The notice was waiting for me when I got back to my dorm room.
FINAL WARNING.
I read it twice, then a third time, even though the words didn't change. My tuition balance was overdue, and if I didn't pay within seven days, I would be withdrawn from the university. No appeals. No mercy.
No appeals. No mercy.
The paper trembled in my hands as I lowered it to my lap. Around me, the dorm room felt suddenly too small, the peeling paint and flickering light a reminder of how far I had stretched myself just to be here. I had chosen the cheapest room, the oldest building, the one no one else wanted. Now even that felt like a luxury I was about to lose.
Seven days.
I let out a slow breath, counting under my breath the way I always did when panic threatened to take over. One… two… three. It didn't help. The number stayed the same. The amount on the notice stayed the same. And my bank balance—
I didn't need to check. I already knew.
Empty.
My phone buzzed on the bed beside me and for one reckless second, hope flared. Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe someone had finally replied to one of the dozens of job applications I had sent out.
It wasn't.
Mum: Have you eaten today?
My throat tightened. I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the screen. She always knew. Even from miles away, she somehow knew when I was struggling.
Yes…I typed then deleted it.
I will…I typed instead and hit send before guilt could stop me.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. I had skipped breakfast to save money. Skipped lunch too. Dinner would probably be instant noodles again…if I even bothered. Hunger was easier to manage than fear.
What I couldn't manage was the shame.
I had promised myself I wouldn't beg. Not again. I had taken on extra shifts at the café, stayed up late studying, lived on coffee and determination. I had done everything right…or at least everything I was supposed to do.
And it still wasn't enough.
A sharp knock echoed down the hallway, followed by laughter from other students. Life went on for everyone else. Classes. Parties. Plans. For me, everything had narrowed down to a single piece of paper and a deadline that felt like a countdown to failure.
I pushed myself up and crossed the room opening my laptop. The screen glowed as I refreshed my email for the tenth time in an hour. Rejection. Rejection. No response.
My jaw tightened.
I wasn't giving up. Not yet.
If the university wouldn't wait then I would find the money myself. Somehow. Even if it meant swallowing my pride completely.
I grabbed my jacket, shoving the notice into my bag. There was one place left I hadn't tried…one interview I had almost talked myself out of because I knew I didn't belong there.
The Blackstone Hotel.
Just thinking about it made my stomach twist. Luxury like that didn't exist in my world. People like me didn't walk through those doors unless we were cleaning them.
But desperation had a way of rewriting rules.
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin and stepped out of the dorm room, locking the door behind me.
Seven days.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, fingers shaking. I had worked double shifts, skipped meals, swallowed my pride…none of it had been enough.
The Blackstone Hotel rose from the street like something out of another world.
I stopped at the curb, staring up at the glass façade that reflected the evening sky, all polished steel and quiet confidence. People moved in and out of the revolving doors with effortless ease…men in tailored suits, women in heels that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
I smoothed down my jacket, suddenly painfully aware of every loose thread and faded seam. It was clean. That was the most I could say for it. Clean and worn thin by too many hopeful interviews that had gone nowhere.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented, a sharp contrast to the noise and heat outside. My footsteps sounded too loud against the marble floor as I stepped into the lobby, clutching my bag like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
A chandelier glimmered overhead. Soft music played somewhere I couldn't see. Everything whispered money.
I approached the front desk, forcing my shoulders back.
"I'm here for an interview," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
The receptionist glanced at me, then at her screen. Her expression shifted…polite, but distant. "Name?"
I told her. She nodded once and gestured toward the seating area. "Please wait."
I sat.
Minutes stretched. My pulse ticked louder with every passing second. I watched people walk by, confident, important, untouched by worries like overdue tuition and final warnings. This was their world. I was just passing through it.
Then the atmosphere changed.
I didn't notice it at first…not consciously. Just a subtle shift. Conversations lowered. Movement slowed. Heads turned.
I looked up.
He was crossing the lobby with long, unhurried strides, flanked by men who clearly worked for him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a dark suit that fit him like it had been made for no one else. He didn't smile. Didn't need to.
Power clung to him effortlessly.
His gaze swept the room and landed on me.
For a split second, something sharp flickered in his eyes. Appraisal. Calculation. Then his attention moved on, like I had already been dismissed.
My stomach tightened.
I had no idea who he was.
But somehow, I knew my life was about to change.