The next day, I couldn't think about anything else.
The black card burned in my pocket like it wanted to remind me my life had already tilted off balance.
I had never been offered a contract by a thirty-two-year-old CEO, and yet… her world ran on simple logic: if she wants something, she gets it.
Classes felt absurd that morning. I looked at the board, but all I saw was her calm face — that gaze that never judges, only analyzes.
"Yvan?"
The teacher pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Uh… yes?"
"Focus on the problem. You seem… somewhere else."
The remark hit like a hammer. I went back to the equations. Each one felt both too easy and completely useless.
The bus was waiting outside. It had never felt so slow. Every light, every tree, every pedestrian seemed to be mocking me.
I didn't even want to talk to anyone. And still… I had to decide.
Forty-eight hours. Then the offer expired.
I replayed the scene in the car. Her words:
You're interesting. You don't look at me like a bank. I pay for your time.
Interesting? I felt clumsy, exhausted, and barely in control of my own life.
"You going?"
Lucas's voice made me jump.
"Going where?"
"To your 'meeting' with the CEO. Seriously, everyone's already talking about it in the class group chat."
"I didn't sign anything…"
"Yeah, but you know she doesn't joke around. Even second-year interns who earn way more than you end up saying yes."
I tightened my grip around the black card. Its glossy surface reflected the bus lights. This was real. All of it.
"…Okay."
"Okay what?"
"I… I'm going."
Lucas nodded — half amused, half worried.
The address was a penthouse in the most expensive district in the city.
The door opened before I even touched the bell.
"You're punctual."
Elena stood there, perfectly still. Effortless. As if she had expected this exact moment.
"I… guess I should thank you for last night?"
"It wasn't a favor," she said calmly.
"…Right."
She gestured for me to enter. The interior was wide, minimalist, luxurious — every object seemed to measure my insignificance and my opportunity at the same time.
"I will explain the contract," she said. "Sit."
I sat on a white couch. My heart was racing like I'd run a marathon.
"First," she said, "your schedule. You will reduce your restaurant hours. I will cover the rest of your school expenses. You will sleep more. I don't want you collapsing."
"I… I haven't signed anything yet…"
"Correct. You can still refuse. But if you accept, you follow my rules. Full availability, discretion, discipline. No questions about my private business."
"Discipline…?" I murmured.
"Respect for the time we spend together. Nothing more. Nothing less."
She paused and looked straight into my eyes. Her gaze weighed more than a building.
"Second… your role."
"…Role?"
"You will stand at my side. Events. Dinners. Private meetings."
"Like an… assistant?"
"No. Someone I chose."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand. Why me?"
"Because you are different. You're not interested in my money — but you're not naïve either. You survive. You observe. You adapt."
"…Thanks?"
"Think carefully, Yvan. The offer expires in less than twenty-four hours."
I went back home. My apartment looked like a student dorm, not a palace. After seeing her penthouse, everything here felt smaller, cheaper, louder.
I stared at the black card.
My brain looped:
Accept? Refuse? Accept? Refuse?
My phone vibrated. Unknown message:
"Tomorrow at noon. If you don't come, the offer is canceled."
I looked up. I had classes. I had work tonight. I needed sleep. I needed stability.
And yet… I already knew I would be there.
The next day at noon, I knocked on her door.
It opened before I pressed the bell.
"Good," she said. "You chose."
My heartbeat went wild. I still hadn't signed anything.
But I had crossed a line.
I had become the chosen one.
She smiled slightly — barely — but in her eyes I saw a spark I would never forget.
"Let's begin with your first official dinner," she said softly.
"And believe me — you won't walk out unchanged."