Chapter 1

"You were an exchange student too?" Kelvin Waters asked Corbyn Bloomberg. "Which university did you attend?"

Corbyn replied with the name of a university. Usually, whenever this university was brought up, people would always marvel and exclaim at how smart the students there were.

However, Kelvin only burst out laughing instead. "Oh, that one."

His reply was short and curt and sounded rather objective, with no negative connotations to it. But it felt like a slap to Corbyn's face.

Yet, Corbyn's plight went completely undetected by Dean Hoffman, even if he was just sitting right next to him.

Dean was wearing his usual suit-and-tie outfit, looking as smart as always without a single hair out of place. His face was perfectly sculptured, and he exuded class and elegance.

His presence was so great that it felt as if he was far superior to anyone who was with him, including his boyfriend, Corbyn.

Corbyn always thought that dating Dean was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him and that he didn't deserve to have Dean as his boyfriend. That was the good part of it.

Unfortunately, Corbyn wasn't the only person to think so. Everyone else also thought that Corbyn was extremely lucky to have Dean as his boyfriend.

In other words, they also thought that Corbyn didn't deserve to have Dean as his boyfriend.

Aside from Corbyn and Dean, the rest of the people seated at the table were some of Dean's colleagues. They were all financial elites, which sort of gave them the right to look down on other people with regular white-collared jobs.

Kelvin was the arrogant kind. He often made it obvious that he was looking down on other people. Meanwhile, the others at the table were slightly more polite and well-mannered.

"But however you look at it, Corey's university is still part of the Ivy Club," Sylvia Lambert said, speaking up for Corbyn.

The Ivy Club was a nickname for the top universities in Merunica. These universities were responsible for producing some of the best scholars in the world. And people involved in investment banking and international companies like them often talked about it.

In actual fact, Sylvia only brought it up to try and ease the tension and help Corbyn maintain his dignity.

Nonetheless, Kelvin wasn't willing to make things easier for Corbyn. He just chuckled and said, "Sylvia, you've got a terrible memory. Universities in the Ivy Club only include Starvard, Gale, Kingston, and Folumbia. All other universities don't count."

The organization where Dean and his colleagues worked only employed graduates from a select few target universities, which meant they were surrounded by the smartest people in the world all the time. However, that didn't mean these top graduates were close to each other.

On the contrary, it started a trend of alumni groups looking down on one another based on whichever foreign university they graduated from, just like a food chain.

For instance, graduates from Merunican universities would look down on graduates from Yingland, while graduates from Yinglish universities would look down on graduates from Cranton.

Graduates who studied abroad in Merunica were also divided into Ivy Club and non-Ivy Club allies, which were then further divided into groups from Starvard and Gale, and so on and so forth.

In short, they all just looked down on each other on the daily and were very obvious about their disdain.

However, Dean was usually always very focused at work, so things like his colleagues' disdain, arrogance, and competition just flew over his head. Still, this was also because he was actually at the very top of this "food chain".

Nobody dared to look down on him, and he never felt the need to look down on anybody. So, to him, this "food chain" was basically nonexistent.

Seeing that Corbyn was starting to look embarrassed, Jared Sinclair, another of Dean's colleagues, spoke up, trying to change the topic. "By the way, Corey, didn't you say you just returned home from studying abroad? What do you do now?"

"I'm a Yinglish teacher," Corbyn answered slowly.

It was now Jared's turn to be utterly embarrassed. And the reason was that he'd just made fun of foreign exchange graduates from unknown universities 20 minutes ago. He'd said, "Even those nobodies think they can teach Yinglish at home just because they graduated overseas."

Didn't that mean he'd just inadvertently poked fun at Corbyn?

Jared regretted ever saying that sentence aloud 20 minutes ago. He could only smile awkwardly and say, "Oh, that's good. That's not too bad."

Of course, Kelvin wasn't one to let an opportunity like that escape. He grabbed hold of Jared and teased, "That's not what you said earlier!"

Jared just pointed at the filet mignon on the table and said, "Why can't you just shut your trap even with such a good cut of beef in your mouth?"

He then cast Corbyn an apologetic look.

Corbyn smiled and nodded. He knew that Jared had nothing against him. Kelvin was the mean one who sincerely enjoyed his distress.

Still, Corbyn felt helpless and frustrated. It wasn't because of what Kelvin had said but rather because of what Dean hadn't said.

Kelvin had been poking fun at Corbyn nonstop ever since they sat down. Even Sylvia and Jared, whom Corbyn had only met for the first time today, kept trying to defend him from Kelvin.

Meanwhile, Dean hadn't said a single word in his defense, and he was sitting right next to him.

Corbyn couldn't help turning to look at Dean. The light reflected from the champagne-colored chandelier hanging above them, casting specks of light onto Dean's stoic and expressionless face. His lips were moving just slightly, as if he was mumbling something under his breath.

Had Dean not been in his suit and tie with his hair slicked back on his head, people would probably think he was reciting some sort of prayer. He was completely lost in his own little world, oblivious to anything and everything that was happening around him.

Corbyn finally understood Dean's silence. It was simply because he hadn't been listening to their conversation at all. Kelvin must have realized that too, which was why he kept stepping on Corbyn's tail over and over.

People close to Dean would know that he was happily doing calculations in his math genius of a head. However, only he would know what kind of calculations he was up to.

He could be analyzing stock trends, reviewing business transactions, or thinking up formulas for his latest math model. Or, he could also just be solving a random math question he chanced upon and took an interest in, not giving up until he'd managed to come to an answer.

People had all sorts of hobbies, after all. Some people liked dancing; some people liked singing. Meanwhile, Dean loved doing mental calculations.

He was extremely sensitive whenever it came to numbers. He was literally obsessed with them. If his brain suddenly decided to play number games with him, then Dean would most likely be unable to stop.

To others, Dean's hobby was weird. But Corbyn thought otherwise. To him, it was unique and endearing.

Corbyn could still remember his first date with Dean. Dean had also been completely spaced out. Back then, Corbyn had been trying to engage him in conversation and asked him a few questions, but he never got an answer.

Had it been someone else, Corbyn would have already left in a huff. But precisely because it was Dean, Corbyn couldn't help but get anxious and doubt himself instead. Did Dean perhaps find him boring?

He remained anxious for a long time before finally asking timidly, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Dean had then answered, "I'm calculating this restaurant's gross profits."

"What?" Corbyn had been stunned. "What do you mean?"

Dean had then looked at the counter and answered, "We've been sitting here for 30 minutes, and 15 tables have called for the bill. Let's say all of them have been ordering the lunch special, which would bring the total gross profits to 2250 dollars.

"This restaurant's lunch rush lasts for three hours, so we can multiply that figure by six, making it 13,500 dollars. Based on the general research I've done on the F&B industry, restaurants like this often make 30% of their total profits from the lunch rush hours alone.

"Of course, this is just an estimation and can't be taken as an accurate figure. We'd still need to take other factors into consideration. For example…"

Dean tapped on his phone and opened the weather forecast application.

"The weather forecast says that there's a high chance of rain tonight, and that will influence the turnout during the dinner rush. But then again, I've thought up a model back in the past when conducting similar research, and the formula for the probability is…"

Corbyn, who had never been good at math or numbers, felt like he was seeing stars.

Dean rarely talked. However, he wouldn't stop babbling if he could talk about math and calculations. Still, even though Dean kept talking numbers to him, it was useless to Corbyn if he couldn't understand a single word Dean said.

Corbyn would then feel conflicted, not knowing whether he should laugh or cry. Yet he still found it very adorable of Dean to do so.

Maybe it had something to do with how infatuated and heavily biased he was toward Dean.

Corbyn would probably bottle up Dean's farts to use as his cologne if he could.

…

After saying goodbye to Kelvin and the others, Corbyn wrapped his arm around Dean's and asked, "What were you thinking about during dinner? You never said a single word."

Corbyn suppressed himself and tried to sound as gentle as possible so it wouldn't seem like he was interrogating Dean on purpose.

Dean answered, "I was reviewing today's transactions."

"I see…"

Corbyn nodded in understanding. However, he couldn't help looking a little disappointed.

This was the first time Dean brought him out to meet his colleagues. However, he had spent at least 20 minutes staring off into space and being in his own little world.

By the time Dean finally came back to reality, the tension in the air had grown so thick one could cut through it with a knife. And yet, he still seemed oblivious to the situation.

Corbyn sighed. He was actually someone with a short fuse and a terrible temper. Had he met Kelvin at a different time and in a different situation, he would have roasted him so hard that Kelvin would never be able to come back from the dead.

But, whenever he was with Dean, Corbyn would have to play the part of being Dean's kind, sweet, gentle, and pitiful boyfriend. He had to be careful not to let Dean catch on to his act.

Still, that didn't mean Corbyn was going to let this topic pass without doing something about it.

He spoke in a pitiful voice, trying to pique Dean's attention as he asked, "Um, do you think that Kelvin doesn't like me?"

Dean answered straightforwardly, "You're my boyfriend. Why would he like you?"

Corbyn cursed in his head.

…

Although Kelvin worked a "gold-collar" job, he was still working for someone else and could only be considered a highly-paid employee. His pride and arrogance were built by putting down people with a lower income than him.

It wasn't that Kelvin wanted to look down on and make fun of Corbyn on purpose. It was just a way for him to boost his ego so that he would feel better about himself.

True, he made more than a million dollars a year, but nearly half of his pay went straight to his house, cars, clothes, and accessories.

With where he worked, he had to invest a significant amount of money in his cars and clothing so that he wouldn't be looked down upon by the others in his field.

In other words, he was spending as much money as he was earning it.

To others, Kelvin might be living the dream life. However, he was still at the mercy of his employer and clients.

Now that his kid was about to attend preschool, Kelvin knew that he was going to be spending even more than ever.

Since he was considered a financial elite, he figured that his son would also receive only the best education money could buy. So, Kelvin was prepared to send his son to the best private preschool in their area.

The fees weren't cheap. A year's worth of school fees would set him back by at least 200 thousand dollars, and that didn't include any extracurricular activities.

Even so, parents with high incomes still fought tooth and nail to secure a spot for their children at this prestigious preschool. It didn't matter that the children's parents were all wealthy enough to afford this preschool's sky-high fees. They also had to be learned people with respectable job titles.

The preschool also tended to pick children from households whose mothers were housewives, so that they would be able to cater to all sorts of outlandish requests from the preschool.

Thus, to ensure that the parents of the children the preschool accepted met the minimum requirements, the preschool didn't stop at just interviewing the kids. The parents had to undergo selection as well.

Today, Kelvin and his wife brought their son to the preschool for the interview. However, he was shocked as soon as he stepped into the building.

Corbyn was seated among the panel of interviewers, about to interview him and his child.

Kelvin felt himself freeze on the spot. He wasn't able to keep a straight face anymore.

Meanwhile, Corbyn just smiled faintly at Kelvin as if they were strangers. "Have a seat," he said.