Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Bea woke up to a notification.
Her phone vibrated once against the wood. She stretched, then rolled over and reached for it.
The dim glow of the screen lit against the sheets.
6:15 a.m.
GAGE KING: Leaving for business. Won’t be reachable for a week. It’s handled. Georgina’s got you if needed.
There was a pause before the next message appeared.
GAGE KING: You don’t have to deal with it. Not yet.
GAGE KING: See you when I’m back.
There was no going back to sleep after receiving messages like that.
She sat up slowly, her mind coming fully online. Gage had seen ahead. Made sure she wouldn’t have to face the fallout alone.
She drew in a breath through her nose and let it bleed out slowly through her lips. Once more. This was going to be a day.
She ran a hand through her hair, working out the knots, before tossing the blanket off and climbing out of bed.
Breakfast. Always.
She’d learned a long time ago that breakfast was the only meal she could count on. Lunch and dinner depended on the day—lectures, study sessions, late-night calls with Claire. Breakfast only depended on her waking up in time.
That, and she was half convinced her umma would fly across the ocean and personally feed her if she didn’t.
She reached into the fridge, moving on autopilot. Poured herself a cup of coffee, added the barest splash of oat milk, and sat at the counter, phone in hand.
She tapped out a response.
BEA CRUZ: Got it.
She hesitated. Then added,
BEA CRUZ: Take care.
She had just taken a sip of coffee when Georgina’s door swung open.
A sharp inhale. “What. The.”
Bea sighed, bracing herself. She didn’t look up, just reached for her spoon and scooped a bite of yogurt and granola. “You’re up early.”
Georgie stood in the kitchen in a silk robe, hair loose, eyes sharp. “What,” she demanded, “did you do?”
Bea swallowed. “Ate breakfast?”
“Don’t be cute. I have messages, Bea.” Georgina pulled out her phone, shaking it for emphasis. “Why is my cousin concerned that you might need social cover this week?”
Bea closed her eyes briefly. Of course, Georgina had messages. “It’s not—”
She lifted a manicured finger. “Pause. Don’t explain yet.” She studied Bea for a beat, like she was recalibrating her entire understanding of the situation. Then, suddenly, she turned on her heel and started walking.
Bea frowned. “Where are you—”
“Your closet.”
She blinked. “What? Why?”
Georgina didn’t even turn around. “Because,” she called over her shoulder, already disappearing into Bea’s room, “if people are going to look at you today, you’re going to make sure they see exactly what you want them to.”
Bea sighed and dropped her spoon. It was too early for this.
She took another sip of coffee and, reluctantly, followed Georgina.
Bea stepped into the gold-trimmed arched entryway, the familiar feeling of wonder blooming in her chest as the space unfolded.
She loved this room.
St. Ives had its share of glass-and-marble modernity as well as sandstone-and-granite grandeur, but something about this theatre was different.
It held an air of timeless scholarship, the kind that whispered of debates that had shaped industries and lectures that had sparked revolutions.
Leaded windows caught the late-morning sun in fractured patterns, scattering light across polished leather seats that smelled like history.
Lillian was sitting exactly where she expected her to be. Middle row, left side. Near enough to engage, far enough to observe. Bea slid in beside her, setting down her tablet.
And then she noticed it.
The pause.
Nothing obvious, just enough. The glances that flicked her way before shifting askance like they hadn’t been looking at all, the fraction-of-a-second stall before conversations resumed.
She kept her expression neutral.
Gage had handled it.
But St. Ives didn’t need permission to speculate. Curiosity was its own kind of currency, and the student body spent it freely.
Lillian turned to her. Bea felt the almost-question. She gave her a look—half invitation, half dare.
Lillian held her gaze for a split-second longer. Then, carefully, “Anything you want to share?”
Bea’s heart thudded in her chest, but she just smiled, flipping open her tablet. “Not yet.” She crossed her legs and leaned back.
The lecture began.
Projected onto the screen: Mergers and Dynastic Wealth – The Restructuring of Billionaire Empires.
Professor Whitmore’s voice carried through the hall.
“Business is about endurance,” he said. “About knowing when to expand, when to retreat, and, perhaps most importantly, when to absorb.”
He tapped the podium lightly.
“Over the next few lectures we’ll examine three case studies. The Lin Consortium’s multigenerational expansion, the last dynasty to control all major infrastructure in East Asia before regulatory intervention.
“The Sutherland Mining Family. Once the largest privately owned metals empire in the UR. Before it collapsed from within.
“But let’s start with something closer to home: Griffin Ventures.”
A ripple of attention moved through the room. Bodies straightened, phones were lowered, and side conversations faded.
Eyes skimmed instinctively around. Rafael wasn’t even in this class, wasn’t even in this cohort. It wasn’t like they expected to see him.
Griffin Ventures had rewritten the rules.
What began as a humble construction company was now a global force, designing, building, and holding some of the most profitable private and commercial developments in the world.
Their projects were commissioned by clients who measured value in discretion and returns, not budgets.
Their rise had been meteoric. Rafael’s father had gone where the entrenched dynasties wouldn’t—into the developing world.
Southeast Asia. Africa. Eastern Europe. Markets ripe for transformation, where speed, capital, and precision could lock down prime land before competitors even saw the play.
From those footholds came rapid expansion into every high-yield market worth touching.
In a single generation, he had built a billion-dollar empire, turning job-site grit into a seat at the tables where global power shifted hands.
And now, his son—still shy of graduation—was already stamping his mark: bold, relentless, unapologetically aggressive in a game where only the strongest developers endured.
Griffin Ventures didn’t just ride economic waves. It created them, anchored them in steel and glass, and made the world pay rent.
Bea wasn’t the only one paying attention.
Even the most indifferent students, who had spent the last few weeks doodling in their notebooks, were deeply engaged. Rafael Griffin wasn’t some distant billionaire on the pages of a textbook. He was their peer. And their rival.
Her pen moved fast, absorbing every word. Fascinated.
And maybe even admiring him.
The café sat in a grand atrium, where vaulted ceilings and classical architecture met polished modern luxury. Plush seating, gleaming marble floors, and the delicate scent of white orchids made it feel less like a student dining hall and more like a private members’ club.
Bea had never been here. Just a message from Georgina with a time and location.
She slid into a booth, the leather cool against her bare arms.
The waiter had just set down her food when Georgina arrived, slipping into the seat across from her and tossing her bag onto the bench. “Where’s Lillian?” Georgina asked.
“She forgot something in her apartment, so she went to get it.”
Georgina nodded, stretching out like she owned the space. She flagged a waiter down and gave her order.
Bea lifted her sparkling water, waiting. This wasn’t just lunch. Not today.
“Good thing you look perfect today,” Georgina mused, plucking a sugar cube from the porcelain dish on the table and twirling it between her fingers. “It’s been circling all morning.”
Bea’s spoon hovered over her salad. “What has?”
“Gage. And some girl.”
Her grip tightened on the silverware.
Unconfirmed. Unconfirmable.
Gage had done exactly what he said he would. Locked the men down. But all kinds of loose ends were possible. He had anticipated that, too, which was why Georgina had been on stand-by.
“Someone saw something,” Georgina mentioned, tapping her nails lightly against the table. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Not a story. Barely a possibility.
The uncertainty was what made it spread.
“Remember how I told you girls last night about how I had a little incident with a couple of guys? I forgot to mention Gage stepped in,” Bea confessed. “They backed off pretty quick after that.”
Georgina’s brow lifted. “He made them.”
“Pretty much.”
“And he let them think you were his, didn’t he?”
Georgina’s drink arrived, saving Bea from answering.
But she didn’t have to. She felt it already written on her face. And Georgina, of all people, read nuance like it was printed in bold.
“Of course he did.” Georgina shook her head. She leaned back, assessing Bea in a way that was frighteningly King-like. Bea tried not to fidget under the scrutiny. “And now you’re the best piece of unverified gossip on campus.”
The click of heels notified them of the interruption before it came. Two girls approached the booth. All smooth smiles and impeccably applied makeup, interest veiled beneath a nonchalant greeting.
“Georgina, I was just thinking of you,” one of them said a touch too enthusiastically, tucking a fiery strand of hair behind her ear. “Are you still coming to the Southgate event on Friday night?”
The other girl offered Bea a smile, polite and practiced, the kind that could pass for real if you weren’t paying attention. Bea had been here long enough to know better.
This wasn’t about Southgate. It was about proximity. About the girl sitting across from Georgina Ashcroft, cousin of Gage King, like she belonged there.
They were fishing with nets. Seeing what, if anything, came up.