The secure line hummed with the faint, synthesized static of military-grade encryption.
Alexander Dover, sitting thousands of miles away in his Geneva office, let out a slow, controlled breath.
"So, what did Marcus find?"
Victoria's voice crackled through the speaker, tight with the protective anxiety only a mother could muster.
She was pacing the sunroom, her silk slippers making virtually no sound against the marble floor.
"Exactly what we suspected, but perhaps a bit more cliché than I anticipated,"
Alexander replied, his tone deliberately light, expertly masking the terrifying, classified firewall Marcus had actually hit.
"It's a boy, Victoria."
Victoria stopped pacing. "A boy? At Sakura Crest?"
"No. Public school. Southside district,"
Alexander said, leaning back in his leather chair.
"An orphan. Works the night shift at a convenience store.
It appears our daughter has developed a bit of a bleeding heart.
She ordered a rather extensive delivery of groceries and winter supplies to his apartment yesterday, using an anonymous proxy.
She even had Arthur drive her past the building just to watch the delivery."
Victoria gasped softly, a hand flying to her chest.
A flurry of emotions crossed her beautiful face—surprise, relief, and then a profound, exasperated fondness.
"Oh, Alexander. A rebellious phase, but wrapped in charity. She's infatuated with a tragic story,"
Victoria murmured.
"That explains the sudden 'maturity' and her refusal to go to New York for the Gala dress.
She's feeling guilty about her privilege because she's crushing on a boy who has nothing."
"Precisely," Alexander agreed smoothly.
"It's a classic teenage archetype. The wealthy heiress and the boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
I've instructed Marcus to stand down.
If we intervene, if we forbid it or try to separate them, we'll only push her away and fan the flames of teenage rebellion.
We watch, but we let her navigate this."
"You're right. You're absolutely right,"
Victoria said, her mind already shifting gears from paranoid billionaire wife to proactive mother.
"If she's trying to catch the attention of a boy—or even just starting to understand her own feelings—she's incredibly vulnerable right now.
She's been so focused on her studies and that silly Gala committee with Chloe. She barely knows the first thing about actual romance or presenting herself."
Alexander chuckled, a low, warm sound.
"I leave that battlefield to you, my love. Just... try not to overwhelm her."
"I am her mother, Alexander,"
Victoria said, a spark of formidable determination lighting up her sapphire eyes.
"I know exactly what my daughter needs."
Airis was lying on her stomach across the massive, silk-sheeted bed, casually flipping through a thick AP Literature textbook.
The Aegis Bioskin kept her perfectly comfortable, preventing her elbows from aching as they rested against the mattress.
The room was silent, save for the gentle rustle of turning pages.
Her peaceful, slow-paced afternoon was abruptly shattered when the heavy oak door of her bedroom flew open.
"Airis, darling!" Victoria announced, sweeping into the room like a glamorous hurricane.
Airis jumped, snapping the textbook shut.
She sat up quickly, her golden-blonde hair falling in a messy cascade over her shoulders.
"Mom? What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong. In fact, everything is perfectly right," Victoria said.
Behind her, Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper, wheeled in a multi-tiered silver cart absolutely laden with leather cases, velvet pouches, illuminated mirrors, and an array of clothing bags.
Airis stared at the cart, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck.
The twenty-seven-year-old salaryman inside her recognized danger when he saw it.
This wasn't a casual mother-daughter chat. This was a siege.
"Mrs. Gable, leave the cart by the vanity, please. Thank you," Victoria instructed.
Once the housekeeper bowed and exited, closing the door behind her, Victoria turned her intense, sparkling gaze upon her daughter.
"Mom... what is all this?" Airis asked cautiously, pulling her knees to her chest.
"This, my sweet girl, is your formal education," Victoria declared, clapping her hands together.
"You've been acting so grown up lately, so incredibly mature. But I realized I have been neglecting my duties.
You are seventeen. The Spring Gala is approaching.
And a little bird—well, maternal intuition—tells me that you might, perhaps, have a certain someone you want to impress."
Airis's heart practically stopped. Did she find out about Lin Ye?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Airis lied smoothly, though her pulse hammered against her ribs.
"Oh, hush. You don't have to tell me his name,"
Victoria said with a conspiratorial wink, completely misinterpreting Airis's panic for teenage embarrassment.
"Whether he goes to Sakura Crest or... somewhere else. It doesn't matter.
What matters is that you are a Dover. And when a Dover wants to turn a head, she does it with absolute, devastating precision."
Victoria marched over to the cart and unzipped the largest leather case.
It opened to reveal a staggering arsenal of cosmetics.
There were dozens of foundation shades, palettes of eyeshadows ranging from subtle nudes to dramatic glitters, contouring sticks, blushes, and an army of brushes that looked softer than kitten fur.
"Come here," Victoria commanded, pointing to the plush velvet chair in front of the vanity mirror.
Resistance was futile. Airis reluctantly slid off the bed and walked over to the chair, sitting down with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows.
"Now," Victoria said, pulling Airis's hair back and securing it with a silk headband.
"You have naturally flawless skin—whatever you've been doing lately is working miracles.
So we won't bury you in foundation.
But makeup isn't about hiding, darling. It's about highlighting. It's about sending a message."
For the next two hours, Lin Ye's soul was subjected to an intense, bewildering masterclass in female aesthetics.
In his past life, Lin Ye's grooming routine consisted of splashing cold water on his face and hoping his cheap razor didn't leave too many nicks.
The sheer complexity of what Victoria was demonstrating was staggering. It was like watching an architect draft a blueprint or a painter construct a masterpiece.
"First, the innocent, cute look," Victoria lectured, wielding a fluffy brush with terrifying expertise.
"This is for daytime. Coffee dates. Study sessions. It says, 'I am approachable, sweet, and effortless.'"
Victoria applied a subtle, peachy blush to the apples of Airis's cheeks, a sheer, glossy tint to her lips, and a touch of lengthening mascara.
When Airis opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, she had to admit, the effect was jarring.
The Aesthetic Dampener was still active, keeping her divine features somewhat grounded, but the makeup amplified her youthful innocence.
She looked impossibly sweet, like a living porcelain doll.
Airis's face flushed a deep, involuntary crimson.
The physical reaction was entirely natural for a teenage girl, but internally, Lin Ye was screaming.
I look like a fairy tale character, he thought, absolutely mortified. If my old coworkers saw me looking like this, I'd have to throw myself off a bridge.
"See? Adorable," Victoria cooed, entirely oblivious to the internal crisis of the salaryman trapped in her daughter's body.
"But, if you want to leave a lasting impression... say, at an evening event or a formal dance, we shift the dynamic."
Victoria picked up a makeup wipe and expertly removed the innocent facade.She then reached for a darker, more dramatic palette.
"The alluring, glamorous look," Victoria said, her voice dropping into a serious, instructional register.
"This isn't about being cute. It's about being magnetic. It's about making a boy forget how to breathe when you walk into the room."
Airis gripped the armrests of the velvet chair. This was getting dangerously close to territory Lin Ye had no business navigating.
Victoria began to apply eyeliner, creating a subtle but sharp cat-eye wing that elongated Airis's sapphire eyes.
She used a contouring brush to hollow out her cheekbones, emphasizing the sharp, aristocratic jawline.
Finally, she applied a deep, matte crimson lipstick that perfectly matched the ribbon of the Sakura Crest uniform.
"Now, open," Victoria whispered.
Airis opened her eyes and stared into the mirror.
The blush on her face deepened from pink to a violent shade of scarlet.
The girl in the reflection was no longer a sweet, innocent teenager. She was breathtakingly glamorous.
The makeup didn't age her inappropriately, but it gave her an air of dangerous, undeniable allure.
The dark red lips and the sharp eyeliner made her blue eyes pop with a hypnotic intensity.
This is a weapon, Lin Ye realized, staring at the reflection in absolute shock. This isn't makeup. This is psychological warfare.
"Perfect," Victoria clapped her hands, looking incredibly proud.
"Now, stand up. We need to talk about silhouettes."
Before Airis could protest, Victoria was pulling elegant dresses from the clothing bags.
She held up a flowy, pastel-pink sundress.
"Cute and innocent," Victoria explained.
"It hides the figure, emphasizes movement and youth."
She tossed it aside and held up a sleek, midnight-blue gown that was tailored to hug every curve before flaring out at the knees.
"Glamorous and alluring," Victoria continued, her eyes gleaming.
"It demands attention. It tells the room that you know exactly who you are."
Victoria laid the dress on the bed and turned to her daughter, placing both hands on Airis's shoulders.
"Airis, listen to me," Victoria said softly, her maternal warmth returning.
"You don't need to change who you are for any boy.
But knowing how to present yourself, knowing how to control the narrative of how the world sees you... that is power.
Do you understand?"
Airis swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "I... yes. I understand, Mom."
"Good," Victoria smiled, kissing Airis on the cheek, careful not to smudge the pristine makeup.
"I'll leave these palettes here. Practice. Have fun with it.
And whoever this boy is... if he doesn't treat you like a queen, you let me know, and your father will have his family's assets frozen."
With that terrifying, casual threat of billionaire vengeance, Victoria swept out of the room, leaving the silver cart and the piles of dresses behind.
The heavy oak door clicked shut.
Airis collapsed back into the velvet chair, letting out a long, shuddering exhale.
Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her face was still burning with profound embarrassment.
She stared at the glamorous, crimson-lipped girl in the mirror.
"Impress boys," Airis muttered, her sweet, melodic voice tinged with bitter irony.
"I am a twenty-seven-year-old man.
Why in the name of all that is holy would I want to impress a high school boy?
Julian from Chemistry? I'd rather drink the setting spray."
It was absurd.
The idea of batting her eyelashes at some privileged teenager, or trying to look "alluring" for a high school dance, was so far removed from her desires that it was almost comical.
She just wanted her slow-paced life.
She wanted her weekly Sign-Ins, her high-grade sushi, and her peaceful afternoons.
Romance was an entanglement she had zero intention of pursuing.
But as she sat there, staring at the perfectly executed cat-eye makeup, a strange, stray thought drifted into the quiet space of her mind.
I have no interest in other boys.
But... what if the boy was Lin Ye?
Airis froze. The thought was intrusive, bizarre, and fundamentally paradoxical.
She was Lin Ye.
They shared the same soul. But they were currently two distinct physical entities. She knew him better than he knew himself.
She knew his deep-seated loneliness. She knew the years he had spent studying in the dark, craving just a fraction of warmth or affection.
Lin Ye's "type"—if a chronically exhausted, impoverished orphan even had the luxury of a type—was someone kind, quiet, and elegant.
Airis looked at the midnight-blue gown resting on the bed. Then she looked back at her reflection.
If she walked into that dingy, flickering convenience store looking like this... wearing the deep crimson lipstick, the sharp eyeliner, and carrying the aura of an untouchable, glamorous heiress... Lin Ye would absolutely short-circuit.
He would probably drop a textbook on his foot and forget how to speak the English language.
The mental image of her scrawny, exhausted past-self stammering and blushing in front of her current, devastatingly beautiful form was suddenly, overwhelmingly vivid.
And to her absolute horror, Airis realized that the thought didn't disgust her.
It amused her. It intrigued her.
In fact, it made her blush harder than anything her mother had done.
A fresh wave of heat rushed up her neck, coloring her pale cheeks beneath the contouring powder.
"Oh my god," Airis whispered, burying her face in her hands, her palms pressing against her burning cheeks.
"I am a narcissist. I am a literal, psychological narcissist."
It was a twisted, metaphysical paradox.
She wasn't attracted to him in a conventional sense; she felt a profound, overwhelming urge to protect him, to care for him, and yes, perhaps to occasionally fluster him just to see that rare, genuine reaction.
He was the only person in the entire world who was entirely, unequivocally hers.
"Stop it," she scolded herself aloud, dropping her hands and glaring at her reflection.
"You are not going to dress up and flirt with your past self. That is insane. That violates every rule of a slow-paced life."
She grabbed a makeup wipe from the cart and frantically began scrubbing the expensive cosmetics off her face.
The crimson lipstick smeared, the eyeliner vanished, and the glamorous, alluring heiress was scrubbed away, returning her to the fresh-faced, naturally beautiful baseline.
She took a deep breath, letting the cool air of the bedroom soothe her burning skin.
She had to focus. The Spring Gala, the makeup, her mother's well-intentioned meddling—it was all just noise. It was part of the disguise.
[Ding!]
The crisp, mechanical chime of the System echoed in her mind, a welcome distraction from her spiraling thoughts.
The translucent blue screen materialized over the silver makeup cart.
[Host's emotional state has experienced severe, paradoxical fluctuations.]
[System Advice: The Host is advised to maintain psychological grounding. Narcissistic temporal feedback loops are known to cause unnecessary stress.]
"Shut up, System," Airis muttered, though a small smile finally broke through her embarrassment.
[Time until Premium Weekly Sign-In: 3 Days, 2 Hours.]
Airis dismissed the screen with a mental wave. Three days.
She just had to survive three more days of high school drama, Chloe's Gala planning, and her mother's newly awakened matchmaking instincts, and she would receive her first Premium reward.
She stood up, grabbed the heavy makeup cases, and shoved them into the bottom drawer of her vanity.
She hung the midnight-blue dress in the far back of her mahogany wardrobe, hiding it behind a row of sensible cardigans.
She wasn't going to wear it. She wasn't going to try and impress anyone.
But as she crawled back into bed and pulled the heavy down duvet over her shoulders, her thoughts drifted once more to the Southside Industrial District.
She pictured the boy sitting behind the plexiglass counter, eating the fresh food she had bought him.
Maybe, she thought, right before the edges of sleep claimed her, maybe one day. Just to see the look on his face.
And in the quiet darkness of the luxurious Dover estate, the girl with the soul of a twenty-seven-year-old man fell asleep with a very uncharacteristic, deeply mischievous smile on her face.