Chapter 3The Titans Most Valuable Investment

Three days later, I moved out of the cramped dorm room and into a sprawling penthouse suite in the heart of the city.

The space was stripped of distractions. It had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a state-of-the-art laptop, and three elite private tutors on standby.

Every morning at six sharp, I woke up to listen to global financial news.

At eight, the grueling, boot-camp-style lectures began.

The afternoons were dedicated to high-pressure mock interviews and ruthless dissections of corporate case studies.

And every night, without fail, I reported my daily progress to G.

His replies were always surgical. Sometimes it was a simple Read, and other times it was a long, cutting paragraph that dismantled the flaws in my logic.

He really was like a strict headmaster, using immense pressure to completely rewire the way my brain worked.

But the cold, clinical text on the screen never made me feel belittled. Instead, a thrilling rush of adrenaline coursed through me.

So, this was how the apex predators operated. No sugar-coating. Only competence mattered.

One morning, G sent me a rare message.

[You've made significant strides recently. Take half the day off.]

A compliment.

I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from lifting.

I decided to swing by the campus to grab a few reference books I had left behind. The moment I pushed open the dorm room door, I collided head-on with Keeley.

She was dripping in designer labels, a luxury bag hooked over her forearm, practically radiating smugness.

She eyed my plain white T-shirt and let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Well, if it isn't the valedictorian. What happened? Did your creepy old sugar daddy finally dump you?"

"No, he's actually been tutoring me," I replied honestly.

"Tutoring you? Oh my god, hilarious."

She threw her head back, laughing like I had just told the joke of the century.

"Maeve, is your brain rotting? A broke loser you met on the internet who can't even afford to buy you a decent gift—what could he possibly teach you?

"How to survive on five hundred bucks a month?"

She poked the spine of my textbook with her freshly manicured acrylic nail.

"Trent is stepping up as Vice President at his dad's firm next month. He promised to set me up with a cushy, no-show job.

"I'd advise you to wake up to reality. Working hard is for ugly girls; marrying well is the real career. What's the point of burying your nose in these stupid books? You're still going to end up a corporate slave, eating dirt like everyone else."

I sidestepped her hand, my voice perfectly level. "Everyone has their own path. Five hundred dollars is fine. Working is fine."

If this is what 'eating dirt' feels like, I want to eat it for the rest of my life.

Right on cue, the 'female lead's' presence agitated the scrolling comments:

[If Keeley knew she just threw away a billionaire titan, she would literally throw up!]

[Wait, is she actually the female lead? Why is she acting like such a cartoonish villain? She acts way more like a gold digger than the side character! I can't wait to see her face when the male lead comes back and puts her in her place.]

[Shut up, traitor! The male lead belongs to the female lead, that's the law of the genre!]

[Just watch. When the time comes, the male lead is going to strip Maeve of all these resources and leave her in the gutter!]

I completely ignored the text, grabbed my books, and walked out.

Strip me of my resources? Was he going to physically extract the knowledge from my brain?

Over the next two months, my progress was exponential.

And G's attitude toward me shifted in subtle ways.

It was no longer just one-way directives. Occasionally, in the dead of night, he would send a candid photo from an international site visit—a foggy London skyline or a blurry shot of a tarmac.