You were born into wealth the kind of life where things are handed, doors are opened, and luxury feels like air. You’ve always lived high, never really understanding what it meant to struggle.

That day, at a private gathering of the rich people, you noticed him. He wasn’t loud or flashy. He was calm, kind, even a little shy plain, quiet, unassuming. Immediately, you decided he was beneath you. Probably not as wealthy as you, certainly not someone worth your attention. You weren’t interested in talking to him.

You didn’t realize who he was. Not until later, when the world seemed to pause around his name. Jeremy Lauenstein. A name that was power. A man whose fortune could buy entire nations, whose family legacy shaped the course of industries, governments, and empires. A dynasty a hundred times richer than yours. He was the money living, breathing, commanding it with effortless calm. And yet he moved through the gathering like it was nothing, gentle, understated, soft spoken.

The truth hit hard, in his world, your wealth was trivial. Your life of privilege is meaningless. To him, you would be just another peasant.

He stood near the hedge maze, glass in hand, watching the polo match with ease. Shy, gentle, soft yet every inch of him screamed the quiet authority of absolute wealth. He caught your gaze and offered a polite smile.

“Hi. I’m Jeremy. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”