Tricked by the Tycoon

Veridian City. The Belmont Hotel.

It was nine o'clock at night, and the VIP hall on the third floor was currently hosting a lavish birthday party. Unlike the blindingly bright, ostentatious lobby downstairs, the lighting in the inner hall was deliberately dimmed. It was a moody, intoxicating mix of deep shadows and warm amber, washing over the velvet carpets and the ornate, textured walls. Paired with the low, smooth hum of a live jazz band, the party was practically oozing atmosphere.

"Ru, word on the street is you went on a blind date?"

The spicy burn of vintage red wine hit the back of Ruth Keen’s throat. She coughed, barely managing to keep herself from choking on the mouthful she’d just taken.

How the hell did news travel that fast?

"You're dangerously well-informed for a birthday girl," Ruth said, swallowing the wine with lingering dread. she shot Anne Clark a sideways glance. "I literally did this out of the country, and you already know?"

"Oh, please. My brother knows the guy. He came over today, brought you up, and I just happened to overhear." Anne’s eyes widened, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, highly excited whisper. "You aren't denying it! So it's true?"

It was true. A few days ago, Ruth had technically endured her first-ever blind date.

And it had been a colossal failure.

To be fair, it wasn't voluntary. She was just playing the good daughter, humoring her elders by grabbing dinner and meeting a guy. But if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck... it was a blind date.

"So? How was it? Any sparks? Did you click?" Anne fired off the questions like a machine gun, before adding, "Because let me tell you, he was singing your praises to my brother."

Tyler Cosmo, the trust fund kid in question, was tight with Anne's brother. They were the kind of friends who shared everything. At first, Tyler’s praise had been pretty standard, but apparently, he’d gotten a little drunk on the memory of her and ended up talking about her like she was some descending goddess. It was borderline unhinged.

Ruth tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she tried to find the polite words.

She had a small face with features that struck a devastating balance between pure and seductive. Her off-the-shoulder gown put her swan-like neck and delicate collarbones on full display. As she held her wine glass, her slender wrist and porcelain skin contrasted sharply with the dark red liquid. The entire visual was effortlessly, lethally captivating.

Anne had known her for a decade and always knew she was gorgeous, but three years abroad had somehow evolved Ruth’s beauty to an entirely new level.

No wonder the Cosmo heir lost his damn mind, Anne thought, staring at the flawless face in front of her.

After a few seconds, the goddess finally spoke, answering the questions in strict order: "No sparks. Didn't click. Not my type."

Anne rolled her eyes so hard she practically saw her own brain.

"Not your type. Again."

It was always that exact same line!

They’d been friends since middle school. Back in high school, Ruth was affectionately known as the "Lawn Mower"—because she effortlessly mowed down every "grass" who tried to ask her out. Class idols, sports captains, school heartthrobs; she harvested them all.

And her reason for rejecting that endless parade of gorgeous men was always exactly the same.

No sparks. Didn't click.
Translation: Not hot enough to date.

As her best friend of ten years, Anne knew the cold, hard truth. Ruth Keen might look like a fairy-tale fairy, but deep down, she was an absolute, unapologetic face-worshipper.

If she saw a beautiful woman, she would obsess over her aesthetics all day. But when it came to men? Her standards were viciously, impossibly high.

"You spent all these years at Harvard," Anne sighed. "If the foreign guys didn't do it for you, fine. But there are so many gorgeous trust fund kids back home, and none of them do it for you?"

It was tragic, really. A lifelong VIP member of the superficial club who just couldn't find a face she wanted to worship.

Anne softened her tone, dropping the teasing. "Honestly, the guy who meets your standards probably hasn't even been born yet. Just be patient, Ru. Wait for him."

Ruth smoothly picked up the thread. "Right. And then what?"

"Huh?" Anne blinked. "What do you mean, 'then what'?"

Ruth drawled her words, slow and lazy. "I wait for him to grow up... and I'll be a cougar by the time he's legal."

"..." Anne stared at her. "Ah?"

Ruth didn't miss a beat. "So, it’ll have to be a wild one-night stand. I'll get knocked up, pull a secret baby trope, and flee the country."

What the fuck kind of campy dumpster fire poetry is this? Why did it even rhyme?

Anne looked at her like she’d completely lost her mind. "Did Harvard teach you to write trashy soap operas? You’re drunk. Go eat some carbs and sober up."

Ruth was, admittedly, a little buzzed. Anne’s horrified expression put her in an excellent mood, and she couldn't stop laughing.

She stayed and drank with the birthday girl for a bit longer, but she quickly noticed the shifting atmosphere. More and more people wanted to come up and schmooze with Anne, but they were intimidated by the stunning, unfamiliar woman sitting next to her. They just kept casting lingering, hesitant glances their way.

Their stares practically screamed: Are you done monopolizing her yet? It's our turn!

Receiving that same look over and over got boring fast.

Ruth set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. "I’m out, babe," she said. "Jet lag from yesterday is still kicking my ass, and I’ve got an errand to run tomorrow. We’ll hang out properly another time."

"Alright, get some rest." Anne paused, her brow furrowing. "Wait, you've been back in the country for like twelve hours. What kind of errand do you have tomorrow?"

Ruth hesitated. But considering this would be a highly public project in the very near future, there was no point in hiding it.

She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and said it as casually as if she were picking up groceries.

"I have to go donate a building to Cal U."

Anne nearly choked on her wine.

Ruth slept until noon the next day, waking up completely refreshed with a full health bar. After a quick lunch, she drove straight to California University.

Veridian City had distinct seasons, and with September approaching, the air already held the crisp, comfortable chill of early autumn. The afternoon breeze was perfect.

Cal U was a century-old institution with a massive reputation. Despite cutthroat competition among the elites, it had never dropped out of the top three national rankings, boasting absolute dominance in several majors. Finance, for one. And Computer Science—the exact major Ruth had studied back in the day.

It was also the department her family’s company, Sylvan Enterprises, was officially partnering with today.

Ruth had never been the type to study hard. She was the annoying kind of student who understood a concept once and refused to do the homework. In high school, she spent more time tutoring Anne than she did studying for her own exams. She slacked off like a truant but effortlessly dominated the top of the dean’s list.

When she got into Cal U, she chose her favorite subject: Computer Science. She had fully planned to cruise through four easy years of college, but life threw a massive curveball. After her freshman year, she abruptly transferred to Harvard to study Finance.

But her time at Harvard didn't go the way anyone expected.

Ruth was used to being brilliant, unbothered, and totally free to party. But at Harvard, there were no slackers. Hating the suffocating, hyper-competitive academic atmosphere, her logic took a sharp left turn from the rest of her peers.

Running on the pure spiteful philosophy of 'get it done, get out, and get on with your life,' Ruth overloaded her credits, burned the midnight oil, and crammed relentlessly. She ground her teeth and suffered through two years of academic hell just to secure a degree that took normal people four.

It was brutal. But to her, saving three years of her youth was a massive profit.

A familiar figure appeared at the campus gates, snapping Ruth out of her thoughts. She smiled and walked up to greet him.

She might have been a student once, but today, she was here as the official representative for the Sylvan Enterprises investors. After shaking hands with the welcoming committee, she met the eyes of the old President she hadn't seen in three years.

President Fearon was in his early fifties, sporting a classic receding hairline and a warm, booming smile. He drew out her name affectionately. "Ruth—"

Ruth laughed. "You still remember me?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Fearon scolded playfully. "I remember every single one of my star pupils!"

Technically, she had been his star pupil for exactly one year.

Before he was President, Fearon was a legendary, heavyweight professor in the CS department. Back then, there was a massive national tech competition. Desperate to crush their bitter rivals at Farnsworth University, Fearon had personally stepped in to coach the team. He led Cal U to a flawless victory, and Ruth had been sitting right there on the championship squad.

Her smile widened. "I'm honored to be remembered."

She had come alone, dressed in casual, understated clothes. She toured the pre-approved construction site with the university officials, took a stroll around the perimeter, and finally headed into the main administration building for the final signatures.

The details had been ironed out months ago, so the trip was purely a formality.

Even after three years, Ruth remembered the campus layout perfectly. The President's office was on the top floor. As they entered the lobby, she pointed toward the restroom. "You guys head up. I'll be right there."

The officials nodded, taking the elevator up ahead of her.

Ruth slipped into the restroom. After washing her hands, she checked her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing minimal makeup, basically just sunscreen. Thanks to a solid night’s sleep, her skin was glowing and her eyes were bright. In her casual clothes, she blended into the college campus flawlessly.

But when she pushed open the restroom door to leave, the previously empty hallway was suddenly occupied.

Three girls—one with a ponytail, one with wavy hair, and one with braids—were huddled by the elevators. They were completely engrossed in their conversation and didn't even notice her.

As Ruth walked over to press the call button, their hushed, frantic squeals filled her ears.

"That guy was so hot! Holy shit, what major is he? How have we never seen him before? A god like that doesn't just exist on our campus without us knowing!"

"Give me a second... fuck, I can't breathe." The wavy-haired girl clutched her chest. "I made eye contact with him. Direct eye contact! His face is absolutely flawless!"

The braided girl spoke a little softer. "But looking like that... do you think he's from the film academy next door?"

"No way!" Ponytail argued instantly. "It's only the 30th. He's obviously moving into the dorms early like us!"

"God, I want his number so bad!" Wavy-hair aggressively nudged her braided friend. "Babe, you're the only one wearing makeup today. Go ask him!"

Their voices were practically vibrating with sheer thirst.

Ruth’s inner face-worshipper immediately snapped to attention.

Flawless? A god? Is he really that hot?

Right now, she was mentally sending a 'respectfully looking' meme.

But business was business. Her brief spike of curiosity had to wait. The elevator arrived, and she headed up to the top floor.

After finalizing the paperwork and saying her goodbyes to the President, Ruth headed back down. She’d already forgotten about the thirsty girls by the elevator and was planning to take a nostalgic stroll around campus. But as she reached the end of the corridor and turned the corner toward the exit, she walked right into the scene of the crime.

Standing right in front of her was the braided girl who had been pushed into asking for a number.

The girl’s face was flushed crimson, her eyes wide and totally starstruck, staring blankly at the person in front of her.

And standing across from her...

It didn't take a genius to figure out this was the "god" they had been hyperventilating over.

He had his back completely turned to Ruth, but as she walked closer, her eyes locked onto his silhouette and flat-out refused to let go.

He was tall. He was dressed in a simple white button-down and black trousers, yet the fit was devastatingly perfect, highlighting an absurdly attractive body ratio.

The shoulder seams of the white shirt sat flawlessly, emphasizing a lean, broad frame.

Lower down.

The shirt wasn't skin-tight, but with every slight movement, you could see the lines of a tight, narrow waist. His legs, wrapped in dark fabric, were endlessly long and straight. And that ass—

It was an ass that made her want to blow a shameless wolf-whistle.

Just a slight profile of his back was a total visual feast.

Ruth forcefully reined in her terrifyingly inappropriate thoughts and pulled her gaze away.

We are rational adults, she reminded herself. No matter how curious she was, she couldn't just awkwardly circle around a guy getting hit on just to check out his face.

But putting everything else aside, just based on that body... calling him a god really wasn't an exaggeration.

As she walked past him, Ruth swore to herself that she only slowed her pace by a tiny, microscopic fraction of a second.

She took one last appreciative glance at the waist, the legs, the ass. She had already reached the glass doors of the building when a voice suddenly cut through the quiet hallway.

Clean. Crisp. Impossibly smooth.

"Sorry," the guy said. "I don't give my number to strangers."

Since classes didn't officially start for another two days, the Cal U campus wasn't crowded. Most of the people wandering the tree-lined avenues were just students moving into their dorms early.

The leaves hadn't turned autumn colors yet, still a vibrant, summery green. Ruth wandered the campus, looking at the familiar sights, but her mind was completely hijacked by the memory of that spectacular back profile.

Finally, she couldn't hold it in. She pulled out her phone, gripping her leather document folder in one hand while typing to Anne with the other.

Ruth: Babe. I just saw the hottest guy at Cal U. Narrow waist, long legs, and an ass that just won't quit. TvT
Ruth: I am suddenly available.

Anne replied instantly.

Anne: Pics or it didn't happen.
Ruth: Some girl was asking for his number, so I didn't even get to see his face.
Ruth: But I swear, if I wait around campus a little longer, this might be my perfect m—

She barely typed the 'm' in match.

Suddenly, a shadow enveloped her. Someone was standing entirely too close.

Walking too fast to stop, Ruth couldn't brake in time. She watched helplessly as she collided right into a solid, unyielding chest, hitting him in a textbook bumper-car collision. A soft thud echoed as her folder slipped from her hand and hit the concrete.

It was a solid hit. The impact wasn't massive, but it wasn't light either. Yet from start to finish, the guy didn't even flinch. He was planted to the ground, completely unfazed.

Instead, the momentum bounced Ruth backward.

As her eyes caught the crisp edge of a white button-down shirt, it clicked. Oh, shit. It's the hot-ass guy with the radio voice.

The guy's reflexes were insane. The second they collided, his hand shot out like an automatic reflex, gripping her arm to steady her. As soon as she found her balance, he let go instantly.

The whole thing took maybe three seconds.

Knowing she was the idiot texting and walking, Ruth started apologizing before she even looked up. "I am so sorry, I—"

The words flowed smoothly.

Until she actually saw his face. Then, she froze.

"—didn't see... you..." she trailed off, her voice dropping to a whisper.

He was tall, which meant he had to lower his eyes half-way to look at her. He had thin eyelids and long, thick lashes. His eyes hooked slightly at the inner corners before sweeping up—a sharp, striking, devastatingly refined shape. His hair was pitch black, but his irises were surprisingly light, catching the warm afternoon sun and turning into a soft, glowing amber.

Despite the stark white of his shirt, his skin was an obvious, cool porcelain. His jawline was elegant, his features deep and clear.

He looked like a flawless painting sketched by the creator, where adding a single stroke or taking one away would ruin the masterpiece entirely.

As she breathed in, Ruth caught his scent—something clean, crisp, and cold.

Before she could even move to pick up her dropped folder, the guy beat her to it. He bent down in one fluid, graceful motion and picked it up.

He held it out to her.

His hand filled her vision. The nails were clean and trimmed. His fingers were long, pale, and slender, leading down to a beautifully prominent wrist bone.

How the hell are even his hands this gorgeous?

Ruth took the folder, lifting her eyes back to his face. "...Thank you."

"Don't mention it," the god said.

It was that same, incredibly pleasing voice. Hearing it up close, it seemed to have a faint, lazy resonance to it.

Then, the corner of his mouth curved up just a fraction.

"Remember to watch where you're walking, classmate."

Staring at him from this close, completely captivated by the fleeting smile on his face, Ruth’s brain short-circuited into blank static.

Voice like a clear spring, face like flawless jade.

Ruth looked at him. For the first time in her twenty-something years of life, she felt her heart suddenly accelerate, shifting gears and beating wildly against her ribs.

It was a hard feeling to describe. It felt like a stone dropping into a crystal-clear stream. Like the sky breaking open into blue after a rainstorm.

Or, to put it simply and brutally:

She was in love.