I'm the Heiress of Trillions

Perched midway up the mountainside, on the left sprawled layers of forests, while on the right, North America's most picturesque coastline stretched forth. In the distance, the majestic snow-clad mountain ranges loomed. Gazing down from the dormitory window, a plethora of rosy pink roses bloomed naively, marking the famed UBC University landmark - the Rose Garden. Jasmine slammed her blazing phone down, exhaling a long sigh as she finally wrapped up a tedious 45-minute interview meeting. It was already 11 a.m. during the first week of September, the pandemonium of the university's bustling back-to-school season. As an orphan, surviving off the hospitality of distant relatives, managing finances was her main quest: tuition fees, living expenses, and her younger brother Simon’s upkeep loomed like three massive cliffs. Work was her priority over studies, hustling to reclaim custody of her younger brother took precedence. Regarding internships, Jasmine found them as thrilling as a Netflix thriller series. Navigating murkiness was her superpower, allowing her, as an undergrad, to bounce between the research laboratories of UBC's graduate and doctoral students in biomedical sciences. Each semester, she bombarded professors overseeing projects with hundreds of job applications. While most of her emails echoed in silence, eventually, someone took the bait. "Jasmine, if you're not here soon, might as well not show up! It’s the project kick-off today, and the bigwig's on his way!" The thunderous voice, coming through the screen, almost shattered Jasmine’s eardrums. She respectfully bid farewell to the screen portraying the vociferous lady sporting a ghastly pale face mask, the fairy godmother who held the key to her internship in neural reconstruction. Jasmine sprang up from her bed like a startled fish, landing in front of the dressing mirror. As she stared at her swollen, pimple-and-rash-covered face, and glanced at her arms resembling a canvas of red dots, she let out a heavy sigh. Oh my, what a disaster! With acute eczema, how in the world could she step outside! Her eczema was as unpredictable as the weather - yesterday’s outbreak was due to a lousy mood... an apocalyptic lousy mood. Ah, yes, just yesterday she officially ended her fairytale-like, yet utterly doomed marriage to her seemingly perfect, devastatingly handsome but absolutely unreliable hidden husband. Expecting loyalty from a handsome man was like expecting a cat to bark – pure fantasy! With thousands of couples parting ways daily, Jasmine’s story was prosaically cliché: the charming yet destitute Belon snagged the heiress and bolted off in search of true love. Jasmine had diligently pursued Belon for five years, being the most obedient fish in his pond, the most well-behaved lapdog. She was lucky enough to be chosen as his permanently invisible and top-secret wife, free-of-charge maid. Her responsibilities extended beyond caring for him; she also had to endure the exploitation from his scathing, cunning mother. The divorce agreement arrived at the school faster than a pizza delivery on a Friday night. It seemed like Belon was determined to keep her on campus this semester, probably to perfect his grand escape plan from the marriage circus. If she dared to step foot home for even four days, she bet the place would resemble a ghost town. After all, they chose that rental for its disappearing act potential, didn't they? Crafty as a pair of undercover agents, those two. It's almost too ridiculous, like a plotline straight out of a comedy series! What was Belon's deal with marrying her anyway? Just to have a live-in maid catering to his and his mother's whims? And now that he scored a ticket on the cash express, was having a maid a bit too much baggage? Jasmine wasn't exactly a die-hard romantic, but let's admit it, Belon's angelic face was like a magnet for attention. As someone who couldn't resist a good aesthetic, falling for him was almost inevitable. But getting served divorce papers as if they were the daily specials at a restaurant? That was the final straw. She couldn't continue playing the role of his obedient pet anymore. In the concrete jungle of Vancouver , beautiful women were as common as coffee shops, outnumbering the handful of eligible bachelors—most of whom seemed to sway toward other gentlemen. And the straight ones who had a sprinkle of charm? Well, they also had a soft spot for... you guessed it, other men. It was like a parade of good-looking rascals in a rom-com gone rogue. To Jasmine's utter disbelief, even in her state of being financially frayed, she somehow lassoed herself a good-looking husband. How abnormal can life get? But then, the scoundrel executed his disappearing act, leaving her to deal with an eczema outbreak that seemed to think her body was the perfect canvas. From the tips of her fingers to the hidden nooks behind her ears, it was a full-blown rash party. The itchiness? Oh, it made her ears glow redder than a fire truck's blaring sirens. Seriously, was God playing with blurry vision when designing this plan? "Come on, it’s not that big of a deal. Look at you all flustered, your eczema’s acting up again. Is this disease contagious? Keep your distance from me," Lisa, her roommate, teased while watching Jasmine scratch her ear and cheek in the mirror. "My time, my youth, my money - all wasted," Jasmine sighed. "I have an interview today, at this crucial moment, with this eczema acting up, how on earth will any professor take me seriously?" "You’ve played the maid for so long, and now, finally, you’ve had an epiphany. You should thank him," Angela, another roommate, handed Jasmine a tube of allergy cream. She was more serious-minded. The dorm consisted of three bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a miniature kitchenette, enough for basic culinary exploits. "Otherwise, who knows how long you would've been exploited. That scoundrel divorced you so effortlessly. You should celebrate and thank him for setting you free," Angela remarked. "Nowadays, even marginally good-looking men want to capitalize on their looks. Belon and his detestable mother are classic NPD personalities. You were their cash bag, sucked dry for so many years. And now, only now, have you realized it?" Lisa joined in, with a hint of psychological analysis in her words. She had a knack for that stuff. "But you still can't let your guard down. They might come back for more blood-sucking," Angela cautioned, nodding in agreement with Lisa. Jasmine shook her head, hoping to toss away the chaotic thoughts of her past like old confetti. "Alright, enough about my wild adventures with Belon. Any genius ideas on how I can face this interview looking like an allergy commercial?" Her voice held a hint of a smile, trying to lighten the weight in the room. "Maybe slather yourself in that cream and then zip yourself up in a bubble wrap. Bam! You're now immune to the world's nonsense," Lisa suggested with a playful nudge at Angela. Their laughter offered Jasmine a momentary break from the whirlwind of her life. "Seriously, you two are the anchors to my sinking ship," she remarked, appreciating the distraction they provided amidst the chaos. Angela, ever the voice of reason, chimed in, "Use the cream sparingly, though. We don't want you scaring off potential employers by looking like a haunted house attraction." "Yeah, we need to keep those job offers rolling in, not running away screaming," Lisa added, injecting a hint of concern into her lighthearted comment. Applying the cream, Jasmine winced at the stinging sensation. "Ouch! This cream is auditioning for a role in a horror movie. I hope it does the job of soothing my eczema, not turning me into a red-faced monster." As she readied herself, Jasmine marveled at the odd but cherished bond she shared with her roommates. Living together had forged an unbreakable camaraderie, a lifeline amidst life's unexpected storms. Meanwhile, Angela offered some encouragement, "Don't stress too much. You're smart, capable, and even with your current abstract art face, still presentable." "Yeah, a little eczema adds character! Think of it as avant-garde makeup," Lisa joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Their banter provided a welcome break. With a facade of confidence masking her skin’s rebellion, Jasmine donned her interview attire—a crisp blouse and a pressed skirt, doing her best to divert attention from her blotchy complexion. "Alright, wish me luck! Time to confront the academic dragons and hope they judge me by my brains, not by my face's 'modern art' exhibition," Jasmine said, summoning a brave smile as she grabbed her bag and dashed out. Navigating through the bustling corridors, Jasmine dodged distracted students lost in their own worlds, feeling both mesmerized and exasperated by the campus's vibrant energy. However, her dash to the interview location turned into a series of misadventures. Maneuvering through crowded hallways, she narrowly avoided collisions, all while scratching her eczema-induced itch, oblivious to the plump security guard hot on her trail. "Stop biking inside!" the guard panted, attempting to halt her escape. "Got a clock to beat! Thanks!" Jasmine hollered back, leaving the guard fuming and stomping in frustration. Just when she thought it couldn't get worse, someone emerged unexpectedly, causing her to veer toward an expensive-looking Land Rover. "Oh no, not the car! Can't afford a hit-and-run!" Jasmine muttered, resigning herself to fate. But miraculously, the bike screeched to a halt just in time. Stunned, Jasmine found herself pressed against a solid figure—her accidental hero! As the blur cleared, the figure became a person, holding onto her bike handles and brakes. Her savior! Quickly dismounting, Jasmine approached, teary-eyed with gratitude. However, her emotional display didn’t seem to resonate with the cautious stranger, who stepped back, eyeing her warily. Realizing her extended hand looked more suspicious than friendly, Jasmine withdrew it awkwardly, feeling a blush creep up her already inflamed face. "This is the cold, handsome, doctor-like person from the teaching building! If only things weren't so awkward, I'd probably whistle at him," Jasmine mused, attempting to ease the tension. Meanwhile, the stranger seemed taken aback, meticulously wiping his hand with a handkerchief, the same hand Jasmine had touched earlier. Not the most confidence-boosting sight. Undeterred, Jasmine persisted, "Thanks! Let's connect on i********: sometime? I owe you a meal for saving my life," she blurted, realizing time was of the essence. " No need," the handsome stranger replied coolly, unmoved by her charm. Trying to maintain her poise, Jasmine continued, "Absolutely, got an interview to rush to! Sorry for the haste. I hope I didn’t cause any harm?" "I'm in Biochemical Level 3, Class 5. Are you headed there?" she persisted, attempting to bridge the awkward encounter. Her fascination with attractive faces was proving to be a stumbling block. The handsome stranger glanced at her before picking up her dropped book. "You’re looking for M5, right? Cross this building, and it’s on the second floor of the one behind it." With that, he left without another glance. Jasmine stood there, a puzzled expression etched on her puffy face. "How did he know I was looking for M5? Is that where I needed to go?!" she pondered, utterly perplexed by the enigmatic encounter.