Victoria Mont’s presence at the threshold of his modest room was a jarring dissonance, like hanging a Renaissance masterpiece on a bare concrete wall.
As she flashed a smile that was both an invitation and a challenge, Max’s mind traveled back to a past only he remembered.
He didn’t see the seductive woman standing before him.
He saw the cruel queen of his first life.
He remembered, with icy clarity, how she had deliberately knocked his notes onto the library floor just to laugh with her friends while he gathered them up, humiliated.
He remembered overhearing her tell Leo, her voice dripping with disdain: “Why do you even talk to that freak?
He’s so pathetic.”
He activated his[Player Gaze], analyzing her coldly.
[Victoria Mont]
Level 3: Campus Queen
Title: Untouchable Heiress
Status: Intrigued.
Calculating.
Slightly Aroused (by the power play).
Surface Thought:He’s not reacting.
Interesting.
He’s not like the other idiots who melt or get nervous.
I need to find his Achilles’ heel.
Money?
Power?
Pride?
This woman is a snake,Max concluded.
Beautiful, yes, but venomous.
Her words were bait, and her smiles were a trap.
But even snakes can be useful…
if you know how to hold them by the throat.
He crossed his arms, subtly blocking the entrance.
His posture radiated control, not submission.
“Interesting uses?” he asked, his voice as neutral as steel.
“Be specific, Victoria.
My time is valuable.”
Victoria’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second, surprised by his bluntness.
Instead of taking offense, her interest seemed to intensify.
“I have…
a trust fund,” she said, shifting tactics and getting straight to the point.
“Some ‘play’ money.
I’m always looking for ways to make it grow faster than my father’s boring advisors suggest.
Someone who can predict a 7-1 score…
could be very entertaining.
And profitable.”
The offer was on the table: be her personal advisor, her fortune-telling pet.
An experiment.
If he was right, she won.
If he was wrong, she lost a sum insignificant to her fortune, but he would lose everything.
“I’m not your personal stockbroker,” Max replied, flatly rejecting the subordinate position.
“And my knowledge doesn’t come cheap.”
Victoria’s expression hardened.
“However…” he continued, seeing the opportunity to turn the conversation in his favor, “…there is something you could help me with.
There’s a club at this university.
The ‘Alpha Investors Circle.’ I know they only accept members with an investment portfolio of at least $20,000.
Or…” he paused, looking her directly in the eyes, “…with the sponsorship of one of the founding families.
Like yours.”
The air in the room grew tense.
“This is my offer,” Max declared.
“I’ll give you a prediction.
Just one.
I’ll tell you exactly where to put your money for a quick, guaranteed profit.
In exchange, I don’t want a single cent of your earnings.
I want you to be my sponsor.
I want you to get me into that club.
Tomorrow.”
Victoria stared at him, processing the sheer audacity of his proposal.
He didn’t want her money; he wanted her access, her status.
The Investors Circle was the real playground for the young elite, a place where insider information was traded and alliances were forged.
To Max, entry into that circle was worth far more than any commission.
A slow, dangerous smile curled Victoria’s lips.
“Smart, scholarship kid.
Very smart,” she admitted, her voice a whisper.
“I accept.
But if your ‘prediction’ fails, I’ll personally see to it that you can’t even get into the chess club.”
“It won’t fail,” he assured her with an absolute confidence that threw her off.
“There’s a small app development company called ‘Feather-Light.’ Tomorrow afternoon, at exactly 3 PM, they will announce an exclusive partnership with ‘ConnectSphere,’ the biggest social network right now.
Their stock is trading for pennies.
Tell your manager to buy every share he can first thing tomorrow morning.
Sell as soon as the announcement goes public.
It’ll be at least a 200% gain in less than 24 hours.”
“Just words,” she countered, skeptical.
“Facts.” Max corrected.
He turned his phone screen toward her.
It showed an investment platform interface with a buy order ready to go.
“And just so you see I put my money where my mouth is…
I’m putting my last $1,600 into this.”
Under Victoria’s watchful gaze, Max pressed the “Confirm” button.
His act of faith—though to him it was an absolute certainty based on his past-life knowledge—was the coup de grâce that sealed the deal.
[Expense: -$1,600]
[Previous Balance: $1,620]
[Current Balance: $20]
“Tomorrow, then,” Victoria said, her voice now charged with a new energy.
“Either you bring me the club registration form, or don’t bother speaking to me again.”
She turned to leave but stopped at the threshold.
Her gaze swept the room with an air of critical inspection.
The space was functional and clean, but shamelessly standard.
It featured a single bed with a simple wooden headboard, a matching laminate desk, a built-in wardrobe, and a generic office chair.
It was typical dorm furniture—practical and soulless.
To someone like Victoria, accustomed to designer furniture and custom-made rooms, the place was the epitome of mediocrity.
“And you really should do something about this…
cubicle, scholarship kid,” she said, her tone somewhere between mocking and condescending.
“It has the personality of a cardboard box.
I suppose that’s what you get with the basic package.”
It was a final attempt to needle him, to reassert the distance between their worlds.
The old Max would have felt self-conscious about the austerity of his surroundings.
The new Max saw an opening.
He looked up from his phone and met her eyes, a subtle smile playing on his lips for the first time.
“Maybe you could help me breathe some life into it,” he replied, his voice soft but full of implicit challenge.
“I’m sure you have excellent taste.
We could go shopping for some decor after we celebrate our profits tomorrow.”
Victoria froze for an instant, caught off guard by the bold counter-offer.
He hadn’t just accepted her jab; he had turned it into an invitation—a date—contingent on their mutual success.
He had put her in a position where refusing would be admitting she didn’t trust the prediction she had just invested in.
A short, genuine laugh escaped her lips.
It was the first time Max had heard her truly laugh.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Max,” she said, though her eyes sparkled with a new light.
“First, the money.
Then, we’ll see if your taste in decor is as good as your taste in stocks.”
And with that ambiguous promise hanging in the air, she turned and left, leaving behind the echo of her laughter and the faint scent of her perfume.
Max closed the door.
His bank account was practically at zero.
He had bet everything he had—not just his money, but his only chance to use Victoria as leverage.
He lay back on the bed, staring at his phone.
The smile on his face was that of a chess player who had just moved an unexpected piece, forcing his opponent into a game they hadn’t seen coming.
The match for power had just taken on a much more personal tone.