne is furious," she said, her eyes gleaming. "He called personally. Accused of corporate espionage."
"Did you tell him it was just a college kid who reads the footnotes?"
She laughed, stepping closer. She set her glass down on the side table and placed her hands on my chest.
"I told him nothing," she murmured. "You’re my secret weapon, Jake. I’m not sharing you."
"Good."
She kissed , tasting of champagne. It was a celebration, yes, but there was an edge to it. A hunger.
"I got you sothing," she whispered against my lips.
"You already bought a watch."
"Not a watch." She pulled back, reaching for a small box on the table. "Open it."
I took the box. It was heavy, velvet. I opened it.
Inside was a key.
It wasn’t a car key. It was a sleek, modern key card, branded with the building’s logo.
"A key to the building?" I asked.
"A key to the penthouse," she corrected. "So you don’t have to wait for the doorman."
I stared at it. This wasn’t just access. This was trust. This was letting soone into the fortress.
"Sofia..."
"Don’t make it a big deal," she said quickly, a rare flash of vulnerability in her eyes. "It just makes sense. You’re here all the ti anyway."
I looked at her. The CEO who terrified her board. The woman who had just crushed a rival. She looked almost nervous.
I closed the box and put it in my pocket.
"Thank you," I said.
She let out a breath she’d been holding. "Good. Now co here."
...
Later that night, while Sofia was in the shower, I stood on the balcony, looking out at the city. The key card felt heavy in my pocket.
I had everything I thought I wanted. Money. Status. The girl.
But the System wasn’t quiet.
[Mission Update: Social Hierarchy Ascension]
[Progress: 15%]
[Warning: Discrepancy Detected]
I frowned. Discrepancy?
[Your worlds are colliding.]
[Risk of Exposure: Moderate]
I looked down at the street below.
My phone buzzed. It wasn’t Sofia. It wasn’t Ethan.
It was a notification from the university’s anonymous gossip app, The Chirp. Everyone used it. Usually, it was trash—who hooked up with who, which frat threw the best party.
But this post was trending.
"Who is the mystery guy dating Sofia Aldridge? Spotted at Velour. Spotted at Le Jardin. Spotted leaving her building at 8 AM. Is he a student?"
Attached was a blurry photo. Taken from across the street.
It was . Leaving her building this morning.
My face was grainy, but recognizable if you knew .
I stared at the screen.
Claire knew . Ethan knew . Brad knew .
The "Invisible Male" wasn’t invisible anymore.
And if people found out a scholarship student was dating the city’s most powerful CEO...
I wasn’t just going to be popular.
I was going to be a target.
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