Chapter 3 - The Unconventional Deal
"A proposition?" Nia asked, raising an eyebrow cautiously.
Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Lucas has been suspended from his university for failing grades and non-attendance. He thinks he’s going to spend his days sulking in his room until I give in. I’m not going to give in."
"What are you planning?"
"He owes a debt to this household," Adrian said firmly. "Since he broke your leg, he is going to assist in your recovery. Furthermore, you mentioned you are studying for your accounting degree."
"I am. I have two semesters left."
"I will pay off your remaining tuition in full," Adrian said. "Not as a bribe or compensation for the injury—that is already taken care of. I will pay it as a salary. In exchange, I want you to tutor Lucas. Not just in academics, but in basic humanity. I want him working with you, helping you, and learning what hard work actually means."
Nia gasped softly. "Mr. Mercer, he hates me. He blamed me for slipping!"
"He doesn't hate you, Nia. He hates himself," Adrian replied. "And you are the only person in this house who doesn't look at him with either fear or pity. You look at him like a man who needs to grow up."
Nia considered the proposal. It was risky. Lucas was volatile, angry, and deeply spoiled. But as she looked at Adrian—a powerful man looking entirely helpless regarding his only son—and remembered the hollow look in Lucas’s eyes, she felt a pull.
"On three conditions," Nia stated firmly.
Adrian smiled slightly. "Name them."
"First, he does not get his luxury privileges back until I say he’s earned them. No Porsche, no black card."
"Agreed."
"Second, he works for me. He cooks his own meals, washes his own laundry, and helps me get around until my cast comes off."
"Done."
"And third," Nia looked straight into Adrian’s dark eyes, "you have to sit down and have dinner with him once a week. No business calls, no security talk. Just a father and son."
Adrian blinked, taken aback by the third condition. He hadn't shared a meal with Lucas without an argument in over four years. "That might be the hardest condition of all," Adrian admitted quietly. "But I agree."
The next morning, the new regime began.
Lucas was dragged out of bed at 7:00 AM by Thomas. When he demanded to know what was going on, Thomas simply handed him an apron and a tray.
"What is this?" Lucas demanded, shoving the tray away.
"Your new job," Thomas replied calmly. "Your father’s orders. You will prepare breakfast for Miss Bennett, carry it down to her room, and assist her with her daily schedule."
"Are you insane?!" Lucas yelled. "I'm not a servant!"
"No," Adrian’s voice boomed from the doorway of the bedroom. He was dressed in a pristine bespoke suit, holding a briefcase. "You’re an assistant. And if you refuse, I will personally pack your bags and drop you off at a homeless shelter on the West Side with twenty dollars in your pocket. Let's see how long Darren Cole and your friends stick around when you're sleeping on a bench."
Lucas paled. The mention of Darren’s name struck a nerve. He didn't know that his father knew about the debts, but the threat was painfully real.
Fifteen minutes later, Lucas burst into Nia’s suite, carrying a tray with scrambled eggs, burnt toast, and a glass of orange juice. He slammed the tray onto her bed table, sloshing juice over the rim.
"There," Lucas hissed. "Eat."
Nia looked at the plate, then looked up at him. "The toast is burnt, the eggs look like rubber, and you spilled juice."
"I'm not a chef!"
"You have hands, don't you?" Nia asked, setting her glasses down. "Take it back and try again. And this time, wipe the tray before you bring it in."
"You've got to be kidding me," Lucas laughed bitterly. "You think you can boss me around?"
"I don't think, Lucas. I know," Nia said coolly. "Your father placed you under my supervision. If I tell him you’re uncooperative, he cuts off your trust fund permanently. Do you want to spend the rest of your life living off minimum wage, or do you want to learn how to make a decent plate of eggs?"
Lucas glared at her, his breathing heavy. For two agonizing minutes, neither of them moved.
Finally, with a loud groan of frustration, Lucas grabbed the tray, turned on his heel, and marched back toward the kitchen.
Nia allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.
By afternoon, the dynamic shifted from conflict to academic discipline. Nia forced Lucas to sit at the table in her suite with a secondary set of accounting books she had requested from the local college.
"I’m a business major," Lucas argued, slumping in his chair. "I don't need to learn basic bookkeeping."
"You’re failing business management, Lucas," Nia replied, correcting a row of numbers on her tablet. "You can't manage a business if you don't understand where the money goes. Now, look at this balance sheet. Tell me why the net income doesn't match the cash flow statement."
"Because it’s stupid."
"Because of accounts receivable," Nia said, pointing her pen at the paper. "Money promised isn't money in hand. Just like promises made by fake friends aren't real loyalty."
Lucas went still. He stared at the numbers, his jaw tight. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?"
"Talking like you know me. Talking about my friends."
Nia lowered her pen. "Because real friends don't let you ruin your life just to use your credit card, Lucas. Real friends tell you the truth, even when it hurts."
Before Lucas could respond, a low rumble echoed outside the mansion gates. A sleek black SUV pulled up to the driveway—not one of Adrian’s security vehicles.
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From her window, Nia saw three young men step out. Leading them was Darren Cole, wearing an expensive leather jacket, looking around the property with a smirk of arrogant possession.
Lucas stood up, his face instantly draining of color. "What is he doing here?"
