The sun wasn't harsh today — soft gold washed over the quiet, well-groomed park tucked behind a row of luxury apartments. A fountain bubbled in the center, children laughed in the distant play area, and the paved walking paths looked freshly swept.
It was the kind of place where wealth lived quietly. Where people didn't brag — they breathed money.
And Ava walked like she belonged here.
Vera had picked the location. Ava, though jittery, was determined. This was lesson number two: emotional mirroring and vulnerability play.
"This place is perfect," Vera whispered next to her as they walked, scanning. "People here are rich, sheltered, and stressed. They break easy."
Ava swallowed, nerves sparking. "And we're starting today."
"You said you wanted to," Vera replied. "Just don't force it. Let the right person fall into place. Feel the moment."
They didn't wait long.
A boy sat alone on a bench near the fountain. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Hair still messy in that I tried to fix my life but my life won way. Designer sneakers, expensive watch, posture slumped. Lips moving silently like he was repeating something to himself. An envelope sat beside him, half-open.
Ava saw it first. College acceptance letter — and a financial document right under it. A large fund amount stared up from the edge.
Vera's voice was barely a breath. "There's your first option."
Ava inhaled deeply. I can do this.
She forced her heartbeat to slow and walked over, smooth and casual. She sat at the opposite end of his bench — close enough to be noticed, far enough to not alarm him.
A moment passed.
The boy let out a frustrated sigh, fingers digging into his hair. "I'm screwed."
Ava glanced at him, careful, soft.
"You look like you're trying really hard not to scream."
He blinked, startled, then gave an awkward laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."
Silence. Let him talk — that's what Vera taught.
"It's stupid," he muttered. "Everyone else in my class did better than me. My parents think I'm supposed to go to college and suddenly become some genius. But I barely got through my finals. I don't know anything. I don't even know what I want."
His voice cracked. He looked away quick, embarrassed.
Ava leaned forward slightly — posture open, empathetic.
"I know exactly how that feels."
He looked at her. Really looked.
"You do?"
"Yeah. I had a college fund too." Her voice softened. "Everyone expected me to follow some perfect path. But I… couldn't. I didn't fit. I felt like I was disappointing everyone."
The boy nodded slowly, like she had plucked a string inside him.
"So what did you do?" he whispered.
Ava smiled, gentle but confident — like someone who had survived something he was drowning in.
"I invested mine," she said. "Started something with it. I didn't waste time pretending I was someone I wasn't."
His eyes widened. "You did?"
"Best decision of my life." She kept her tone secure, controlled. "Now I don't have to work unless I choose to. I built a foundation instead of chasing expectations."
The boy blinked at her like she had just handed him a map out of hell.
"And you… you think I could do something like that?"
Ava didn't answer immediately. She let silence work for her — it made her seem thoughtful, wise.
"Yes," she finally said. "If you want your future in your hands instead of someone else's."
His breath stuttered. Hope stabbed through him — raw, desperate.
"What did you invest in?"
"A private, vetted growth fund," Ava replied smoothly. "Secure. Steady return. It works for people like us — people who don't want to waste years wandering."
She didn't ask for money.
She just let him imagine giving it.
"I don't know anything about business though," he whispered. "I'll fail."
"No," she said softly. "You'll learn. And you won't be alone."
That was the final push. He swallowed, pulled his phone out with trembling fingers.
"How… how would I start?"
Ava pretended to hesitate. "Are you sure?"
He nodded hard.
She gave him the account details Vera prepared — "the mentorship fund".
Neutral, non-threatening name.
His fingers hovered, shaking. "This… is everything. My parents gave it to me yesterday. They said it was my chance to prove I'm not a failure." His throat tightened. "I don't want to prove them right."
Ava leaned in, voice quiet but firm.
"Then don't."
One click.
Transfer complete.
It was done.
He blew out a breath that sounded like he'd been underwater.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Seriously. Thank you. You saved me."
Ava forced a comforting smile. "No. You saved yourself."
He left looking hopeful, like a weight had lifted.
The moment he disappeared, Ava exhaled so sharply she nearly choked.
Vera stepped out from behind a tree, eyes wide.
"That was…" She shook her head, half disbelief, half awe. "Ava, you did that in under forty-five minutes."
Ava's pulse thudded, adrenaline still burning. "Yeah."
"You didn't even ask him for anything." Vera's voice was low, impressed but unsettled. "He offered. Do you know how rare that is?"
Ava smiled faintly. "Guess I have a talent."
Vera swallowed, emotion twisting across her face.
Pride. Fear. Maybe jealousy.
"You're dangerous," she whispered. "In a way most people could only pray to be."
Ava didn't answer.
But deep inside, something flickered — not guilt, never guilt — but power. Confidence. The realization she could do this. She could do it better than anyone.
And she wasn't going back.