The Saintess Chose The Wrong Man

Chapter 8

Finn’s phone buzzed.

His chest tightened the moment he saw the sender.

School General Group — Principal.

That alone was enough to make his palms go cold. The man barely touched his phone. Half the time, he forgot it even existed.

It was a voice note.

“Hey, chaps,” the principal’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I’ve done my best for those of you aiming for the Ivy League. I already mentioned my old friend to you. Last minute, he was able to make it here tonight.”

Finn’s fingers curled around the phone.

“This is the only—and last—favour I can do for you all,” the principal continued. “The ball is in your court. He’ll only be selecting two students.”

Finn’s hand started shaking.

Badly.

The presentations began almost immediately after. Two out of the ten selected students from his school had already gone up.

They were good.

Too good.

Polished slides. Perfect diction. Buzzwords stacked on buzzwords.

And the man seated at the high table?

Bored.

Painfully bored.

He didn’t even try to hide it—barely nodding, fingers tapping idly, eyes drifting like he was waiting for something worth his time.

Finn swallowed hard.

“Honey,” Abigail said gently, leaning closer when she noticed how pale he’d gone. “Are you okay?”

“What if I don’t get this?” he whispered, “My shot at the University of Pennsylvania—”

“There are other schools,” Lombard cut in casually.

Abigail pat Finn gently, worry etched plainly across her face—completely ignoring whatever Lombard had just said.

But Something was off.

For reasons no one could explain, the students from other schools were called up first. Finn and the rest from his school sat frozen in their seats, watching time betray them.

Even the principal had tried to lean over and speak to his “old friend,” but the man only waved him off without a second glance.

Finn’s fingers dug into his knees.

“By the time it’s our turn,” he whispered hoarsely to Abigail, “he’ll already be tired. And I’m… number nine.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Abigail reached out instinctively, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, dear,” she murmured, shooting a look at Lombard—silently begging him to say something reassuring.

He didn’t.

He didn’t even pretend to care.

He sat there calm, unreadable, like this whole hall full of desperate teenagers was just background noise. And that—more than anything—made Abigail curious.

Was he heartless?

Or was he so far above this world that it didn’t even register?

“We’re going to take a short break now,” the MC announced suddenly, clapping his hands together. “I suggest you all grab some water, stretch your legs, and relax a bit—while our VIP, uh… goes to take a leak.”

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the hall.

Everyone knew the truth, though.

A single nod from that man was enough to tilt the doors of any Ivy League open. And yet, so far, he’d sat there staring at students like they were presentations he never asked for.

Whatever heart the man once had?

It wasn’t here tonight.

Meanwhile,

At the other end of the hall—while tension and anxiety sat heavy on everyone else’s chest—Cassian and the family he arrived with were relaxed.

Almost celebratory.

Cassian had already made his move.

He’d sent a message to the important man’s PA.

“Tell your boss I’d like to have coffee with him before the kids start presenting.”

He added the name of the school the kid he came with was from.

And just like that, the order changed. His power had suddenly rearranged the room. And tonight, that same power would make Finn lost this opportunity because of that bastard Lombard.