Chapter 2 - Breaking the Defenses
By the end of the second week, Jocelyn had turned the Valentine household upside down without touching a single piece of furniture. While previous tutors had curried favor by offering easy answers or flattering Leo’s aristocratic vanity, Jocelyn demanded absolute intellectual discipline.
“You’re cutting corners on the integration,” Jocelyn stated one rainy Tuesday evening, tapping a red pencil against Leo’s worksheet. “You found the shortcut online, didn't you?”
Leo, who had begun dressing in proper collared shirts without being told, groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s the same answer, Jocelyn! The shortcut works!”
“A shortcut without understanding why the function converges is just memorized mimicry,” she retorted calmly. “If the server parameters change in your game, your macro breaks. Derivate it manually.”
Zane stepped into the library unnoticed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He watched the subtle movement of Jocelyn’s hands as she guided his nephew through the complex variables. She possessed a stillness that fascinated him. Around Zane, people either cowered, schemed, or performed. Jocelyn merely existed, entirely anchored in her own dignity.
When the session ended at 6:00 p.m., Leo gathered his books and nodded grudgingly. “Same time Thursday?”
“Thursday. Don’t forget the problem set on page one hundred and four,” she replied, packing her pens.
As Leo bounded up the spiral staircase, Zane pushed off the doorframe and stepped into her path. “He smiled today,” Zane remarked, his deep voice carrying a strange warmth beneath its customary chill. “His headmaster called. Leo scored an eighty-nine on his midterm exam yesterday.”
“He is intelligent,” Jocelyn answered, zipping her satchel. “He just needed someone who didn’t treat his defiance like an insurmountable obstacle.”
“You did what three Ivy League professors couldn’t do in six months,” Zane said, stepping closer. The faint scent of sandalwood and expensive cedar rolled off him. “I’m increasing your payment to ten thousand dollars a month. Retroactive to your first session.”
Jocelyn stopped. She looked up, meeting his storm-gray eyes squarely. “We had this conversation in the club, Mr. Valentine. My rate is fixed. If you send extra money to my account, I will wire it back to your accounting department.”
“Why are you so obsessed with staying underpaid?” Zane asked, his tone laced with frustration. “Most people would drown each other for an extra ten thousand dollars.”
“Because an underpaid worker has a transaction; a woman taking your gifts becomes an obligation,” Jocelyn said quietly. “You’re used to controlling people through their financial greed, Mr. Valentine. When you pay a person what they are owed, they remain free. When you shower them with unearned wealth, you own them. You will never own me.”
Zane’s heart hammered against his ribs in an unfamiliar, erratic rhythm. He took one slow, deliberate step forward, trapping her between his imposing frame and the mahogany desk. “And what if I don’t want to own you, Jocelyn? What if I want you to look at me without that armor?”
Jocelyn didn’t retreat. Her breath hitched slightly, but her chin remained defiant. “Then you should start by treating me like a professional, not a target in your acquisition portfolio.”
May you like
Before Zane could answer, the door swung open, and Victoria Sterling—heiress to Sterling Global and woman number nine hundred and forty-two on his rejection ledger—stepped into the foyer wearing a fur stole and dripping with diamonds. Her eyes swept over Jocelyn’s sensible wool coat, and her lip curled in disgust.
“Zane, darling,” Victoria purred with icy disdain. “Your butler let me in. Did you forget our dinner reservation, or are you entertaining the household staff now?”
