Emerald’s POV
The shrill sound of my alarm broke the quiet stillness of the room.
I lay motionless beneath the covers for a few seconds, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above me. Then it came back. I was here in Lanard Business School, and today was my first day.
A small sigh escaped my lips as I reached over and silenced the alarm.
Unlike the past few mornings, there was no heavy ache in my chest. No nightmares. No memories of Kelvin waiting to greet me the moment I opened my eyes.
Instead, there was something else. Anticipation.
I sat up slowly and glanced around my room. It wasn’t large by any means, but it was comfortable.
A neatly made bed occupied one corner, while a study desk stood beside the window overlooking part of the campus. A bookshelf, wardrobe, and my private en-suite bathroom completed the space.
Grandfather had insisted I stay on campus. His reasoning had been simple. "You’re here to study, not to entertain visitors or manage a household."
At first, I had wanted the privacy of an apartment. Now, I appreciated his decision. Everything I needed was within walking distance, leaving me with one thing to focus on.
Graduating with the best result.
I picked up my phone from the bedside table. Two unread messages waited for me.
Claire: "Good luck today! Remember who you are. Go show those future CEOs why Emerald Hugo never settles for second best. Call me later!"
A laugh escaped my lips.
The second message was from Laura.
"First day!!! Don’t scare your professors with how smart you are. And please try not to accidentally meet another billionaire. Good luck!"
I shook my head, unable to stop smiling.
"Too late for that."
I typed quick replies to both of them before setting the phone aside.
After showering and dressing in a cream blouse beneath a tailored navy blazer, I gathered my laptop, notebook, and course materials.
Although I already held two master’s degrees, this MBA was unlike anything I had pursued before.
This wasn’t about collecting another qualification. It was about preparing myself for the challenge Grandfather had placed before me.
Reclaim Mercer Technologies in six months.
The thought settled heavily in my mind as I left my room.
The campus was already alive.
Students crossed the courtyards carrying coffee cups and backpacks, while others stood outside academic buildings engaged in animated conversations.
No one looked at me with pity or whispered about my broken engagement. Here, I was simply another student. And I found that strangely comforting.
By the time I entered the lecture hall, most seats were already occupied.
The room resembled a modern amphitheatre, with rows of curved seating rising gradually toward the back. Name placards sat before each seat, and multiple screens were mounted around the room to ensure every student had a clear view.
The atmosphere buzzed with conversation.
I settled into my assigned seat and quietly observed the room. Shortly, the door opened.
Silence settled over the lecture hall almost immediately.
A pair of polished brown leather shoes appeared first, followed by tailored charcoal trousers. Above them was a crisp white Oxford shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms.
The absence of a jacket somehow made him appear even more approachable, though nothing about the quiet confidence in his stride had changed.
For one impossible second, my mind refused to believe what my eyes were seeing.
Michael King.
A collective murmur swept across the room.
"No way..."
"That’s Michael King."
"The Michael King?"
"I thought he only guest lectured at conferences."
"What’s someone like him doing here?"
Several students immediately reached for their phones before thinking better of it. Others stared openly.
Even I couldn’t hide my surprise.
Michael set a leather folder on the lectern before lifting his gaze to the class. His eyes moved methodically across the room, taking in each row. Then they reached me.
His gaze locked onto mine for what seemed like several seconds. There was no surprise, no smile, no sign of recognition that anyone else might notice. Still, I had an unsettling sense that the moment lasted a little longer than it ought to have.
Then he looked away as though nothing had happened.
I frowned ever so slightly. Did I imagine that?
"Good morning," he said evenly. His deep, even voice carried effortlessly through the lecture hall. "I am Professor Michael King."
The murmuring ceased.
"This semester, I’ll be teaching Strategic Corporate Leadership."
He didn’t give a lengthy introduction; instead, he just grabbed a marker and wrote three words on the whiteboard.
Leadership. Strategy. Execution.
Then he turned back to face us. "Most businesses don’t fail because they lack good ideas. They fail because leadership cannot turn those ideas into consistent execution."
The room became remarkably quiet. Within minutes, he had everyone’s attention.
He spoke without relying heavily on slides, using case studies and questions that challenged assumptions rather than encouraging memorization.
Instead of lecturing from prepared notes, he invited students to think, question, and defend their reasoning.
I found myself writing continuously. Yet, despite my concentration, I couldn’t help noticing something else.
Many of the women in the room seemed equally focused on him.
One student asked a question unrelated to the discussion. Another student chuckled a bit too eagerly at a dry comment. Someone else kept eye contact whenever possible, perhaps hoping to get his attention.
None of it was inappropriate.
Though everyone remained professional, it was obvious enough that I couldn’t ignore it.
They’re certainly enthusiastic.
A few minutes later, more hands went up—first one, then another. Most questions were quite reasonable, but a few seemed less about genuine curiosity and more about extending the conversation.
I frowned slightly. Shouldn’t they be paying more attention to the lecture?
The thought had barely crossed my mind before I caught myself.
Why am I even noticing this? I blinked and lowered my eyes to my notebook. Focus, Emerald.You’re here to study.
By the time I looked up again, Michael had already moved on to another topic.
He called on students from different parts of the room, challenging each answer with calm follow-up questions.
He neither favoured nor dismissed anyone.
Whether speaking to a CEO with twenty years of experience or a younger entrepreneur launching a first venture, his tone remained exactly the same.
Professional, measured and fair.
Nearly two hours passed before anyone realized how quickly time had gone.
Michael glanced once at the clock before closing the folder on the lectern. "We’ll stop here for today."
Several students visibly relaxed. Then he continued. "Before our next class, you’ll complete one assignment."
A collective groan, quickly suppressed into amused smiles, spread through the room.
He seemed entirely unmoved. "In no more than two thousand words, answer the following question."
He wrote across the board.
Can a company become more profitable while simultaneously becoming less valuable? Defend your position using real-world examples.
Someone near the front muttered under his breath. "On the first day?"
A few students chuckled.
Michael capped the marker and announced, "The paper is due next Monday. Have a productive week."
He finally gathered his folder and stepped away from the podium.
I looked down at the assignment again. It wasn’t impossible, but it certainly wasn’t easy.
But one thought remained. Was meeting Michael King again here in Lanard just another coincidence?
It had to be a coincidence.
After all, what were the odds of crossing paths with Michael King three times?