Vivian Wu adjusted her leather satchel as she strode across Columbia University's quad. Autumn leaves fluttered in the breeze, golden against the crisp sky. She blended easily with the tide of students in scarves and long coats, though she carried herself with a poise that turned heads.
Her morning had been filled with lectures on international economics, a subject her father insisted would "prepare her for the family business." Vivian suspected he just wanted her tethered to his world.
Still, she enjoyed Columbia. The campus buzzed with energy, and for a few hours each day, she could pretend she was just another student—no arranged dinners, no expectations to marry "appropriately."
But lately, her mind kept drifting back to that peculiar young man from the gala. Michael Chen. His boldness had been reckless, almost laughable. Yet, there was something in his eyes… an unsettling certainty, as if he really did know the future.
Vivian shook her head, annoyed at herself. Why am I even thinking about him?
Across the street, Michael emerged from a delivery truck, balancing two bulky boxes of office supplies.
It wasn't glamorous work, but it paid a few dollars. He'd taken the job with a small supply company, running deliveries to businesses and schools. Today's route included Columbia.
As he trudged across campus, sweat prickling under his cheap jacket, he couldn't help but feel a pang. Students lounged on the steps of Low Library, laughing over textbooks and coffee. He'd never had that kind of carefree youth, not even in his past life. His days had been swallowed by part-time jobs and bills.
No matter. I'm rewriting it all now.
He adjusted his grip on the boxes and nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.
Books spilled onto the pavement.
"Oh, I'm so sor—" Michael began, then froze.
Vivian Wu stood before him, her eyes wide with recognition.
For a moment, neither spoke. Students bustled around them, oblivious.
Vivian's lips curved into a half-smile. "Well. If it isn't the prophet of Wall Street."
Michael set the boxes down carefully, masking his own surprise. "And if it isn't the heiress of the Wu family. Didn't expect to see you outside a ballroom."
Her eyebrow arched. "I do attend classes, you know."
"I figured you had people to do that for you."
She laughed lightly, the sound carrying just enough disdain to remind him of the gap between their worlds. "Still making bold claims, I see. Tell me, Mr. Chen—changed the world yet?"
Michael picked up one of her fallen books and handed it back. "Give me a few years."
They fell into step as Vivian carried her books and Michael resumed his boxes.
Vivian's curiosity won out. "So, what brings you to Columbia? Surely you're not a student."
Michael smirked. "Why not?"
She gestured at his jacket, the sweat on his brow, the supply truck idling nearby. "Because students don't deliver printer paper."
"Touché." Michael shifted the boxes. "Work's work. Bills don't pay themselves."
Her expression softened briefly before she masked it. "At least you're honest."
Michael caught the flicker of empathy. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual composed detachment.
As they reached the delivery office, Vivian hesitated. Against her better judgment, she asked, "You really believe all that you said at the gala? About investing in companies no one cares about?"
Michael stacked the boxes neatly. He turned to her, eyes steady. "I don't believe. I know."
The conviction in his tone made her heart skip before reason pulled it back.
"You sound very sure of yourself," she said coolly.
"I have to be," Michael replied. "If I'm wrong, I'm just another broke kid with big dreams. If I'm right…" He let the words hang.
Vivian studied him, torn between amusement and unease. Most men she knew either groveled for her attention or flaunted empty bravado. Michael was different. He wore his poverty openly, yet carried himself like someone who already stood on higher ground.
"Maybe one day you'll prove it," she said at last.
Michael flashed a grin. "Stick around. You'll see."
She shook her head, fighting a smile. "You're impossible."
"Impossible is just the beginning."
Their eyes met for a beat too long, until a voice called Vivian's name.
Two classmates waved from across the quad, watching with thinly veiled curiosity. Vivian's spine straightened. The world she belonged to—polished, scrutinized, judgmental—came rushing back.
She gathered her books. "I should go."
Michael inclined his head, unfazed. "Until next time, Miss Wu."
As she walked away, she realized her pulse was racing. She scolded herself silently. He's reckless. He's dangerous. And yet…
Michael watched her retreat across the quad, her dark hair catching the light, her stride confident and controlled.
A laugh escaped him. Of all the coincidences…
He had wanted a second chance to cross paths with her, but fate had moved faster than he expected.
Picking up the delivery slip, he muttered under his breath, "Well, that's two times I've made you look twice. Third time, you won't forget me."
The truck honked impatiently. Michael hoisted the empty boxes back and climbed aboard, but his mind lingered on Vivian Wu.
He was building his empire for his family, for his future—but maybe, just maybe, her shadow was already woven into it.