Chapter 6 On Campus

The white luxury sedan pulled away from the university gates, its tires whispering against the asphalt of Havenport's main thoroughfare. Through the rearview mirror, Harrison watched Caroline's receding figure.

"She's... different," Harrison muttered, leaning back into the leather upholstery.

"Who? Caroline?" Steven asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes. Most women in her position would have demanded I drive her to her doorstep. They would have manufactured a reason to keep me in the car for another twenty minutes. But she just waved and told me she had an app for that." Harrison sighed, rubbing his temples. "Steven, do you realize I lose my composure every time I'm within ten feet of her? I find myself standing in lobbies, arguing over who walks first, and pulling her hand like a teenager. It's unprofessional."

"Maybe because she's your future wife, Harry," Steven said. "You're getting carried away because for the first time in your life, someone isn't reading from your script."

Harrison looked out the window. Usually, he was indifferent but with Caroline, he felt a strange, prickly energy. He felt... childish.

"By the way," Harrison said, shifting the subject. "Next time you feel the need to show off, remember to clarify that I wasn't your junior. We were in the same graduating class."

"I have to look cool occasionally," Steven laughed. "It's hard being the assistant to a child prodigy."

"I don't know," Harrison admitted. "I told myself I'm helping her so she has a viable business to lean on when we eventually part ways. A sort of... severance package. But honestly? I want to see if she can actually do it. She's got the heart; I want to see if she can find the steel."

"Spoken like a true Marcus," Steven teased. "Always looking for the ROI, even in a marriage."

While Harrison was contemplating business strategies, Caroline was sprinting toward a two-story shophouse on the edge of the arts district. The sign above the door, crafted in elegant, laser-cut wood, read: Scripted Hearts.

She burst through the door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I can't believe I'm this late! I'm going to kill someone!"

The first person she saw was Daniel, sprawled across a giraffe-patterned floor pillow near the display cases. He was an English Literature major with a penchant for overnight gaming marathons and a chronic inability to find a comb. He looked like he had just regained consciousness.

"Wake up!" Caroline cried, giving his foot a sharp kick. "The client will be here in an hour! Why aren't you cleaning?"

"Relax, boss," Daniel groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Look around. We've been possessed by the spirit of productivity. It's already done."

Caroline paused, her eyes scanning the room. For the first time in the history of the company, the shop was immaculate. The first floor, the "Minimalist Front" was a wash of white and light wood, designed by Caroline's siblings, Jake and Jane, as a "pity gift" to keep the business from looking like a dorm room. The product displays were lit with soft LEDs, showing off 3D cards that looked like miniature architectural wonders.

She ran upstairs to the second floor. The creative workshop, usually a war zone of paper scraps, beads, and hot glue, was organized with terrifying precision. The meeting room, with its zebra-print rug and glass whiteboard, was free of charging cables and empty coffee cups.

"Who did this?" Caroline whispered.

"We did," a voice called out. Dea and Lily stepped into the room.

Dea was the co-founder, the pragmatic "Social Welfare" heart of the operation. While Caroline provided the designs, Dea managed the BISA Community, a network of low-income mothers who performed the delicate, hand-assembly work for the cards. Lily, on the other hand, was the marketing shark. With an oriental elegance and a perfectionist's eye for detail, she was the one who closed deals with high-end wedding planners.

"You're meeting your 'big fish' client today," Lily said, opening her laptop. "I've prepared the deck. I'm not sure about the profit margin yet, but the branding potential is through the roof."

"And I've cleared the schedule for the BISA community," Dea added. "If this order is as big as you say, we're going to need every mother in the district on the assembly line."

Gus, the IT guy they called 'Gus,' arrived last, looking like he'd just run a marathon. "Sorry! My professor made me do his research data again. That man is a vampire."

"Are you paid?" Lily asked, not looking up from her screen.

"Yes, but-"

"Then don't complain," she snapped. "Money is money."

The team was complete: Five young people from different worlds, tied together by paper and glue. Daniel returned from the downstairs bathroom, smelling of soap and looking suspiciously human.

"Okay, team," Caroline said, her voice trembling slightly. "This client isn't like the others. He's... intense. He's 'Sky brand.' Don't be intimidated by the suits or the blue eyes."

"Blue eyes?" Lily perked up. "Is he a foreigner?"

"Just... be professional," Caroline pleaded.

The white sedan pulled up ten minutes early. Harrison stepped out, and for a moment, the street seemed to go quiet. He was wearing a casual linen shirt and dark trousers, but even without the suit, he radiated the kind of "old money" power that made people move out of his way.

Steven followed him, grinning. "Nice place. Has a very 'indie' vibe."

They entered the shop, triggered the automatic greeting sensor, a gadget Gus had rigged to play a cheerful chime.

"Welcome to Scripted Hearts," the digital voice sang.

Harrison looked around the first floor, his brow furrowing. "It's a shame," he whispered to Steven.

"What is?"

"The display. The lighting is three degrees too warm, and the focal points are scattered. They're selling art as if it's stationery."

"Their market is millennials, Harry. They want 'authentic,' not 'corporate perfection,'" Steven whispered back.

Caroline appeared at the top of the stairs, her ponytail bobbing. "Please, come up. My team is ready."

Harrison followed her up the narrow wooden staircase. At the base of the stairs, he stopped. "Shoes off?"

"The second floor is a creative zone," Caroline said. "We use puzzle mats for the assembly area. No shoes."

Harrison hesitated, looking at his custom-made Italian loafers. With a sigh of resignation, he slipped them off, feeling incredibly vulnerable in just his socks. He followed her onto the second floor, where the floor was covered in soft, interlocking foam mats. Caroline pointed to a set of cushions around the oval table.

"Sit, please."

Harrison sat, his long legs feeling awkward as he tried to find a comfortable position on the floor. Steven, ever the diplomat, grabbed a second cushion to pad his boss's seat.

"This is the team," Caroline began, her voice gaining strength. "Dea handles production and the BISA community. Lily is marketing. Gus is IT and insights. And Daniel... Daniel handles content and materials."

"Nice to meet you," Harrison said, his voice regaining its CEO authority. "I am Harrison Marcus, a potential..."

He felt a sharp, agonizing pinch on his thigh. He glanced at Caroline, who was staring at him with a murderous, wide-eyed look that clearly said: Do not say fiancé.

"...customer," he finished, his voice tight with pain. "And this is Steven. He handles the logistics of my... events."

Steven took over, laying out the requirements with surgical precision. Two thousand invitations. Eight weeks. Custom 3D pop-up elements. A budget that was triple their standard rate to account for the "impossibility" of the timeline.

"Even without the triple pay, we're interested," Daniel said, leaning back. "But why the rush? Are you trying to get married before the world ends?"

"Daniel!" Dea hissed, looking like she wanted to crawl under the table.

"It is a high-profile event," Harrison said, ignoring the jab. "The timeline is non-negotiable. I am sure you are aware of your own limitations, but I am also aware of your founder's potential. I am betting on the brand."

He turned his blue eyes toward Caroline, cornering her. "Are you sure your team can handle this? Because once we sign, a Marcus contract is a blood oath. If you fail, it's not just a refund. It's a mark on your reputation."

"We won't fail," Lily said, her eyes fixed on Harrison. She seemed less interested in the contract and more interested in the way the sunlight hit Harrison's jawline. "This is the opportunity we've been waiting for to systemize our growth."

"Gus?" Caroline asked.

"The website can handle the RSVP integration. I'll just need to pull a few all-nighters."

"Dea?"

"Two thousand is a lot," Dea said thoughtfully. "But if we involve the BISA mothers from the neighboring districts, we can scale. The Social Welfare Agency will help us with the oversight. It's doable, Caroline. But only if you're sure."

Caroline looked at her friends. She looked at the shop they had built with nothing but passion and scraps of paper. Then she looked at Harrison, the man who was both her captor and her benefactor.

"I'm sure," Caroline said.

"Good," Harrison said, standing up. He looked down at the team, his expression unreadable. "I look forward to the first prototype."

Before they could wrap up, Daniel spoke again, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "I'm just curious, though. Why are two guys handling the wedding invitations? Usually, the bride is the one who comes in here and screams about the shade of ivory. You guys seem... weirdly invested."

The room went deathly silent. Dea, Lily, and Gus all stared at Daniel with expressions of pure horror. Harrison's face turned a brilliant, uncharacteristic shade of red. He coughed, looking at the floor mats.

"I... I prefer to have things done correctly," Harrison stammered, his usual eloquence deserting him. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have another meeting."

He practically bolted for the stairs, Steven trailing behind him and trying to stifle a laugh. Caroline escorted them down to the car, the cool evening air of Havenport hit them as they exited the shop.

Harrison stopped by the car door, looking at Caroline for a long moment. "Your friend Daniel... he's a liability."

"He's the heart of the team," Caroline countered. "He asks the questions no one else dares to."

"Well, tell him to keep his questions to himself until the invitations are printed." Harrison climbed into the car, the window sliding up and obscuring his face.