The Billionaire's Obsession

POV Isabella:

"We're here!" my mother said excitedly as soon as she parked in front of the blue building.

"Yeah, we're here," I murmured, turning to look through the window at the fully mirrored building outside. I quickly estimated how many floors the luxurious structure might have—maybe thirty, since even straining my neck, I couldn’t see the top.

"Relax, Mom’s baby, everything will be fine."

"Yeah, it will." I took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat. "My first day as an intern." I whispered the celebrated reason I was there.

Ana read every signal my body emitted, smiled warmly—the kind of smile that could change the world—and pulled me into an encouraging hug. Great, I melted.

In her arms, tears welled up as all our struggles resurfaced just to remind me: I won, I’m here, and this is real.

WIS UNIVERSITY CONECT had been my dream since high school, back when college was just a distant possibility. I’d spend hours browsing the institution’s website, fantasizing about the day I’d step into its Brazilian branch. The international-level university was headquartered in California, and Brazil had become its focus a few years ago.

I couldn’t believe it. I remember the day I spent hours staring at my computer screen, frozen, unable to process the email I’d just received. Furthermore, I was completely paralyzed, tears streaming as I read and reread every paragraph. The explosive feeling of a dream coming true was too much for my chest. I had fought so hard, studied day and night, and yes—every second of that battle was worth it. I was the newest scholarship intern at WIS UNIVERSITY CONECT, the country’s top international university.

"Okay, Isabella, Brazil has excellent universities. Why WUC?"

Yes, I get it. I’m not undermining our education—far from it. My interest in WUC was the internship and scholarship, the chance to work and study at a major corporation. Every two years, twenty-five spots opened—the most competitive in the country, attracting students nationwide. The competition was fierce, and until then, impossible for public school students like me.

Let’s be honest, what chance does a public school student have against someone from private education? Zero. Disgusting and shameful for our country.

Anyway, I finished high school and spent two years preparing in a cram course, paid for with immense sacrifice—often delaying bills at home, depriving Mom and me of trips, Friday pizzas, or even simple, cheap barbecues with friends.

The struggle became my fuel. And yes—I made it!

"Isabella, stay calm, lift your chest and chin, and go..."

Ever the joker, Mom made me smile, but I didn’t relax. My nervous eyes fixed on the most important woman in my life, the one I owe everything to.

"Your lips need color. How about red lipstick for luck and to ward off the evil eye?"

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror—she was right, I needed a finishing touch. I winked at her and grabbed the cosmetic. Blood-red lips. Perfect.

I didn’t go for heavy makeup since I didn’t know the company’s rules yet, so I just lined my eyes and added blush for a rosy glow.

Important detail—I know this might confuse you: as I mentioned, WUC granted the approved candidates both the internship and the scholarship. That morning was my first day as an intern; questions about college would be clarified during training. Speaking of which, I needed to hurry—I was already cutting it close.

"Perfect," she said, assessing the result. "You better go. Being late on the first day doesn’t look good."

"Right, let’s do this. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Isabella." Her words sounded like a beautiful charm. "You deserve this, sweetheart. You’ve dedicated the last two years to this dream, so go out there and embrace your future." A warm tightness grew in my chest, making me laugh but also cry in a splendid mix of emotions that messed up my face. "I love you, Mom!"

"I love you more!"

I gave her one last hug, wiped my tears, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. I stood there for a while, frozen, watching people come and go while my mind raced about what my life would be like from now on. The little girl from a humble family made it! I couldn’t stop the thought from escaping, just like all the others that had fueled my anger over the years. I had buried myself in studies to reach this dream, locked myself in my room to rebuild after betrayal stabbed me in the back, and disappointment knocked me off my feet.

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the positive thoughts, the good things that had led me here.

I have everything I dreamed of. Now, all that’s left is... I took a step toward the entrance. To walk in.

The WUC administrative building captivated my eyes for long seconds—elegance and technology at an astonishing level. Jesus! I stopped in front of the reception, mentally measuring the length of the pristine white counter that curved across much of the lobby. I failed—my eyes couldn’t follow the unique architecture to its end. Inside, the receptionists smiled warmly, their teeth so white they almost blinded me. Perfect buns atop their heads, not a single strand out of place. And their beauty… they had to be models. I swallowed hard, shrinking under the luxury.

Holy shit! Straighten those shoulders, Isabella.

I refined my posture, took a breath, and forced myself forward. As I approached, a huge screen above played a WUC commercial, filling the last few seconds before I reached the reception.

Nervous, hands sweating, heart pounding, I looked at the woman.

"Good morning, miss! How may I help you?" The model-disguised-as-receptionist greeted me. I forced a smile, quickly grabbing my ID from my bag and handing it to her with perfectly manicured red nails. "Isabella Kensington," she checked the document, "how may I assist you, Miss Isabella?"

"My first day. I’m part of the professional program." I explained, and she started typing on her Mac. Damn! The reception had Macs. I couldn’t hide my excitement—maybe my department would have the same quality. And wow, just thinking about my old laptop that barely turned on made my eyes sparkle with happiness. "My training supervisor is Maico Oliveira."

"Yes, I see it here." She returned my ID along with a badge resembling a credit card. "Miss Isabella, this is your temporary access pass. After training, we’ll register your fingerprints for direct entry at the turnstiles. Your training is in the first room on the left, eleventh floor. Any questions?"

"No, thank you!"

"Welcome to WIS UNIVERSITY CONECT!" she said warmly.

I held the badge up, my vision already blurry.

"Thank you!" I said again, feeling emotions threaten my balance. I headed to the elevator, which arrived quickly, and stepped into the mirrored box, checking my appearance again—the simple outfit I’d chosen for the first day, my always-rebellious hair. Ugh. I pursed my lips, dissatisfied with the nervous mess reflecting at me. "Relax, Isabella, or you’ll have a heart attack, and all this will have been a waste of time," I advised my nervous system. The doors opened.

I followed the receptionist’s directions into a spacious room filled with chatter. I absorbed as much information as possible while lingering near the door. Nothing different from what the building had already shown me. My eyes landed on the groups forming—one at the front with three people: a man and two women, who immediately caught my attention for being impeccably elegant.

Are they the trainers? I wondered, when another pair stood out—a guy and a girl, seemingly around my age but with incredible style.

"Isabella!"

I searched for the voice and saw a smiling guy walking toward me.

"Hi…" I answered, confused, trying to place him.

"You don’t remember me? It’s me, Lucca!" I narrowed my eyes, digging through my memory. Nope, no clue!

"I…" I tried masking the answer flashing in my mind.

"During the interview, at the selection building, we talked briefly in the waiting room." He clarified. I almost laughed—that was brief? I don’t remember this guy at all, and I’m terrible with faces.

Damn it.