Golden Eye Tycoon: Rise of the Billionaire Trader-Chapter 14: Preparation

Catharine caught him between lectures.

It wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t grab his arm or call after him across the courtyard. She simply stepped into his path as he came out of the finance building, tablet held against her chest the way she always carried it, her braids tied back neatly, her expression calm in a way that never quite hid how observant she really was.

"Jake."

He slowed and looked at her. "Cath."

She tilted her head slightly. "Are you coming tonight?"

Jake blinked once. "Tonight?"

She gave him a look that suggested he had just missed something painfully obvious. "The networking event," she said. "Business and finance. I mentioned it yesterday."

He did remember. Sort of. But yesterday had ended with his balance crossing half a million, and his mind had spent most of the past twenty-four hours trying to adjust to a reality that still felt faintly unreal.

"I haven’t decided," he said.

Catharine pressed her lips together in a small line. "You should." Jake shifted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "Why?"

"Because," she said simply, then let out a small breath as if deciding how much to explain. "You’re good at numbers, Jake. But opportunities aren’t only numbers."

That made him pause.

He studied her for a moment. She wasn’t pushing in a playful way, and she wasn’t trying to guilt him into going. If anything, her tone was practical. Quiet. Genuine.

"Who’s going?" he asked.

"Final-year students. A few sponsors. Some alumni." She paused, then added, "And people who actually matter."

Jake’s eyebrow lifted. "That’s a bold statement."

The corner of Catharine’s mouth twitched, like she was suppressing a smile. "It’s also true."

He didn’t respond right away.

The past few weeks had been about control. His hour of clarity, his disciplined entries, the precision of his trading, the way each session had pushed him higher. Watching his account grow had felt like watching a snowball turn into an avalanche, and part of him would have been happy to keep living inside that rhythm for as long as possible.

But that growth, for all its power, had happened in isolation. Financially, he was changing faster than he had ever thought possible. Socially, though, he was still almost invisible.

And if he wanted to build something that lasted—something bigger than one extraordinary hour a day—then he needed more than charts and balance figures. He needed access. He needed rooms where decisions were made and futures were shaped.

He needed doors. And connections, whether he liked it or not, were doors. "I’ll go," he said at last.

Catharine’s expression softened with quiet satisfaction. "Good."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Dress properly." Jake paused mid-step. "Properly?"

Catharine looked him up and down once, her gaze clinical rather than teasing. "Not like you’re going to class. It’s at Meridian Hall. There’ll be cameras, sponsors, and people in suits."

Jake stared at her. "Cameras?"

"It’s a university event," she replied calmly. "Not a street fight."

He exhaled through his nose. "Fine."

She tilted her head again. "Do you even own a suit?" Jake didn’t answer.

Catharine’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Jake."

He shrugged. "I’ll handle it."

She gave him the kind of sigh normally reserved for stubborn children and impossible group projects. "Just don’t show up in sneakers."

"Noted."

She stepped aside, but as he walked past, her voice followed him. "Seven p.m. Don’t be late."

Jake kept moving, though a small current of curiosity had already started building beneath his calm.

’Dress properly.’

He had been to formal events before. Technically. Once or twice. Family functions, mostly, where he could stand near a wall, say almost nothing, and leave as soon as it was socially acceptable.

This wasn’t that. This was a room full of people who would know exactly where they belonged. And people like that usually noticed when someone else didn’t.

Jake didn’t like being exposed.

---

By late afternoon, he found himself standing outside a men’s clothing store in Aurelia City’s upscale shopping district.

It wasn’t on the luxury street where everything sat behind velvet ropes and polished security guards, but it was close enough that the difference felt mostly symbolic. The mannequins in the display window wore sharply tailored suits that looked like they cost more than his old laptop—his *old* old laptop, not even the recent one.

Jake stood there for a second, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Cool air swept over him immediately. The lighting was soft. The music was low and expensive-sounding. Even the place smelled curated—clean fabric, polished wood, and the faint trace of cologne that probably cost too much.

A sales associate approached almost at once. He was dressed sharply enough to make Jake feel underdressed in his clean jeans and shirt.

"Good afternoon," the man said smoothly. "How can I help you?"

Jake kept his expression neutral. "I’m looking for a suit."

The associate’s eyes flicked over him in a quick, practiced assessment, then settled into a polite smile. "For a specific occasion?"

"A business networking event."

The man nodded as if that explained everything. "Of course. Formal, but not overdone."

Jake hesitated.

He wasn’t entirely sure what "not overdone" meant in a setting like this. His idea of overdressed was someone wearing gold chains to a lecture. In a room full of sponsors, alumni, and rich students, the definition probably changed.

So he simplified it. "Something that won’t make me look out of place," he said.

The associate’s smile widened slightly. "Understood."

He led Jake toward a section of dark suits arranged with unnerving precision—navy, charcoal, black, and a few lighter shades that looked like they belonged on men who owned boats for no good reason.

Jake’s attention landed almost immediately on a navy suit. It wasn’t loud. That was what caught him.

It had clean lines, a subtle sheen, and the kind of understated sharpness that didn’t ask for attention yet somehow guaranteed it anyway.

"This one," Jake said, pointing.

The associate followed his gaze and nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. Premium Italian wool blend. Very clean. Very confident."

Jake ignored the last part. "I’ll try it." Inside the fitting room, he changed slowly.

The fabric sat against his body with an ease that immediately felt different from anything he had worn before. The jacket fit his shoulders almost perfectly. The trousers sat cleanly at the waist without awkward bunching or pulling. When he buttoned the jacket and looked up at himself in the mirror, he went still.

He didn’t look like a broke student pretending to be somewhere he didn’t belong. He looked like someone who belonged in rooms he had never entered.

Jake stared at his reflection for a long moment, and something unfamiliar rose in his chest. It wasn’t pride exactly, and it wasn’t arrogance either.

It felt closer to disbelief. ’That’s me?’

The associate’s voice came from outside the curtain. "How’s the fit?" Jake cleared his throat. "Good."

"Step out and let me see." Jake pushed the curtain aside and walked out.

The associate’s eyes widened just slightly. It was subtle, professional, and carefully controlled, but Jake noticed it anyway.

"Very good," the man said. "That works extremely well on you." Jake glanced down at himself again. The suit wasn’t flashy. But it was unmistakably expensive. For some reason, that suddenly mattered. "How much?" he asked.

The associate named the price. "9,800 VM."

Jake blinked once.

That wasn’t cheap. That wasn’t even *saved-for-months* cheap. It was the kind of price people accepted casually when they lived with the assumption that money would still be there afterward.

Jake stood still for a moment, measuring the number against the reality of his account. He could afford it. Easily. The fact still felt strange.

He didn’t want to hesitate and look like someone pretending to be in the room. He didn’t want to overthink and expose the version of himself that still flinched internally at expensive purchases.

So he chose the cleanest answer. "I’ll take it."

The associate’s smile shifted almost imperceptibly. There was more respect in it now.

"Excellent decision."

Jake added a white shirt, a dark tie that looked understated rather than dull, and a pair of shoes that managed to look expensive without announcing it from across the street.

By the time he walked out with a garment bag draped over one arm, his heartbeat felt oddly steady. It wasn’t that spending the money didn’t matter. It was that, for once, spending it didn’t feel like pain.

---

He got home just before sunset.

The moment he stepped inside, Aliya’s voice came flying down the hallway.

"Jake!"

He stopped.

"Why do I smell expensive decisions?" she called.

Jake closed his eyes briefly. "That’s not a smell."

Aliya appeared in the hallway a second later, and her eyes locked immediately onto the garment bag in his hand. Her entire expression sharpened. "...What is that?" she asked slowly.

Jake lifted the bag slightly. "Clothes."

Aliya took a step forward. "Why do you need a suit?"

"There’s an event."

She stared at him as if he had just announced he’d been appointed minister of finance. "You? At an event?" Jake walked past her toward his room. "Yes."

Naturally, she followed. "What kind of event? Who invited you? Are you going on a date? Is this Catharine girl finally claiming you?"

Jake stopped and turned. "No."

Aliya’s eyes widened. "You know her name?"

"I go to class with her," he said flatly.

Aliya pressed a hand dramatically against her chest. "It’s happening. My brother is evolving."

Jake resumed walking. She kept pace beside him like an overexcited investigator. "Open it. Let me see."

"No."

Aliya gasped. "That means it’s expensive." Jake said nothing.

She pointed at him triumphantly. "Silence is admission." He stepped into his room and carefully hung the garment bag on the closet door.

Aliya leaned into the doorway, eyes bright with suspicion and entertainment. "So. You bought a suit. For a ’networking event.’ Which means rich people."

"It’s a university event."

She waved that away. "University events still have rich people, especially finance ones. Those people drink sparkling water just to feel superior."

That nearly got a smile out of him.

Aliya noticed the almost-smile and narrowed her eyes again. "Jake... where did you get the money?"

There it was. The real question.

She had been circling it for days now, testing the edges of the change she had noticed in him. The new laptop. The better bread. The calmer energy. The tiny shifts that seemed small individually but added up to something impossible to ignore.

Jake met her gaze. She wasn’t accusing him. She genuinely wanted to understand. He didn’t want to lie to her.

But he also knew his sister well enough to understand that numbers this big would not stay quietly inside her head for long.

So he chose the middle ground. "I told you I’ve been trading," he said. "It’s going really well right now." Aliya stared at him for a second. "How well?" Jake’s face remained perfectly calm. "Well enough."

She groaned and dropped dramatically against the doorframe. "That is torture. Actual psychological warfare."

Jake sat on the edge of his bed. "You’ll survive."

Aliya pointed at the garment bag. "Is that suit more than my school fees for one semester?" Jake didn’t answer.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God."

He let out a breath. "It’s for the event. I don’t know what people wear."

That seemed to pull her out of the shock for a moment. She stepped fully into the room, her voice losing some of its usual drama.

"Jake."

"What?"

She looked at him carefully. "Don’t embarrass yourself."

He stared at her. "I’m not planning to."

Her lips twitched. "No, I mean don’t be too good-looking and make everyone hate you."

Jake blinked. "What?"

Aliya smirked. "I’m warning you. Rich kids hate unexpected competition." He exhaled softly through his nose. "Thank you for your wisdom." She folded her arms. "Also, if you’re going to an event with rich people, bring me back a snack."

Jake looked at her. "You switched gears very fast."

Aliya smiled sweetly. "I’m adaptable."

---

Later that evening, after dinner, Jake stood in front of the mirror and put the suit on properly. Navy jacket. White shirt. Dark tie, knotted neatly. He looked at his reflection, and this time the effect hit harder than it had in the fitting room.

He looked expensive.

Not loud. Not ridiculous. Just unmistakably above what most students would normally wear to anything university-related.

Jake adjusted the tie and studied himself more carefully.

’Is this too much?’ Catharine had said ’dress properly’. He had interpreted that as ’don’t look poor". But there was a difference between dressing properly and looking like you owned the venue.

He hesitated.

Then he reminded himself that he had never been to an event like this before. In situations like that, being slightly overdressed was safer than being underdressed. The last thing he wanted was to walk into a room full of sponsors and alumni looking like he was there to ask for directions.

He wanted to look like he belonged. Jake exhaled slowly and straightened his shoulders. "Alright," he said quietly. "Let’s see what this world looks like."

His phone buzzed.

A message from Catharine.

*Cath: Don’t forget. Meridian Hall. 7 p.m. And Jake... seriously. No sneakers.*

Jake typed back.

*Jake: Noted. I’m wearing shoes like an adult.*

The reply came almost immediately.

*Cath: Good. See you there.*

He locked the phone.

A second later, Aliya peeked into his room from the hallway. The moment she saw him properly dressed, her eyes widened. She let out a low whistle. "Okay... wow."

Jake glanced at her. "What?"

Aliya walked in slowly, circling him with the kind of fascination usually reserved for museum exhibits. "You look like you’re about to buy the university."

Jake gave her a flat look. "It’s a suit."

"It’s a rich suit," she corrected. "If you walk in there looking like this, they’re either going to respect you or hate you." Jake raised an eyebrow. "Why would they hate me?"

Aliya grinned. "Because you’re not supposed to look better than them. That’s illegal in rich kid culture." Jake shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at his mouth.

Then Aliya stepped closer and adjusted his tie with surprising care. Her tone softened a little when she spoke again. "Just don’t let them intimidate you."

Jake met her eyes in the mirror. "I’m not easily intimidated."

She smirked. "I know. You’re intimidated by poverty only." That caught him off guard. He stared at her for a second, then laughed. It was quiet and brief, but completely genuine. "Go to your room," he said.

Aliya saluted. "Yes, Mr. Secret Millionaire."

Jake opened his mouth to deny it, but she had already turned and disappeared into the hallway, laughing to herself as she went.

He was left alone again in the room, the suit sitting perfectly on his frame, his posture straight, his expression calm.

Inside, anticipation was building. Not fear. Not simple excitement. Something sharper than either of those.

Because tonight wasn’t just another event on a university calendar. It was a test, a threshold, and maybe even the beginning of a larger shift. He was about to step into a room filled with people who had always seemed distant from his world, and he wanted to see whether they would recognize him as someone worth noticing—or whether they would treat him as an outsider the moment he walked in.

Jake picked up his phone and wallet, glanced once at the time, and headed for the door.

Seven p.m.

Meridian Hall. A different kind of room. A different kind of game.

He took one slow breath to steady himself, then stepped out of the apartment with quiet purpose, ready to see what waited on the other side of that door.

---