Chapter 1Funding the Flame

I once had a secret, hidden relationship with Roman Pierce.

He paid for my tuition, and I slept in his bed.

Later, he told me he was at the age where he wanted to get married and have kids.

So, I unilaterally ended things.

Years later, we met again. I was accompanying my academic advisor to pitch him for a research investment.

After a few too many drinks, I pinched his face and drunkenly ran my mouth:

"I have money now. Here’s two thousand bucks. Let me top you just once!"

Everyone else froze in sheer panic, scrambling to explain:

"Mr. Pierce, he’s just wasted and talking nonsense! He really doesn't like men!"

"Yeah, exactly! My senior colleague here has a girlfriend. They’re super serious."

He just stared at me, a smirk playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, really?"

* * *

Professor Miller had dragged us out to another networking dinner.

All the way there, he wouldn't stop nagging us:

"You kids, when I tell you to drink, you drink. When I tell you to talk, you talk. Stay sharp, all of you."

A couple of the younger grad students grumbled quietly:

"We’re researchers, not escorts..."

Word on the street was that tonight’s investor didn't have much of a formal education. Apparently, he’d made his fortune scraping by in the gritty underworld years ago before hitting it big.

The self-made, uncultured tycoons were always the worst at these dinner tables. We academics absolutely dreaded this part of the job.

"Do you think I enjoy throwing away my dignity?" Professor Miller snapped. "Our research grants are gone. How am I supposed to support you guys? If we don't land this investment, I’ll have no choice but to cut your stipends and send you back to basic lab work."

The van went dead silent.

Everyone knew Miller wasn't having it easy either. With the funding pulled, he was more desperate than anyone.

We arrived at the private dining room. Soon, the heavy door was pushed open.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Professor Miller."

A deep, low baritone cut through the air.

It immediately sparked whispers among the junior researchers:

"I thought they said he was some uncultured thug? How is he this young and hot?"

"God, his aura is insane..."

I lifted my head, completely dazed.

Five years. It was an encounter I was wholly unprepared for.

Roman Pierce had changed significantly.

He’d shed the jagged, reckless edge of his youth, dressed now in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit. Yet, the untamed wildness between his brows remained, only now it was tempered, making him seem heavier, more formidable.

My advisor scrambled to his feet:

"Mr. Pierce! A pleasure, truly a pleasure. These are my brightest doctoral candidates."

Roman offered a curt nod and took the seat of honor at the head of the table. His gaze swept coldly over us.

Miller shot us a look, and we all stood up to toast him.

The female grad students who had been complaining moments ago were now practically tripping over themselves:

"Mr. Pierce, a toast to you. It’s inspiring to see someone so young achieve so much."

"Mr. Pierce, we are really looking forward to working with you."

I shrank back into the corner, lowering my head as far as it would go.

"Mr. Pierce, this is Asher Blake, my star PhD student," Miller announced, calling me out specifically.

"Asher, don't just stand there. Come toast Mr. Pierce."

I stood up rigidly. I picked up my glass, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Good evening, Mr. Pierce."

He just sat there. He didn't raise his glass. He just watched me in silence.

Advisor Miller tried to smooth over the awkwardness:

"This one is a bit of a wallflower. Usually just buries his head in his textbooks. Not much of a talker."

Roman’s gaze landed on my face, slowly tracing my features inch by inch.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his tone measured and slow:

"Loving to study... is a good thing."

Miller quickly seized the opening: "Absolutely! Asher has been with me since his undergrad years. His capability is unquestionable. To be honest with you, Mr. Pierce, our project data is incredibly promising, it's just the capital..."

He shot me a pointed look.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look up and meet his stare:

"Mr. Pierce, our data is solid, and the market applications are broad. If you are willing to invest..."

He let out a short scoff, cutting me off instantly:

"Mr. Blake, I am a businessman. I only care about a beneficial exchange of interests."

The phrase "exchange of interests" pierced through me like a knife.

Right. An exchange of interests.

In the past, he gave me money, and I slept with him.

Now, I had an education, but I still had to beg him for money.