Chapter 1: A New Name, A New Life
Lagos, Nigeria.
Jason Royce was worth billions. But at Rosewell University, he was just Jay Roland, a transfer student studying International Law. No one knew his real name. No one knew about the companies, the jets, or the scandals. And that's exactly how he wanted it.
He drove a second-hand Corolla with faded paint and a cracked dashboard. Lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment just off campus where the power blinked twice an hour and the neighbors played loud Fuji music at night. His wardrobe was simple — plain tees, denim jackets, and old sneakers. He carried a worn-out backpack like every other student on campus. He wasn't there to impress anyone.
He was there to breathe.
Years of wealth had taught him something most people never lived long enough to understand: money could buy anything — cars, clothes, even loyalty. But not love. Not truth. And definitely not peace. In the boardroom, he was Jason Royce, the man everyone wanted to be — young, brilliant, ruthless. But in private, he was suffocating. Everything felt fake. Every smile was bought. Every friend had a price tag.
He wanted a place where no one knew his face, his Forbes ranking, or his legacy.
So, he chose Nigeria — loud, chaotic, unpredictable Nigeria. A country bursting with contrast — where street hawkers brushed past private jets and where the rich often lived behind barbed wire gates while still claiming to be humble. Lagos felt real in a way Manhattan never did. The city had heart, hustle, and heat. And he loved that.
Rosewell University wasn't exactly elite, but that was the point. It was full of dreamers — students who wore ambition like armor. They didn't care about stock prices or market shares. They cared about tomorrow. About survival. About making something from nothing.
Jason kept to himself. In classes, he spoke only when necessary. His Nigerian accent was flawless — thanks to his private tutor back in Geneva. His story was simple: Jay Roland, son of a Ghanaian diplomat and a Nigerian mother. Transferred in after living in Europe. Most students didn't dig further.
He made no friends — not really. But he didn't mind. He ate alone in the cafeteria, headphones in, plate of jollof rice untouched as he watched the world around him like a quiet observer in a documentary. It was peaceful. Strange, but peaceful.
Until he met her.
It was the third Thursday of the semester. The heat was suffocating, and the generator behind the male hostel had died again. Jason had taken a shortcut through the back of the female hostel compound when he saw her.
She stood barefoot on the concrete pavement, struggling to pin wet sheets to a sagging clothesline. Her skin was a soft caramel that shimmered in the sun, and her curly hair was bundled into a messy bun. She wore a simple tank top and shorts, her arms flexing slightly as she fought the wind that kept pulling her laundry free.
She didn't see him at first.
She was humming a song — something soulful — and swayed slightly to the rhythm as she tried to stretch the last corner of the bedspread.
Jason paused, watching her with quiet amusement. There was nothing extraordinary about the moment. Nothing romantic or flashy. Just a girl, doing something ordinary. But something about the way she moved, the calm in her face, the small curve of her smile… struck him.
She reminded him of life before the money.
Before the lawyers. Before the headlines. Before betrayal became his closest companion.
Then, her peg dropped. She sighed and turned — only to find him standing there.
"You okay?" he asked, stepping closer.
She blinked, startled. "Yeah," she replied, eyeing him cautiously. "Just the wind playing games."
"Need help?" he offered.
"I'm good, but thanks." She tried again. The sheet dropped again.
Jason chuckled softly. "May I?"
She sighed, then smiled. "Fine. But if you ruin my clothes, I'm suing."
He grinned. "Noted."
Together, they managed to get the sheets up. There was a light breeze. It caught the fabric, and for a moment, it looked like sails on a quiet sea.
"I'm Jay," he said, offering his hand.
"Hailey," she replied, her grip firm. Her eyes lingered on his for a second longer than casual.
Jason felt something shift inside him — a slow unraveling of a guard he didn't know he still had up.
That night, he couldn't sleep.
For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about board meetings or hidden enemies.
He was thinking about a girl with sun-kissed skin, laundry soap on her hands, and a voice that made the noise in his head go quiet.
And just like that, the life he thought he had under control… began to change.