A Trillionaire Pauper

Chapter 7

Kendrick met Zara and Jayson at the campus gate just as the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. The usual bustle of Prestige International University moved around them—luxury cars pulling in and out, students laughing, voices carrying—but Zara barely noticed any of it. She paced back and forth, arms crossed tightly, anxiety written plainly across her face. Jayson stood beside her, calmer on the surface, but his constant glances at his watch betrayed his worry.

The moment Kendrick stepped out of the taxi, both of them turned sharply.

“Where have you been?” Zara asked immediately, relief and frustration tangling in her voice. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Kendrick didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he calmly reached into one of the shopping bags he carried and gently handed her a familiar orange box tied neatly with a white ribbon.

“Open it.”

Zara frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “Kendrick, this isn’t the time—”

“Open it,” he repeated softly.

Slowly, cautiously, she untied the ribbon. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

The moment she saw what was inside, her breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.

Her hands froze.

“No…” she whispered. “Kendrick… this can’t be real.”

Nestled inside the box lay the Hermès Birkin Himalaya, pristine, breathtaking, its pale, almost icy texture glowing softly in the fading sunlight. Even people who knew nothing about fashion understood the weight of its presence.

Jayson stepped closer, eyes widening. “Do you have any idea what that bag costs?”

“About six hundred and eighty thousand dollars,” Kendrick replied calmly, as if he were stating the price of a cup of coffee.

Zara nearly dropped the box.

Her knees weakened, and she had to steady herself against the gate. “This isn’t funny,” she said shakily. “Where did you get this?”

Before she could ask another question, Kendrick turned to Jayson and handed him a black velvet case.

Jayson opened it.

His breath hitched.

“A platinum Rolex Daytona,” he said hoarsely. “This… this is worth over three hundred thousand dollars.”

They both stared at Kendrick now, shock rendering them speechless.

“Yesterday,” Jayson said slowly, carefully choosing his words, “you were dumped because you were broke. Today, you’re giving us gifts worth more than most people will earn in their entire lives.”

Zara swallowed hard. “Please,” she said quietly. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Kendrick smiled faintly, the same calm, unreadable expression he had worn all day. “Don’t worry. Just enjoy them. I’ll explain everything later.”

They were still trying to process it when Kendrick asked casually, “So… what did you get for the Chancellor?”

Jayson cleared his throat. “An exclusive limited-edition fountain pen. About ten thousand dollars.”

Zara added quickly, “I wrote him a personal memoir. I wanted it to be meaningful.”

They both turned back to Kendrick.

“And you?” Zara asked. “What did you get him?”

Kendrick paused.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Jayson frowned slightly. “You should get him something. Even a small gift helps. It might reduce how much people target you in this school.”

Kendrick chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it before the party starts.”

…

That evening, the Chancellor’s birthday celebration transformed the university’s grand hall into something out of a high-society gala.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the space in golden light. A live orchestra played softly, violins and cellos weaving elegance into the air. Wealthy parents, influential alumni, business leaders, and elite students filled the hall, their conversations blending into a constant hum of importance.

At the center stood a decorated stage, adorned with flowers and a massive banner celebrating the Chancellor.

Paul Brown—Clinton’s close friend and one of Kendrick’s loudest critics—stood confidently at the microphone, his smile sharp, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Clinton, Bryan, Melissa, and their inner circle occupied a prominent table near the front. Laughter surrounded them, admiration flowed freely, and Melissa looked stunning in a shimmering dress. Yet her eyes scanned the room repeatedly, as if searching for something—or someone.

Paul tapped the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced grandly, “tonight, we celebrate not only the Chancellor’s birthday… but also success.”

The room quieted.

“Allow me to introduce the latest billionaire in town,” Paul continued, his grin widening. “A man whose family finalized a powerful deal today with the Hale Group themselves.”

A beat.

“Clinton.”

The hall erupted in applause.

Clinton stood, smiling broadly, waving casually.

But inside, his chest tightened painfully.

The deal hadn’t gone through.

They had been humiliated.

Thrown out.

Yet with so many eyes on him, backing down wasn’t an option.

Paul thrust the microphone into his hand. “Say hi to everyone.”

Clinton laughed nervously. “Yo everyone. It’s official. My father and I struck a deal today with the Hales…” He paused dramatically. “Billionaire status unlocked.”

Cheers followed.

At a table toward the side of the hall, Kendrick leaned back in his chair, quietly amused.

Zara shook her head. “He’s always been proud. If this is true, he’s about to be unbearable.”

Jayson sighed. “It’s already starting.”

Kendrick’s lips curved slightly. “Don’t worry. He was thrown out.”

They both turned sharply toward him.

“Thrown out?” Zara asked. “How do you know?”

“I know more than you think,” Kendrick replied calmly.

“If he was thrown out,” Jayson pressed, “why isn’t the news everywhere yet?”

Before Kendrick could answer, Paul’s gaze landed on their table.

He smirked and raised the microphone again.

“Why is a mouse disturbing kings and lions?” he mocked.

The hall erupted in laughter as attention shifted toward Kendrick, Zara, and Jayson.

Paul continued loudly, “Don’t you know you’re supposed to stand up and worship the newest billionaire on campus?”

He turned theatrically toward Clinton. “Aren’t they supposed to be worshipping you?”

Clinton forced a laugh. “Of course.”

But his eyes flicked toward Kendrick.

Unease crept in.

For a split second, fear whispered in his mind—What if Kendrick knows?

Then he brushed the thought aside.

Before he and his father had been thrown out of the Hale building, they had paid security to beat Kendrick. Surely, those guards had done their job. Surely Kendrick had been dragged out long before any meeting even started.

Clinton leaned forward, arrogance snapping back into place. “Hey you,” he said loudly, pointing at Kendrick. “Aren’t you supposed to bow? I can buy your entire family, your past four generations, and the next four generations.”

Laughter roared.

Even the Chancellor smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable but unwilling to interfere. A little student drama only made the party more entertaining.

Zara shot to her feet. “Money doesn’t excuse disrespect.”

Clinton sneered. “Shut up. I can buy your entire family too. None of your fathers here compare to mine.”

The tension thickened, heavy and suffocating.

Then Kendrick stood.

His chair scraped softly against the floor.

His voice was calm, steady—but loud enough to slice through the noise.

“Clinton,” he said evenly, “don’t force me to expose your secret.”

The hall fell dead silent.

Clinton froze.

Paul blinked. “Secret?”

Whispers erupted instantly.

“What secret?”

“Did you hear that?”

Clinton’s face drained of color.

Every eye turned to Kendrick.

And for the first time that night—

The room felt like it was about to explode.