The Billionaires Protege

Chapter four:The note without a name

I woke up to the sound of my alarm, a soft chime that felt like it had no business disturbing the kind of emptiness I was cradling. My body ached like I had fought a storm, and maybe I had. Only it wasn’t the rain that left me sore, it was the weight of last night, dragging through my chest.

My hand flailed across the bed in search of my phone, eyes still shut, heart reluctant. The moment I found it and forced my lids apart, the screen glared back at me with the time: 7:30 AM.

College. Right. I had things to do. I was supposed to be productive. Normal. Except I couldn’t stop wondering who the hell had picked me up last night. That car. That man in the black suit with the umbrella. The way he insisted, gentle but firm, like he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And still, I hadn’t seen his face. I only heard the low hum of his voice as he gave instructions to the driver and closed the door behind me like I was something worth sheltering in.

For a moment, I considered the possibility that Gerard had sent someone to clean up the mess. But I didn’t believe that. He wouldn’t. Not after what he did.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. My party dress was balled up in the corner, soaked, wrinkled, ruined—just like my pride. My heels are scuffed and muddy. My makeup had smeared onto my pillow like the ghost of a life I no longer recognized.

I couldn’t face my mother.

She had always been so quick to gush about Gerard. “He’s a good boy, Lucille,” she’d said. A man with class. You hold on to him.”

I used to smile and nod, trying not to feel like I was chasing something I didn’t deserve. And last night… Last night proved I was right all along. I didn’t belong in his world, not really. I was just another poor girl who didn’t know her place.

I padded down the hallway toward the bathroom, thinking I’d gotten lucky—maybe Mom was out already. But as I descended the stairs, she emerged from the kitchen, holding a cup of tea, her eyes widening at the sight of me.

“Lucille.” Her voice was light but probing. “You got in so late last night. Who dropped you off?”

I hesitated mid-step. My mind scrambled for a lie, any lie, but all I could manage was a shrug. “Someone from the party,” I mumbled, moving past her. “A friend.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “What happened? You looked… off when you walked in.”

“It was a long night,” I said quickly, brushing invisible lint from my sweater. “I need to get ready for school.”

She didn’t press, but her stare lingered. I could feel her questions on my back as I headed into the hallway. My stomach curled just thinking about how disappointed she’d be if she knew. But how could I tell her Gerard had humiliated me in front of everyone? How could I say he wasn’t the fairytale she'd hoped for me?

As I was slipping on my shoes by the door, there was a knock.

It startled both of us.

I opened it cautiously. A deliveryman stood there with a large, perfectly wrapped black box, topped with an ivory satin ribbon.

“For Miss Lucille Gregory,” he said, handing it over before turning away with mechanical precision.

I blinked. “Wait—who sent—?”

But he was already gone.

There was a small envelope taped to the top. I peeled it open, my hands trembling.

> Hope the rain didn’t do too much of a number on you. We’ll meet soon.

That was it. No name. No logo. No way of knowing.

My mother peeked over my shoulder. “Is that from Gerard?”

I stiffened. “I don’t know,” I muttered, clutching the box tightly and heading for my room before she could ask more.

Once inside, I shut the door and dropped to the floor beside my bed, heart hammering in my throat. Slowly, I unwrapped the ribbon, fingers shaky, like I was opening something forbidden.

The lid lifted to reveal tissue paper folded with surgical precision.

Inside sat a Hermès Himalaya Birkin 30.

I gasped.

It was pristine. Shimmering white crocodile leather, with the faintest gradation of grey toward the corners. Palladium hardware. Delicate, opulent, perfect.

I could barely breathe.

This wasn’t just expensive. It was elite. Rare. A status symbol for women whose lives were embroidered with private jets and boardroom power.

It cost more than my mother made in a year.

I quickly closed the box and shoved it under my bed like it might combust. I couldn’t understand. Who sent this? And why?

I couldn’t wear it. I couldn’t show it. I could barely look at it.

And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about that voice in the car. Soft, smooth, knowing. And the way he’d helped me when I was soaked and broken and ugly. He’d made me feel... safe.

At school, I kept my head down. The halls were too loud, too bright. I felt exposed. Raw. Like everyone could smell the shame on me.

I made it through my first class in a daze, clinging to the notes like they meant something.

But then I heard it.

Laughter.

Whispers.

“Did you see her face?”

“She looked like a wet dog, oh my God.”

“She got thrown out—can you believe that? Gerard literally told security to escort her.”

I turned a corner and froze as I caught a glimpse of a phone screen.

It was a video. Of me. Standing in the rain, mascara streaked, staring at Gerard’s closed door.

I didn’t hear the rest. I walked away quickly, holding my breath until I got to the bathroom, locking myself in a stall.

The tears came before I could stop them.

This was more than heartbreak. This was a public spectacle. And Gerard didn’t care. He’d tossed me aside and let the vultures pick at what was left.

But someone had seen me. Someone had cared enough to lift me out of the gutter and leave behind a gift that could silence every snide laugh.

Still… who?

And why?

*********************

I hadn’t spoken a word all day unless I had to. Even in class, my voice came out soft and uncertain, and my thoughts wandered so far off I barely retained anything from the lectures. I just kept thinking about the package, the note, and the haunting way the words were written.

"Hope the rain didn’t do too much of a number on you. We’ll meet soon."

Who would send that? Who would know?

After class, I pulled my bag closer to me and headed out, hoping to slip through campus unnoticed. But the universe had other plans.

Just as I turned the corner behind the lecture hall, I walked right into them.

Gerard.

His back was against a pillar, hands in his pockets, a careless smirk on his lips. The same lips I once adored. Around him were two of his friends—Lorenzo and Chris—both loud, both arrogant. I tried to turn away, but it was too late. Lorenzo noticed me first.

“Hey, look who’s here,” he sneered. “The birthday party crasher.”

Chris let out an obnoxious laugh, elbowing Gerard, who chuckled low and didn’t even look at me. He just stood there, letting them talk.

“Didn’t she cry in the rain like some tragic movie heroine?” Chris added.

Gerard gave a slow, smug grin and finally caught my eyes. There was no remorse in them. Just amusement.

“You still mad, babe?” he asked, as if we were joking. As if he hadn’t shattered me.

I felt something tighten in my chest. It was hot and cold all at once, like shame and fury colliding. My cheeks burned, and my eyes stung, but I refused to let them see tears.

Without a word, I turned and walked away, my steps quick and shaky, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.

My part-time job was a blur. I moved through it on autopilot, taking orders, restocking shelves, cleaning the counters. Every time I paused, my mind circled back to the taunting note, to Gerard’s cruel laugh, to my own mother’s hopeful eyes.

It was nearly 10 PM when I wiped down the last table, ready to clock out and crawl into bed. Just as I was locking up, my phone buzzed.

An unknown number again.

I hesitated, staring at the screen. My thumb hovered before I swiped to answer.

“Hello?” I asked, cautiously.

“Miss Lucille Gregory?”

“Yes... speaking.”

“This is Halden & Co. "We’d like you to come in for your interview tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Your presence is expected.”

I blinked. “My—interview? I—I never applied... I mean... I’m not—”

“You’ve been selected. We’ll see you at 9.”

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood there, staring at the phone like it might offer some explanation. It didn’t. I stuffed it back into my bag and flagged down a taxi, too exhausted to try and make sense of it all.

When I got home, my mother was waiting in the living room, her eyes shining with excitement.

“There you are!” she said brightly. “You’ll never believe what Gerard did." He sent more gifts, sweetheart! They're in your room—bags and boxes and the most stunning clothes. I peeked.”

My stomach dropped. “He did?”

“Well, they came for you. Who else would it be from? You should thank him, baby. I knew he still cared. You just have to give him time.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I walked past her slowly, up the stairs to my room.

My breath caught when I opened the door.

It was like a boutique exploded inside. Designer dresses in silk and velvet, luxury heels with red bottoms and delicate straps, tissue paper scattered across the floor like snowflakes. Some tags were still attached, each item far beyond anything I could afford.

And on one of the boxes was another note, small and neatly folded.

"Wear one of these tomorrow. You sure would look good in them."

There was no signature.

I ran my fingers across the box’s gold lettering. Chanel.

I opened it carefully and gasped.

Inside lay a sapphire-blue evening dress that shimmered under the light and a pair of glistening stiletto heels that looked like they belonged in a celebrity’s closet.

I closed it quickly and sat on the edge of my bed, my fingers trembling.

Who was doing this? And why me?

The mystery lingered like a perfume I couldn’t place—intoxicating, elusive, and somehow dangerous.

I looked around at the scattered gifts, the notes, the shadows in the corners of my room. My mom’s excitement echoed in the hallway. The ghosts of Gerard’s laughter still rang in my ears.

But somewhere beneath the hurt… something stirred.

Curiosity. And a spark of something else.

Anticipation.