The landlord's fist hit our door at 6 AM. Three pounds. Legal. Final.
My mother was crying before I opened my eyes. My father was yelling before I left my mattress on the floor. My brothers were pretending to sleep because that's what you do when you're 9 and 11 and your family's world is ending in 72-hour increments.
I had $43 in my bank account. Rent was $1,200. Tuition was due in two weeks. And my phone was buzzing with a text from a number I didn't recognise.
I should've asked questions. I should've googled the address. I should've wondered why anyone would pay a broke CS student $500 a week to teach a high schooler.
But desperation doesn't ask questions. It just says yes.
That's how I ended up in the back of a Maybach three hours later, wearing my only button-down that didn't have a frayed collar, on my way to meet the woman who would ruin my life in the best and worst ways possible.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let me rewind to the moment everything started falling apart. Or coming together. I still can't tell the difference.
---
**6:47 AM**
"Elias! ELIAS!"
My mother's voice cracked on the second syllable. That's how I knew it wasn't nice. Maria Thorn Menson didn't crack. She exploded, she guilt-tripped, she made you feel like every breath you took was stealing oxygen from your younger siblings. But she didn't crack.
I rolled off my mattress, careful not to step on Marcus's arm. He was sprawled across the carpet between my makeshift bed and the bunk beds where Caleb snored like a chainsaw. Our bedroom was intended for two kids. We'd crammed three in here when Dad lost his construction job last year and we had to downsize.
The eviction notice was taped to the inside of the front door. Red letters. Bold print. The kind of document designed to make you feel like a failure before you even finish reading it.
**FINAL NOTICE: 72 HOURS TO VACATE PREMISES**
My father stood in the kitchen doorway, still in his work clothes from the graveyard shift. His hands were shaking. Not from fear. From rage.
"Three years," he said. His voice was quiet. Dangerous. "Three years we've been in this place. Never late. Never a problem. And this is how they treat us?"
"Miguel, please." My mother's hand hovered near his shoulder but didn't touch. She'd learned that lesson. "We'll figure something out. Elias has his job on campus. I can pick up more shifts at the diner."
"His job pays $12 an hour!" My father's voice rose. Marcus stirred in the bedroom. "And you're already working yourself to death for scraps. What are we supposed to do, magic the money out of thin air?"
I cleared my throat. Both of them turned to look at me like they'd forgotten I existed.
"I'll handle it," I said.
The words came out before I'd thought them through. That was my speciality. Promises I had no idea how to keep.
My father's laugh was bitter. "You'll handle it. With what, your coding hobby? Wake up, Elias. The real world doesn't care about your computer science degree."
"Miguel." My mother's voice carried a warning.
"No, he needs to hear this." My father stepped toward me. He smelled like concrete dust and sweat. "You want to help this family? Drop out. Get a real job. Construction, warehouse work, something that actually pays. Your degree is a luxury we can't afford."
My jaw tightened. "I'm three semesters away from graduating."
"And we're 72 hours away from being on the street."
The silence that followed was broken only by Caleb's snoring and the hum of our dying refrigerator.
I grabbed my phone from the counter and walked out.
---
**7:23 AM**
The campus library didn't open until 8, but I had keys from my IT support job. The building was empty except for the hum of servers in the basement and the fluorescent lights that made everything look like a morgue.
I sat at one of the long tables near the windows and pulled up my bank account on my laptop.
**Available Balance: $43.27**
My tuition payment was due in two weeks. $2,400. I'd been planning to take out another student loan, but my father had already maxed out our family's borrowing capacity last month to cover Marcus's emergency room visit when he broke his arm skateboarding.
I opened my email. Seventeen unread messages. Twelve were spam. Three were from professors wondering where my assignments were. One was from the TA coordinator asking if I wanted to pick up extra grading hours.
$15 an hour. Maximum ten hours a week.
I did the math in my head. $150 a week. $600 a month.
Not enough.
Not even close.
I was about to close my laptop when my phone buzzed. A text from a number I didn't recognise.
**Unknown Number:** *URGENT: Private tutor needed for advanced high school student. $500/week. Must start immediately. References required. Are you available?*
I stared at the screen.
$500 a week was more than I made at both my jobs combined.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Every instinct I had screamed that this was a scam. Rich people didn't text random college students offering $500 a week. This was how people ended up in vans with their kidneys missing.
But desperation has a way of turning off the part of your brain that asks smart questions.
I typed back.
**Me:** *How did you get my number?*
The response came within seconds.
**Unknown Number:** *Your academic advisor. I requested referrals for top-performing CS students with tutoring experience. Your name was first on the list. Can you meet today at 3 PM?*
I checked the time. 7:31 AM. I had classes until 2.
**Me:** *What's the address?*
Another instant reply.
**Unknown Number:** *I'll send a car to pick you up. Campus library entrance. 3 PM sharp. Wear something presentable. And Elias? Don't be late.*
My blood went cold.
I hadn't told them my name. I hadn't told them where I was.
But they knew.
---
**2:47 PM**
I spent the entire day trying to talk myself out of going.
Between classes, I googled "private tutoring scams" and "how to avoid kidnapping." I texted my roommate, Jake, and told him that if I didn't message him by 6 PM, he should call the police. I even wrote out a note with the unknown number and the words "IF I DIE, START HERE" and left it on my dorm desk.
Paranoid? Maybe.
But I'd watched enough true crime documentaries to know that college students who needed money were prime targets for organ harvesting rings.
At 2:45 PM, I was standing outside the library entrance wearing my only button-down shirt. The collar was frayed, but I'd tucked it under my jacket. My shoes were two years old and the sole on the left one was starting to separate, but I'd used duct tape on the inside to hold it together.
Presentable was relative when you were poor.
At exactly 3 PM, a black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
I'd never seen a Maybach in real life before. I only knew what it was because my roommate Jake was obsessed with luxury cars and made me watch YouTube videos about them when he was high.
The back window rolled down.
A woman looked out at me.
And my brain stopped working.
She was beautiful in the way that expensive things are beautiful. Porcelain skin. Sharp cheekbones. Platinum blonde hair pulled back in a style that probably had a French name I didn't know. Her eyes were green. Not hazel, not olive. Green. Like emeralds.
She was also at least fifteen years older than me.
"Elias Thorn Menson?" Her voice was smooth. Controlled. The kind of voice that was used to being obeyed.
I nodded because my mouth had forgotten how to form words.
"Get in."
The door unlocked with a soft click.
I should've run. Every self-preservation instinct I had was screaming at me to turn around, go back to the library, and block the number.
But I thought about the eviction notice. I thought about my mother's cracked voice. I thought about Marcus and Caleb losing the only bedroom they'd ever known.
I got in the car.
The interior smelled like leather and something else I couldn't identify. Expensive perfume, maybe. Or just the scent of money.
The woman didn't look at me as the driver pulled away from the curb. She was scrolling through her phone, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the screen.
"You're probably wondering who I am," she said without looking up.
"A little."
"My name is Selene Kade Rowan. I own Rowan Industries. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
I had. Rowan Industries was one of the biggest tech and finance conglomerates on the West Coast. They had contracts with half the Fortune 500 companies and a reputation for hostile takeovers that made Wall Street look like a charity bake sale.
"I've heard of it," I managed.
"Good. Then you understand that I don't waste time." She finally looked up from her phone. Her eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like I was being dissected. "I need a tutor for my daughter. She's eighteen. Brilliant. And utterly bored by every educator I've hired in the past three years."
"What subjects?"
"Computer science. Advanced mathematics. Business strategy. Anything that will challenge her." Selene's gaze didn't waver. "She's homeschooled. Has been since she was twelve. I don't trust the public education system, and private schools are full of mediocre minds and nepotism."
I swallowed. "Why me?"
"Because you have a 4.0 GPA in one of the most competitive CS programs in the state. Because your academic advisor called you 'the most naturally gifted student I've taught in twenty years.' And because you need the money."
The last part hit like a slap.
"Excuse me?"
Selene's smile was thin. "I do my research, Elias. Your family is facing eviction. Your father is barely employed. Your mother works two jobs. You're drowning in student loans and living off ramen and spite." She leaned forward slightly. "I'm offering you $500 a week. Cash. Paid every Friday. Three hours a day on weekdays. Full weekends if needed during exam seasons."
I did the math in my head. $500 a week was $2,000 a month.
That was rent. That was food. That was breathing room.
"What's the catch?" I asked.
"Smart boy." Selene's smile widened. "The catch is simple. My daughter is sheltered. She's never had a male tutor before. She's never had a male friend, for that matter. I've kept her world very small and very controlled."
"Why?"
"Because the world is full of people who want to take advantage of brilliant young women with trust funds." Her voice was cold. "So here's the rule, Elias. You will tutor her. You will be professional. You will maintain appropriate boundaries at all times." She leaned even closer, and I could smell her perfume now. Something floral and sharp. "If you touch her, if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I will destroy you. I will make sure you never work in tech again. I will bury your family in legal fees and lawsuits until you're begging for the mercy of eviction. Do you understand?"
My throat was dry. "Yes."
"Good." She leaned back. "We'll arrive at the estate in twenty minutes. You'll meet Aurelia. If she tolerates you, the job is yours. If she doesn't, I'll have you back on campus by dinnertime."
I nodded.
Selene went back to her phone.
I stared out the window and watched the city blur past.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered that I was making a terrible mistake.
But the voice was drowned out by the sound of my mother crying and my father's rage and the red letters on the eviction notice.
I needed this job.
I needed it more than I needed to ask questions.
And that's how it started.
Not with love. Not with lust.
With desperation.
The kind that makes you ignore every red flag waving in your face.