The chandelier above the lecture hall glimmered like a sky full of diamonds. Each crystal reflected laughter sharp, polished, expensive.
Valeria kept her gaze on the nameplate before her: "Full Scholarship – V". The only plate in the room stamped with a reminder that she didn't belong.
"Look at that," a honey-sweet voice floated from behind. "Our charity case made it to Strategy 101. I hope the poor thing knows what a balance sheet looks like."
Laughter rippled.
Valeria tightened her grip on her pen. Don't react. Her fingers smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant remnants from last night's café shift.
Professor Langford entered, immaculate in a charcoal suit. "Good morning, heirs and heiresses. Today we'll discuss market positioning. You'll form teams and present a pitch by tomorrow."
A collective groan.
Beside Valeria, a manicured hand shot up. "Professor, surely grades for this project can't depend on someone who's never seen a real company?"
Langford's brow arched. "Miss Chantel?"
"Yes, sir." The girl flipped her glossy hair. "It's unfair to group me with someone who's only read about brands instead of owning them."
A few chuckles. Someone whispered, "The café girl."
Heat crawled up Valeria's neck. She opened her notebook. "Professor," she said evenly, "I may not own a company, but I've worked in three actually paying the bills when your inheritance can't. That's practical experience."
The room stilled.
Chantel's smirk faltered. "So defensive. Did I hit a nerve?"
Valeria turned, eyes calm but voice edged like glass. "No. Just wondering if your perfume brand can cover the stench of entitlement."
A sharp "ooh" sliced through the silence. Langford coughed to hide a smile. "Enough. Miss Chantel, Valeriab you'll share a team. Let's see whose strategy wins."
After class, whispers followed Valeria down the marbled corridor.
"Did you hear? She's working part-time again."
"Probably cleaning tables."
"She should thank Chantel for giving her attention."
She shoved open the rooftop door and let cold wind hit her face. Below, black cars lined the driveway names of dynasties engraved on each license plate. Her whole life fit into a second-hand tote bag.
She pulled out a tiny notebook labelled Dream Formula #1.
Inside were crude sketches lip balm tubes, organic tints, cost breakdowns. Every spare dollar from her shifts went into this dream. One day, she'd own her own brand. One day, those girls would wear her products without knowing it.
Her phone buzzed. Message from Professor Langford:
"Tomorrow's guest evaluator for the project: Adrian De Vere Leone, CEO of De Vere Lux Holdings. Prepare yourselves."
Valeria's breath caught. The Adrian Leone? The man whose empire spanned finance, couture, and space tech? Everyone whispered about him cold, untouchable, a presence that could freeze a boardroom with a single glance.
The staff were already busy preparing the hall. Luxury sedans would roll in tomorrow, security lines would form, and students were buzzing about who might impress him. Valeria leaned on the railing, staring at the courtyard below. She didn't need to see him yet. Tomorrow, she'd meet the storm and she intended to stand tall.
Let them have their thrones.
She had work to do.