The Stand-In’s Rise: From Penniless Student to CEO’s Partner

My roommate, Tiffany Moore, thrust a spare phone into my hand, complaining with an impatient sigh. She said her thirty-five-year-old online boyfriend was driving her crazy. He nagged her daily about memorizing vocabulary, writing reading notes, and even interfered with her weekend bar hops downtown. In her eyes, it was just a casual online fling, something to pass the time between sorority parties and dates, but he was possessive, acting more like a strict father than a romantic interest.

I was initially indifferent, ready to bury my nose back in my microeconomics textbook, when suddenly a barrage of comments exploded before my eyes. Some said Tiffany was foolish, unaware her online boyfriend was a venture capitalist titan worth billions. Others explained it wasn't possessiveness, but him grooming her to be his future wife. Still others predicted that when the titan returned to the States and found his chat partner had changed, he would surely deal with me, the stand-in sidekick, before returning to Tiffany for a dramatic reconciliation and a chase-wife-to-the-moon arc, our version of the over-the-top chase-wife-to-crematory trope.

Reading this, I picked up the phone and smiled at Tiffany. I told her Id gladly endure this suffering for her from now on. So what if I was a stand-in? Who cared about a chase-wife plot? My mind was already racing, eager to connect with that titan and ask if he knew any shortcuts to getting into a top-tier business school, Harvard, Stanford, Wharton, anything better than the small state university I was struggling to afford.

Right in front of Tiffany, I changed the registered phone number and handed her the spare phone back. She took it, glanced at me, and sneered, "That cheap old man might toss you a few bucks, but his demands are insane, like a college dean breathing down your neck. Enjoy."

She was right; a rich kid from the business school would casually buy her a designer purse worth thousands, so she probably looked down on a mere three thousand dollars a month. Tiffany grabbed her leather jacket and left for her date with a football player, and the dorm room grew quiet. I opened the chat box with no profile picture. The last messages were from last night.

[This week's Wall Street Journal headlines. Read them and send me a summary.]

[Why aren't you replying?]

[You better get your attitude straight and take this seriously. I don't have time for your games.]

My eyelids twitched. I scrolled through six months of their chat history. They had met on a business forum. Tiffany, pretending to be a studious, cash-strapped pre-business student, had asked a question about startup funding, and this man, whose username was J.Y., had answered with surprising depth. Theyd exchanged contact info soon after.

Their conversation held no flirtation or romantic undertones; it wasn't a "cyber romance" at all. It mainly revolved around: What book did you read today? How many words did you memorize? Have you kept up with the latest economic data? It was clear he genuinely wanted to help Tiffany. Tiffany, with her decent English and knack for faking interest, took it seriously at first. But as time went on, she started faking illnesses, whining about stress, or just sending a perfunctory AI-generated response. J.Y. would initially patiently correct her, but later, sensing her laziness, his tone grew colder. Yet, he still sent three thousand dollars in living expenses every month, right on time, via Zelle, no questions asked.

In Tiffany's eyes, three thousand dollars was barely enough to cover her weekly coffee runs and sorority dues. But for me, a genuinely struggling student who worked four part-time jobs a month, barista, library assistant, tutor, and grocery store cashier, to barely cover rent and textbooks, it was a godsend. Id grown up in a small town in Ohio, my mom a single waitress, my dad long gone. College was a miracle, and grad school felt like an impossible dream, until now.

The comments started scrolling again:

[J.Y. is Julian Yan, the legendary Chinese-American VC who shook the Silicon Valley scene! Any insider tip he drops is enough for an ordinary person to live comfortably for generations. And Tiffany just handed him over like that?]

[Serena Carter, this cannon fodder, really thinks she got a bargain, huh? Julian hates deception. When he finds out he's talking to someone else, he'll definitely make her pay!]

I ignored the malicious comments, my gaze fixed on the message asking for a reading summary. I was a finance student at Ohio State Universitys regional campus, good grades, but no connections, no money for prep courses, no way to stand out to top business schools. Id known since childhood that studying was the only way out of the cycle of poverty.

After five grueling hours, I finished reading last week's business reports, cross-referenced a lot of historical data, and wrote a summary, tight, logical, and full of insights Id gleaned from my late-night study sessions. After checking the grammar, I sent the document.

[Sorry, I had tonsil surgery these past two days, so my reply is late.]

Fifteen minutes later, he replied: [You wrote the report yourself?]

My heart clenched: [Yes.]

A long silence followed. I stared at the screen, my palms sweating. Had I messed up? Was it too good, too obvious that I wasnt Tiffany?

Then, a Zelle notification popped up on the screen.

$50,000.

[The entry point is quite novel. Much better than the previous empty rhetoric. This is a reward.]

[Rest well since you're sick. Goodnight.]

Tiffany's "cheap old man" just gave me fifty thousand dollars?! I stared at the zeroes, my fingers trembling uncontrollably. That was more money than my mom made in a year.

The comments immediately turned sour:

[OMG, the female sidekick has such good luck, getting fifty grand for a lousy summary?]

[Julian valued Tiffany's potential. Serena is just getting lucky, mooching off the female lead!]

[Take it, take it. The more you take now, the worse you'll die later. Gold diggers never have a good ending.]

I gritted my teeth and sent the money back. This wasnt about cash, it was about opportunity. I couldnt blow it by looking greedy.

J.Y. sent a question mark: [Not enough?]

[No, no, it's not that. It's just that more than money, I want an opportunity.]

[I want to apply to business school. I don't have a good mentor or access to industry data.]

[Can I greedy and ask to borrow a high-level terminal account from you?]

After sending the message, it was like a stone dropped into the ocean. Half an hour passed, no activity. I stared at the screen, a layer of cold sweat forming on my palms. The comments went into full-on mockery mode:

[Crashed and burned, huh? Acting all high and mighty, now you can't even get fifty grand!]

[What level of titan is Julian? He can't see through this kind of trick?]

[Exactly, an ordinary small-town student wanting to go to Wharton. Does she think Julian is running a charity?]

Just as I thought I had overplayed my hand and ruined this path, my phone rang. It was an unknown number with a California area code.

[Send me your detailed information.] His voice was deep, calm, and authoritative, no hint of anger.

I immediately sent the materials I had already prepared: my transcript (4.0 GPA), my scores on the GMAT practice tests, and the results of a local business case competition Id won last year. I omitted personal details, my moms job, my cramped apartment, the four part-time jobs, only focusing on what mattered: my potential.

The next day, I received a call from an unknown number.

"Hello, this is Mr. Lin, Mr. Yan's executive assistant." The voice on the other end was strictly business, no warmth.

"The boss asked me to meet you to assess your situation. Are you free this afternoon? Im in Columbus for a meeting."

I suppressed my excitement and calmly replied, "Yes, you name the place."

That afternoon, I dug out my only clean blazer, thrifted, but well-maintained, and a plain white blouse, and arrived at Mr. Lin's hotel conference room right on time. He was a sharp-dressed man in his forties, with a clipboard and a no-nonsense expression. He scrutinized me, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, probably not expecting the stand-in to look so ordinary. The comments appeared on cue, mocking me:

[The small-town bumpkin really overestimates herself, showing up to meet Mr. Lin dressed like a intern.]

[He's Julian's right-hand man, he'll definitely see through this woman's fake identity at a glance.]

My palms were slightly sweaty; I thought I was about to be exposed. To my surprise, he simply flipped through the documents Id sent and didn't delve into my identity at all.

"The boss believes you have some foundation, but you're still quite far from the requirements of a top-tier university, Wharton, Stanford, MIT. Your GMAT scores are good, but not great, and your industry experience is nonexistent."

I nodded, leaning forward slightly. "It's precisely because there's a gap that I need guidance. As long as I'm given the resources, I can definitely make up for it. Im a fast learner, I always have been."

"The boss's resources are not given out casually." Mr. Lin closed the file, his tone firm.

"He can provide you with access to his industry terminal, a personal tutor team (all Ivy League graduates), and even a stipend so you can quit your part-time jobs and focus on studying."

"The prerequisite is that you must absolutely follow instructions and complete all assessment targets. No slacking, no excuses. The boss doesnt tolerate laziness."

"I'm willing!" I replied without a second thought. Quit my part-time jobs? Focus solely on studying? It sounded like a dream.

He nodded. "Then from today onwards, your schedule and study plan will be fully managed by us. A car will pick you up tomorrow morning, youre moving out of the dorm."

Three days later, I moved out of the cramped dorm and into a penthouse suite in a luxury hotel in downtown Columbus. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, a wall of bookshelves filled with business and finance books, a top-of-the-line laptop, and three private tutors, two for GMAT prep, one for business case analysis, on standby. No frills, no distractions, just everything I needed to succeed.

Every morning at 6 AM, I woke up to listen to CNBC and Bloomberg reports (in English, of course). At 8 AM, I began intensive GMAT training, quantitative reasoning, verbal, analytical writing. Afternoons were spent on high-intensity case studies, dissecting real-world deals from Silicon Valley and Wall Street. In the evenings, I had to report my daily learning progress to Julian without fail, sending him my notes and practice scores.

His replies were always concise. Sometimes just "Read," other times a lengthy criticism cutting straight to the point: [Your analysis of the Tesla-Maxwell merger is shallow, you missed the regulatory risks in the EU. Go back and research the EUs antitrust laws and rewrite it by tomorrow morning.] He truly was like a strict dean, using high-pressure methods to reshape my thinking. The cold words on the screen, far from making me feel wronged, sparked a surge of excitement. Was this the world of the powerful? No gentle coddling, only results. And I was determined to deliver.

One morning, Julian sent me a message.

[Great progress recently. You have half a day off today. Go do something that isnt studying.]

I was praised! My lips couldn't help but curl upwards. I hadnt had a day off in weeks, I decided to go back to campus to pick up some of my things from the dorm and say goodbye to my few friends.

As I pushed open the dorm room door, I bumped into Tiffany. She was dressed in a designer dress, clutching a Louis Vuitton handbag, her hair done professionally. She was with a group of sorority sisters, all laughing and gossiping. She scrutinized my plain jeans and white T-shirt and scoffed.

"Oh, the super student deigns to return? What, did that old man dump you already? I told you he was cheap, three grand a month cant even buy a single shoe from my new collection."

"No, he's been helping me with my studies recently." I told the truth, not wanting to brag or argue.

"Helping with studies? Hahahaha" She laughed loudly, drawing the attention of her friends.

"Serena, are you out of your mind? Some random online guy who can't even afford a decent gift, and you expect him to teach you anything? Teach you how to survive on ramen noodles and part-time jobs?"

She poked the GMAT prep book in my hand with her newly manicured nails.

"Andrew Vanderbilt is going to be the vice president of his familys real estate company next month. He promised to get me a cushy job in marketing, no degree required. I advise you to be more realistic, Serena. A woman doing well is not as good as marrying well. What's the point of holding onto these useless books every day? You'll still end up working for people like me, slaving away for a paycheck."

I avoided her hand and said calmly, "To each their own. Three thousand is fine, and working is fine too." I hoped to "suffer" this kind of hardship my whole life, hardship that led to progress, not stagnation.

As expected, with the appearance of the "female lead," the comments became active again:

[If Tiffany knew she gave up a billionaire, she'd probably be kicking herself!]

[Is this really the female lead? Why does she look so smug, more like a gold-digger than the sidekick? Im low-key excited to see her face when Julian returns!]

[Shut up, traitor above! The male lead has always belonged to the female lead, okay? Be sensible!]

[Just wait and see, the male lead will take back all the resources, and Serena will be back to working four jobs. Serves her right!]

I ignored the comments and walked away with my books. My brain couldnt be taken back, could it? The knowledge Id gained, the skills Id learned, those were mine forever.

Over the next two months, my progress was visible to the naked eye. My GMAT scores jumped 100 points, my case analyses grew sharper, and I even started contributing ideas to the industry reports Julian sent me. His attitude towards me also subtly changed. He no longer just issued instructions unilaterally. Occasionally, in the early hours (he was often in Asia for business), he would send a few casual photos, sunrise over Shanghai, a street food stall in Tokyo, a view of the Hong Kong skyline, with a short caption: [Tasted this dumpling today. Youd like it.]

But late one night, after reviewing my case notes on a tech startup, he suddenly sent a message.

[Serena, your writing style has changed recently. Its more rational and calm than before.]

My heart leaped. He noticed. The comments began to celebrate wildly:

[Julian is suspicious! The big reveal is coming soon!]

[Serena, your storm is coming. Get ready to be kicked out and humiliated]

I steadied my breath, my fingertips flying across the keyboard:

[You can take that as a compliment, you know. People always have to learn to grow. Right now, I just want to improve, for myself, and to live up to the trust youve given me.]

After the message was sent, a long time passed before Julian sent a voice message. It was the first time Id heard his voice, deep, magnetic, with a hint of discernible pleasure, like he was smiling as he spoke.

"Very good. Keep that ambition and drive. Its rare."

"Ill be back in the States mid-next month to host a private business dinner in New York. Youll attend as my companion. Its time for your assessment, show me what youve learned."

Listening to the voice message, my fingers tightened. This day had finally arrived. The moment of truth, the chance to prove I wasnt just a stand-in, but someone worthy of his investment.

[Big scene alert! The love triangle is here, finally!]

[Tiffany will definitely be there, shes dating Andrew Vanderbilt, whose family is part of the New York elite. The real and fake online girlfriends are about to meet. This is going to be epic!]

[According to the plot, Julian will expose Serena that night, throw her out of the banquet, and then go beg Tiffany to take him back. Classic!]

Seeing those glaring words, I secretly clenched my fist. I had been studying and writing notes day and night, not to be a stepping stone for Tiffany. I was going to ace this assessment, no matter what.

Mr. Lin sent someone with an evening gown a day in advance, sleek, black, and elegant, not too flashy, and a fifty-page guest list. The names read like a whos who of Wall Street and Silicon Valley: CEOs, venture capitalists, hedge fund managers, even a few celebrities.

"The core assets and recent major investment intentions of tonights distinguished guests are all here." Mr. Lins voice was serious over the phone. "The boss doesnt need a pretty face to fill space. You need to memorize the information of the top ten core figures, their net worth, their companys latest moves, their weaknesses. Remember, all of it. Youll be expected to contribute to conversations, not just stand there and look pretty."

I didnt dare to slack off, spending the entire night memorizing the list backward and forward. Not only that, but I also used the terminal account Julian had given me to dig up the recent financial reports of the ten titans companies, looking for insights and talking points. Whatever the outcome of the "reveal," I had to be worthy of the resources he had invested in me. I owed him that much.

In the evening, the car dropped me off in front of a sprawling mansion in the Hamptons. The air was filled with the scent of champagne and cigars, and guests conversed in hushed tones, seeming casual, but every word was a power play, every smile a strategic move. A single offhand comment could involve billions of dollars in financial flow.

I picked up a glass of sparkling water (I didnt drink alcohol, not wanting to cloud my judgment) and stayed in a quiet corner, silently matching the faces in the room with the information I had memorized the night before. I recognized a few faces from business magazines, Warren Buffetts protg, the CEO of Apple, the founder of a major hedge fund. My heart raced, but I forced myself to stay calm.

Suddenly, a familiar female voice broke the silence. "Serena? What are you doing here?"

I turned my head, unsurprised to see Tiffany. She was clinging to a tall, slick-haired young man, Andrew Vanderbilt, no doubt, staring at me in astonishment. She was wearing a bright pink gown, her neck covered in diamonds, clearly trying to stand out.

"This is a top-tier business dinner. How did a poor student like you get in?" She sneered, leaning in like she was sharing a secret. "Dont tell me you hooked up with a waiter and snuck in through the back door? Thats pathetic, even for you."

The comments floated across my vision right on time:

[Tiffanys words are rude, but shes right. Serena only got in by deceiving Julian. She doesnt belong here.]

[Waiting for Julian to walk in and publicly expose her, this is going to be so satisfying!]

[Popcorns ready, let the show begin!]

I glanced at Tiffany, not bothering to reply, and focused my gaze on Andrew beside her. "Mr. Vanderbilt, your familys real estate company was just cited for code violations in Chicago last quarter, and your main lender is threatening to recall the loan, correct?"

Andrew had been observing me with a frivolous, dismissive look. Hearing my words, his face changed dramatically, from cocky to pale.

I smiled slightly. "Youre not trying to fix this crisis, instead, youre here, showing off your date and wasting time. Your grandfather must be proud."

"You who are you? How do you know all this?!" His voice was already trembling slightly. These matters had been kept quiet, if they spread in this setting, it would ruin his familys reputation and possibly cost them the loan.

"If I were you, Id immediately go talk to Mr. Carter from JPMorgan." I nodded towards a gray-haired man across the room. "He has a sum of idle funds right now that hes looking to invest in real estate. A few kind words from you might be enough to save your familys company, instead of asking meaningless questions."

Andrew looked in the direction I pointed, his face a mixture of green and white. Finally, he glared fiercely at Tiffany.

"Didnt you say she was a bookworm who only knew how to study? How does she know more about the industry than I do!"

He flung Tiffanys hand away and hurried towards Mr. Carter, his pride forgotten.

"Andrew! Where are you going?!" Tiffany stomped her foot in anger, glaring at me, gnashing her teeth. "What on earth are you doing? Do you think reading a few financial articles makes you a big shot in this circle? Youre still just a poor, small-town nobody!"

I ignored her exasperation. A commotion at the front of the hall caught my attention. The large doors were pushed open from outside, and the banquet hall immediately fell silent. All eyes turned to the entrance.

A tall man walked in, his facial features sharp and distinct, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, dark eyes that seemed to see everything. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, no tie, exuding an air of quiet power. He merely nodded in response to everyones greetings, and the entire atmosphere changed with his presence. Whispers broke out:

"Thats Julian Yan."

"Hes even more handsome in person."

"I heard he just closed a $2 billion deal in Asia."

Julian Yan had arrived.