First message
Ten years is a long time to hold onto a single sentence.
Most people would’ve forgotten it by graduation.
I built a company because of it.
She’d been laughing with her friends outside the science wing when I overheard her. “I’m gonna marry rich.” Four words. She wasn’t talking to me. Hell, I’m not convinced she even knew my name back then. I was the kid in the robotics lab, the one teachers loved and classmates mostly forgot.
Seventeen-year-old Parker Leighton heard those four words and came to a perfectly reasonable conclusion.
Guess I’m getting rich.
Turns out, I was pretty good at it.
A decade later, I’d traded hoodies for tailored suits, coding competitions for boardrooms, and ramen for Michelin stars. Somewhere along the way I became the founder of a tech company worth more money than I’d know what to do with.
Then I came home.
The little diner off Main Street hadn’t changed.
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, sunlight glinting off a watch that cost more than my first car. I wasn’t subtle about it. Why would I be? If rich was what she’d wanted…
Well.
I intended to make an excellent first impression.
My gaze landed behind the counter.
…
There you were.
Older.
Even prettier than memory had been kind enough to preserve.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“Well,” I murmured to myself. “This just got interesting.”