Chapter 8

It seemed that the professor had sensed the unease in Deidre's voice. After a moment, the warm, familiar tone of her mentor returned over the phone.

"There could still be a chance. Let me make a call and try to secure it for you."

Deidre had always been a top student. Even though she hadn't finished high school, she had been exempted from exams and directly enrolled in the prestigious university in Salve City, completing both her undergraduate and master's degrees in one continuous stretch.

Her mentor, who had always kept a close eye on such promising talent, was not one to let someone like Deidre miss out on such an opportunity.

"Thank you. I'll wait for your call," Deidre said, her fingers tightening around the phone, turning pale as she bit down hard on her lower lip. Her heart pounded, the anxiety spreading like fire.

She waited for an answer.

It could be a chance at heaven or a fall into hell.

Each second dragged on painfully, like she was being fried alive in a pan. She gripped her phone, staring at the screen, willing it to bring some resolution.

Finally, the screen lit up. It was a call from her mentor. With a nervous breath, Deidre answered.

"Good news," came the professor's voice. "A spot's available, and it's yours. Deidre, cherish this opportunity. Remember, no matter what others do, your future is yours to hold in your hands. That's the safest bet."

Tears welled up in Deidre's eyes, and she started to cry, her joy so overwhelming that it spilled out of her like a river. She bit her lip, trying to control her shaking voice, and spoke each word slowly and deliberately. "Thank you... Thank you, Professor."

"Alright, we'll talk later. I've got a lecture to begin."

The screen darkened as the call ended, and Deidre, eyes still brimming with tears, looked out the window.

Through her blurred vision, she could make out the faint blue sky, the soft white clouds.

The vast expanse of the heavens stretched out before her.

There was a way after all. The road had not been completely closed off.

…

Time passed swiftly. Seven years slipped by unnoticed.

In Zemenia City, a bustling commercial hub neighboring Salve City, the evening descended, and the lights flickered on in their dazzling array.

In the heart of this prime real estate stood the prestigious Wilton Grand Hotel, a symbol of high society, where the city's elite gathered for their business soirées.

Outside the hotel, a barrier of security personnel kept the press at bay, forcing the journalists to crane their necks, helplessly watching the spectacle from a distance.

This particular business banquet, however, was by invitation only.

Among the luxury cars parked outside, one stood out above the rest: a limited-edition Rolls-Royce, the kind that only the ultra-wealthy could afford. Its gleaming body spun gracefully before coming to a halt right in front of the hotel, catching the attention of all those gathered.

The door to the driver's side opened, and the man who emerged was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the kind that made his figure appear long and sharp. He pushed up his rimless glasses, and his finely chiseled face caught the light, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. His eyes shimmered behind the lenses, and the sight instantly drew gasps of admiration from the women in the crowd.

"That's Micah Landon from the Landon Group in Salve City, isn't it?"

"He's even more handsome and refined in person than in his photos!"

Micah glanced around, his gaze cool and detached, masking a momentary flicker of impatience. A smile, barely perceptible, touched his lips as he adjusted the buttons of his suit jacket, walking swiftly around the car to open the door to the passenger side.

A slender, pale hand emerged from the car, resting lightly on Micah's arm as a woman gracefully stepped out.

Her custom-made gown, an extravagant piece from this season's collection, hugged her slender form. She smiled as she looked up, her face radiant with the kind of poise that made everyone around her hold their breath.

The man was elegant, the woman, stunning.

They were the perfect picture of grace and beauty, drawing all eyes.

"Look! A limited-edition extended Lincoln! My goodness!"

The crowd's attention quickly shifted from Micah and the woman beside him to the new arrival.

Micah, too, turned his gaze in response to the sound.

Soon, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the luxury car.

As he looked closer, Micah recognized the man immediately—Connor Halls, the young heir to the Halls family from a country called Milwarke.

But just as quickly, Micah's gaze turned to one of astonishment.

Standing by the car, the distinguished and handsome man offered a gentlemanly smile, bending slightly as he extended his hand.

From the extended Lincoln, a graceful woman emerged. Her delicate arm raised, her soft hand resting in Connor's as she descended.

Her gown, a hand-crafted European design, clung to her figure, accentuating every curve, while the blue fabric highlighted her fair skin.

The simple pearl necklace around her neck caught the light, and Micah—being an expert in jewelry design—immediately recognized it: a rare, limited-edition piece by renowned European designer Laire, a treasure impossible to acquire.

But all Micah could feel was shock, as the woman's appearance completely stole his attention.

How could it be her?

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd as people wondered about the identity of this poised and beautiful woman.

Micah's gaze finally fixed on her face, her flawless features, the delicate oval of her face framed by perfect makeup.