It is a truth universally acknowledged that a billionaire in possession of a successful startup must be in want of a wife who won’t ruin his stock price on social media.
At least, that was the opinion of Mrs. Bennet, as she burst into the kitchen of Longbourn Books & Brews, waving her phone like a flag of war.
"Eliza! Jane! You’ll never believe who just leased the Netherfield Penthouse!"
Eliza Bennet didn’t look up from the espresso machine. She was currently battling a jammed portafilter and a mountain of law school textbooks. At twenty-one, her life was a calculated balance of caffeine, property law, and trying to keep her family’s legacy from being swallowed by the gentrifying skyscrapers of the city.
"Unless it’s the ghost of Justice Scalia coming to help me with my finals, Mom, I’m not interested," Eliza muttered.
"It’s Charles Bingley!" her mother shrieked, ignoring the sarcasm. "The CEO of Sky-Bound. He’s young, single, and worth four billion dollars. And he’s hosting a private launch party tonight at the Meryton Gallery. We’re invited!"
Jane, the eldest and most beautiful of the five sisters, looked up from a crate of vintage novels, a soft, worried smile on her face. "Mom, surely a man like that has his own circle. Why would he invite the local shop owners?"
"Because he wants to look 'community-focused,'" Eliza said, finally freeing the espresso handle with a triumphant thwack. "It’s called PR, Jane. We’re the 'local flavor' meant to make his glass-and-steel empire look soulful."
"I don't care if we're flavor or garnish!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "Jane, you’re wearing the silk slip dress. Eliza, you’re wearing... something that isn't covered in coffee grounds. This is our chance to save the shop!"
The Meryton Gallery: 9:00 PM
The party was a sea of minimalist gray and aggressive networking. Eliza felt like a stray cat in a room full of purebreds. She stood by the open bar, nursing a drink she couldn't pronounce, watching Jane laugh with Charles Bingley.
Bingley was exactly as the tabloids described: golden-haired, approachable, and seemingly thrilled to be talking to a nurse who actually cared about people.
But it was the man standing behind him that drew the air out of the room.
He was tall, dressed in a black suit that cost more than Eliza’s entire college tuition. His hair was dark and swept back, and his eyes—a cold, piercing silver-blue—scanned the room with the clinical detachment of a man looking at a petri dish.
"That’s William Darcy," a voice whispered nearby. "The 'Ice King' of Pemberley Tech. He doesn't talk to anyone under a nine-figure net worth."
Eliza watched as Bingley caught Darcy’s arm, gesturing toward the Bennet sisters. She saw Bingley’s mouth move—something about "the most beautiful girl in the room"—and then she saw Darcy’s gaze shift.
It landed on her.
For a second, the friction was physical. Eliza didn't look away. She didn't blush. She raised an eyebrow, challenging the silent judgment in his eyes.
Darcy turned back to Bingley, his voice low but carrying perfectly in the climate-controlled silence of the gallery.
"She is tolerable, Charles. But not handsome enough to tempt me. And I’m not in the mood to entertain the locals tonight. I’ve seen enough social climbing to last a lifetime."
The words hit Eliza like a splash of ice water.
Charles looked horrified. "William, she’s right there—"
"I’m aware," Darcy said, his face a mask of bored perfection. "Shall we go? This air is stifling."
As they walked away, Eliza felt a familiar heat rising in her chest. It wasn't the panic she had felt back in her "Red Room" days—no, this was different. This was the sharp, focused thrill of a counter-offensive.
She set her glass down on a passing tray with a sharp clink.
"Tolerable?" she whispered to the empty space Darcy had occupied.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her notes app. At the top of the page, she typed a single name: William Darcy.
Underneath it, she wrote: First Impression: A man with a God complex and a serious lack of personality. Target acquired.
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The revenge of the scholarship girl was about to begin.
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