I didn't sleep that night.
Part of it was the adrenaline. Part of it was the five-hundred-dollar bills I'd hidden under my mattress because I didn't trust leaving them anywhere else. But most of it was the look on my father's face when I'd handed him the cash that evening.
He'd counted it twice. Then he'd looked at me like I'd stolen it.
"Where did this come from?" he'd asked.
"Tutoring job. Private client. I told you I'd handle it."
He'd stared at the money for a long moment. Then he'd folded it carefully and put it in his wallet without another word.
No, thank you. No apology for doubting me. Just silence.
My mother had hugged me so hard I thought my ribs would crack. Marcus and Caleb had cheered because they didn't understand what eviction meant, only that everyone seemed less scared now.
I'd gone back to my dorm at midnight, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off at 7 AM.
Now it was 2:30 PM, and I was standing outside the library entrance again, wearing the same button-down shirt because it was the only one I owned that didn't have visible stains.
The Maybach pulled up at exactly 2:45 PM.
This time, Selene wasn't inside.
The driver, whose name I still didn't know, nodded at me through the rearview mirror as I climbed in.
"Miss Rowan is expecting you," he said. His voice was deep and formal. "She asked me to inform you that she'll be working late today and won't be home until after 7 PM."
"Okay," I said.
"She also asked me to remind you of the house rules." He met my eyes in the mirror. "No wandering. No personal phone calls inside the estate. And stay in the library unless Miss Aurelia requests otherwise."
"Got it."
He didn't say anything else for the rest of the drive.
---
Aurelia was waiting in the library when I arrived.
She was sitting in the same leather chair as yesterday, but this time she wasn't reading. She was watching the door. Like she'd been waiting for me.
"You're early," she said.
I checked my phone. 2:58 PM.
"Better than late."
"Agreed." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit. We have a lot to cover."
I sat, pulling my backpack onto my lap. I'd brought my laptop, a notebook, and a few textbooks I thought might be useful.
Aurelia watched me unpack with the same analytical expression she'd worn the day before. Like she was cataloguing every movement.
"Before we start," she said, "I need to establish some ground rules."
"Your mother already gave me rules."
"Those are her rules. These are mine." She folded her hands in her lap. "Rule one: Don't waste my time. If I understand a concept, move on. If I don't, explain it a different way. Don't repeat yourself verbatim and expect a different result."
"Fair."
"Rule two: Don't treat me like a child. I'm eighteen. I've been managing my own education since I was twelve. I don't need motivational speeches or participation trophies."
"I wasn't planning on giving you any."
"Good. Rule three: Don't ask me personal questions unless they're directly relevant to what we're studying. I'm not interested in small talk."
I raised an eyebrow. "What counts as a personal question?"
"Anything about my family, my social life, or why I'm homeschooled. If you're curious, keep it to yourself."
"Noted."
"Rule four." She paused, and for the first time, something shifted in her expression. Not quite vulnerability, but close. "If I'm struggling with something, don't make me feel stupid. I already know I'm supposed to be good at everything. I don't need reminders when I'm not."
That last one surprised me.
"I won't," I said.
She studied me for a moment, like she was trying to decide if I was lying.
Then she nodded. "Let's begin. Would like to begin with algorithm optimisation. I've been working on a personal project, and I keep running into efficiency problems."
She turned her laptop toward me.
The screen showed a program she'd written. It was a data sorting algorithm, but she'd overcomplicated it. The logic was sound, but the execution was clunky.
"What's the problem?" I asked.
"It works, but it's slow. Processing time increases exponentially with larger datasets. I need it to scale better."
I scanned the code. Spotted the issue immediately.
"You're using nested loops here," I said, pointing to a section. "That's why it's slow. Every time your dataset doubles, your processing time quadruples. You need to use a more efficient sorting method. Something like merge sort or quicksort."
"I know what merge sort is."
"Then why didn't you use it?"
She hesitated. "I wanted to see if I could build my own from scratch. I thought it would be more elegant."
"It's not elegant if it doesn't work."
Her jaw tightened. "It works. It's just not optimised."
"Which means it doesn't work well enough." I pulled the laptop closer. "Can I?"
She nodded.
I spent the next twenty minutes walking her through the change, replacing her nested loops with a recursive merge sort function. Testing it with different dataset sizes. Showing her how the processing time scaled logarithmically instead of exponentially.
She watched in silence, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just absorbing.
When I finished, she ran the optimised program. The difference was immediate. What had taken thirty seconds before now took less than two.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much better." She pulled the laptop back and studied the code. "I see it now. I was so focused on building something original that I ignored efficiency."
"That's a common mistake."
"I don't make common mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes. That's how you learn."
She looked up at me. Her ice blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You're not going to coddle me, are you?"
"No."
"Good." She turned back to her laptop. "Let's move on. I want to cover dynamic programming next."
---
We worked for two hours straight.
Aurelia was relentless. The moment she understood a concept, she wanted to move to the next one. She asked questions that forced me to think harder than I had in any of my university courses. She challenged my explanations, poked holes in my logic, and refused to accept anything that didn't make perfect sense.
It was exhausting.
It was also kind of exhilarating.
Most of the students I'd tutor on campus just wanted to pass their exams. They didn't care about actually understanding the material. Thmemorised formulas, regurgitated answers, and forgot everything the moment the semester ended.
Aurelia wasn't like that. She wanted to understand everything. Not just the how, but the why.
By 5 PM, my brain felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry.
"Can we take a break?" I asked.
Aurelia glanced at the clock on the wall. "We still have an hour."
"I know. But I need water. And maybe food."
She frowned. "You didn't eat before coming here?"
"I had class until 2. Didn't have time."
She stood. "Come with me."
"Your mother said I should stay in the library."
"My mother isn't here. And you're not useful if you pass out from dehydration." She walked toward the door. "Are you coming or not?"
I followed.
---
The kitchen was the first room I'd seen in the house that actually felt lived in.
It was huge, obviously. Industrial-grade appliances. Marble countertops. centreter island that could double as a dining table. But there were also small signs of use. A coffee mug in the sink. A cookbook ok open on the counter. A bowl of fruit that looked like someone had actually eaten from it recently.
Aurelia opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She tossed it to me.
"Thanks," I said.
She grabbed an apple for herself and leaned against the counter. "You're better than the others."
"The other tutors?"
"Obviously." She bit into the apple. "Most of them treated me like a checklist. Teach the material, collect the paycheck, leave. You actually seem to care whether I understand."
"That's my job."
"No. Your job is to show up and go through the motions. Caring is optional." She studied me with that same analytical gaze. "Why do you care?"
I took a drink of water, buying myself time to think.
"Because teaching someone who actually wants to learn is rare," I said finally. "Most students don't care. You do. That makes it easier."
"Easier to teach, or easier to tolerate me?"
"Both."
She almost smiled. Almost.
"You're honest. I appreciate that."
"Your rules, remember? No bullshit."
"Exactly." She finished her apple and tossed the core into the trash. "Can I ask you something?"
"I thought personal questions were off limits."
"This is educational." She crossed her arms. "Do you like computer science, or are you just good at it?"
I hesitated. "What's the difference?"
"Liking something means you'd do it even if you didn't have to. Being good at it means you do it because it's useful. There's a difference."
It was a better question than I'd expected.
"I'm good at it," I admitted. "I don't know if I like it. I've never really thought about it."
"Why not?"
"Because liking something is a luxury. I needed a degree that would get me a job. Computer science checked the box."
Aurelia tilted her head. "That's depressing."
"That's practical."
"They're not mutually exclusive." She pushed off the counter. "My mother built an empire doing something she was good at. But she hates it. Every single day, she hates it. And she'll never stop because she's too afraid of losing control."
There was something raw in her voice. Something that sounded almost like pity.
"Is that why you're studying business strategy?" I asked. "To understand her?"
"I'm studying business strategy, so I don't want to become her." She walked toward the door. "Break's over. Let's get back to work."
---
We worked until 6:30 PM.
By the end, I'd covered dynamic programming, graph theory, and the basics of machine learning. Aurelia absorbed everything like a sponge, taking notes in a leather-bound journal with handwriting so precise it looked like a font.
When the clock hit 6:30, she closed her laptop.
"That's enough for today," she said.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Yes. But next time, eat before you come. I don't want to waste twenty minutes on another break."
"Noted."
I packed up my things. Aurelia walked me to the front door, which surprised me. I'd expected her to just stay in the library.
The Maybach was already waiting outside.
"Elias," Aurelia said as I reached for the door handle.
I turned back.
She was standing in the doorway, backlit by the warm light from inside the house. For the first time, she didn't look like an ice queen. She just looked like a girl.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For not treating me like a project."
"You're not a project."
"To my mother, I am. To everyone, really." She paused. "It's nice to be something else for once."
Before I could respond, she closed the door.
---
The drive back to campus was quiet.
I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, and thought about what Aurelia had said.
*To my mother, I am a project.*
There was something deeply sad about that. Something lonely.
I wondered how long she'd been living like this. Isolated in that massive house with only books and tutors and a mother who saw her as an extension of her empire instead of a person.
My phone buzzed. A text from Selene.
**Selene Rowan:** *Marcus tells me the session went well. Same time tomorrow. I'll be home, so expect to see me.*
I typed back a quick confirmation and put my phone away.
When the Maybach dropped me off at the library entrance, I sat on the steps for a few minutes, just breathing.
My first day was done. I'd survived.
Aurelia hadn't fired me. Selene hadn't destroyed me. I had $500 in my pocket and another week of work ahead of me.
Everything was fine.
So why did I feel like I'd just stepped into something I didn't fully understand?
I pushed the thought away and headed back to my dorm.
Tomorrow, I'd do it all again.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
This was just a job. A means to an end.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Right?