# MY PERFECT WIFE
### A Novel by Huddon S Lajah
---
# CHAPTER SEVEN
## The Ranking System
---
**The Morning After the Champagne Disaster**
Jawin woke to the sound of someone pounding on her door like they were trying to break it down.
"CONTESTANT MENDEZ! MANDATORY MEETING IN TWENTY MINUTES!"
She rolled over, squinted at the clock—7:00 AM, an ungodly hour for anyone who had spent the previous night stress-eating emergency snacks and contemplating the collapse of her social standing—and groaned into her pillow.
"I HEARD THAT," the production assistant shouted through the door. "TWENTY MINUTES. MAIN HALL. DON'T BE LATE."
Footsteps retreated down the hallway, followed by more pounding on the next door.
Jawin lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
*The ranking system*.
She'd heard whispers about it last night, after the champagne brunch had ended and the contestants had retreated to dissect every moment like forensic scientists at a crime scene. Apparently, Mario was going to explain how he planned to evaluate them. Categorize them. *Rank* them, like products on a shelf.
It sounded dehumanizing.
It also sounded exactly like something a billionaire heir would think was normal.
Jawin dragged herself out of bed.
Twenty minutes.
She could probably manage to look like a functioning human in twenty minutes.
Probably.
---
**The Main Hall — 7:25 AM**
The main hall had been transformed into something resembling a corporate conference room.
Rows of chairs faced a small stage, where a podium stood waiting. Cameras lined the walls. Production staff scurried about with clipboards and worried expressions. The atmosphere was somewhere between "TED Talk" and "execution."
Jawin found Penny in the back row, looking approximately as thrilled as Jawin felt.
"You look terrible," Penny observed.
"Thank you. I feel terrible. We match."
"I didn't sleep."
"Neither did I."
"I had anxiety dreams about being ranked. Like cattle."
"That's probably not far off."
They sat in companionable misery, watching the other contestants file in.
Victoria Sterling claimed the front row center seat with the confidence of someone who expected to be valedictorian of the competition. Her outfit was immaculate—a cream-colored blouse and tailored pants that probably cost more than Jawin's car. Her expression suggested she had slept perfectly and was ready to dominate whatever challenge awaited.
Roxanne Del Monte made an entrance that involved pausing in the doorway, surveying the room, and then gliding to her seat like she was walking a runway. She had somehow found time to do full makeup at 7:00 AM, which Jawin found both impressive and exhausting.
Camille Fontaine carried a notebook and pen, apparently planning to take notes on her own romantic evaluation. On-brand for someone with a PhD in economics.
The astrology contestant—whose name Jawin had finally learned was Astrid, which felt cosmically appropriate—was muttering something about Mercury retrograde and "challenging transits."
By 7:28 AM, all twenty-four contestants were seated.
By 7:29 AM, the energy in the room had shifted from "curious" to "anxious."
By 7:30 AM exactly, the doors opened.
Mario Castellan walked in.
He looked... different this morning. More composed than he'd been at the champagne brunch, his suit pressed, his expression carefully neutral. The champagne incident might as well have happened in a different universe.
Except—
Except when his eyes swept the room, they paused on Jawin. Just for a moment. Just long enough for something to flicker in his expression before the mask slid back into place.
Jawin's heart did something complicated that she chose to ignore.
Mario approached the podium.
The room fell silent.
"Good morning," he said, his voice carrying the practiced neutrality of a man who had delivered too many speeches to count. "Thank you all for being here."
*As if we had a choice*, Jawin thought.
"Today, I'm going to explain how this competition will work. Specifically, how I'll be evaluating each of you over the coming weeks."
He clicked a remote.
A screen behind him lit up.
The words on the screen made Jawin's jaw drop:
**THE RANKING SYSTEM**
*Categories and Metrics for Evaluation*
Below that, in smaller text:
- Category 1: Side Pieces (8 positions)
- Category 2: Girlfriend Material (12 positions)
- Category 3: Fiancée Candidates (3 positions)
- Category 4: Wife Material (1 position)
The room went very, very quiet.
"What," someone whispered, "the actual *fuck*?"
Jawin was fairly certain it was her.
---
Mario continued as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on twenty-four women's dignity.
"The structure is straightforward," he said. "Over the next three months, I will go on dates with each of you. I will observe your behavior, your conversation, your compatibility with my lifestyle. Based on these observations, I will assign each of you to one of four categories."
He clicked to the next slide.
**Category 1: Side Pieces**
- Casual companionship
- Limited emotional investment
- Social appearances only
"The 'side piece' category represents women with whom I could maintain a cordial but superficial relationship. These are contestants who are pleasant company but lack the qualities necessary for a deeper connection."
Victoria's expression suggested she was already mentally eliminating anyone who might end up in this category.
Roxanne looked personally offended by the phrase "limited emotional investment."
Penny appeared to be calculating escape routes.
Mario clicked again.
**Category 2: Girlfriend Material**
- Potential for casual dating
- Moderate compatibility
- Short to medium-term viability
"The 'girlfriend material' category represents women I could envision dating under normal circumstances. Pleasant enough for extended interaction, but missing elements necessary for long-term commitment."
"He's categorizing us like Netflix recommendations," Jawin muttered to Penny. "Based on your viewing history, you might enjoy this mildly compatible human."
Penny snorted, then immediately covered her mouth.
A production assistant glared at them.
Mario clicked again.
**Category 3: Fiancée Candidates**
- Strong compatibility indicators
- Potential for long-term commitment
- Serious consideration for marriage
"The 'fiancée candidate' category represents the top three contestants—women who demonstrate genuine potential as life partners. These individuals will receive additional dates and opportunities to prove their suitability."
Victoria's posture straightened. This was clearly the category she expected to dominate.
Camille was taking notes. Of course she was taking notes.
Astrid was calculating birth charts in her head. Probably.
Mario clicked one final time.
**Category 4: Wife Material**
- Maximum compatibility
- Complete alignment of values and goals
- Selected for marriage proposal
"And finally, the 'wife material' category. This is the ultimate goal—one woman, selected from the fiancée candidates, who will receive my proposal at the competition's conclusion."
He set down the remote.
"Questions?"
---
The room erupted.
"How is this different from ranking us like cattle?" someone demanded.
"What metrics are you using to evaluate 'compatibility'?"
"Is there an appeal process if we disagree with our category placement?"
"What if we don't WANT to be a side piece? Is there an opt-out?"
"This is degrading!"
"This is FASCINATING from a game theory perspective."
That last one was Camille, who was still taking notes.
Mario held up a hand. The room gradually quieted.
"I understand this may seem... clinical," he said. "But let me be clear: this structure is designed to be *honest*. In traditional dating, people waste months or years trying to determine compatibility. They play games. They hide their true intentions. They pretend to be things they're not."
His eyes swept the room.
"I don't have time for games. This competition is designed to cut through the pretense. Each of you knows exactly what you're competing for. Each of you can strategize accordingly. And each of you will be evaluated on objective criteria rather than subjective whims."
"What criteria?" Victoria asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were calculating. "What specific factors determine category placement?"
Mario almost smiled. Almost.
"An excellent question." He clicked to a new slide.
**Evaluation Criteria**
1. Intellectual Compatibility (25%)
2. Social Skills (20%)
3. Emotional Intelligence (20%)
4. Lifestyle Alignment (15%)
5. Physical Attraction (10%)
6. Family Background (5%)
7. X-Factor (5%)
"Each criterion is weighted according to its importance in long-term partnership," Mario explained. "Intellectual compatibility is highest because a lasting relationship requires mental engagement. Social skills matter because my position requires a partner who can navigate complex social environments. Emotional intelligence is—"
"What's the X-Factor?" Jawin interrupted.
The room went quiet.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Jawin realized, belatedly, that she had just spoken without raising her hand, without waiting to be called on, without any of the decorum that was apparently expected in billionaire wife competitions.
*Whoops*.
Mario's expression shifted—surprise, maybe, or amusement.
"The X-Factor," he said slowly, "is the intangible. The thing I can't quantify. The quality that makes someone memorable beyond their measurable attributes."
"So it's the 'vibes' category."
"I... wouldn't put it that way."
"But that's what it is. You can't quantify vibes, so you made a category for vibes and called it 'X-Factor' because that sounds more scientific."
The room was so silent you could hear Victoria's blood pressure rising.
"That's..." Mario paused. "That's not entirely inaccurate."
"Cool." Jawin nodded. "Just wanted to clarify that five percent of our evaluation is based on vibes. That seems fair."
Penny was visibly trying not to laugh.
Camille was taking more notes, possibly about Jawin specifically.
Victoria looked like she wanted to commit a crime.
Mario cleared his throat.
"Moving on."
---
The presentation continued for another forty-five minutes.
Mario explained the date structure (individual dates, group dates, "compatibility challenges" that sounded suspiciously like reality TV competitions). He explained the elimination process (weekly assessments, category placements, eventual narrowing to finalists). He explained the timeline (three months, culminating in a proposal ceremony that would be broadcast to millions).
Throughout all of this, Jawin found herself increasingly horrified.
Not by the competition itself—although that was horrifying—but by how *normal* everyone else seemed to find it.
Victoria was nodding along, mentally optimizing her strategy.
Roxanne was planning her dramatic moments.
Camille was developing what appeared to be a mathematical model for maximizing her scores.
Even Penny, sweet anxious Penny, was calculating her odds of survival.
Only Jawin seemed to be thinking: *This is insane. This is absolutely insane. We are being sorted like groceries on a shelf, and everyone is acting like it's normal.*
But then again, Jawin reminded herself, she wasn't really competing.
She was here for the money.
She was here to protect Salma and Bella.
She was here to survive, not to win.
The ranking system didn't matter because she wasn't trying to be ranked highly.
She just needed to stay long enough to fulfill her end of the bargain.
*Keep your head down. Stay in the background. Don't cause problems.*
She'd already caused problems.
She'd probably cause more.
But she could try.
---
**After the Presentation — The Gardens**
The contestants dispersed after Mario's presentation, each retreating to process the information in their own way.
Victoria gathered her alliance in the sunroom, presumably to discuss strategy.
Roxanne found a camera crew and began delivering an emotional monologue about the "journey of the heart."
Camille retreated to her room to refine her mathematical model.
Jawin found a quiet corner of the garden and sat on a bench, staring at absolutely nothing.
"Mind if I join you?"
She looked up.
Mario stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
"Shouldn't you be... evaluating someone?" Jawin asked. "Running compatibility assessments? Calculating X-Factor scores?"
"I'm taking a break from calculations."
"I didn't know billionaire heirs got breaks."
"We don't." He sat beside her on the bench. "I'm taking an unauthorized one."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"You think I'm a monster," Mario said finally.
"What?"
"The ranking system. The categories. The percentages." He was looking at the garden, not at her. "You think it's dehumanizing."
"I think..." Jawin considered her words carefully. "I think it's unusual."
"That's diplomatic."
"I'm trying new things."
Mario's lips twitched.
"It wasn't my idea," he said quietly. "The structure. The categories. That was my father. I just... refined it."
"So you made it more organized? Added the percentages?"
"Something like that."
"Why?"
Mario was quiet for a long moment.
"Because if I'm going to do this—if I'm going to be evaluated by twenty-four women I've never met, competing for a marriage I didn't choose—I wanted it to feel... controllable. Logical. Like a business process rather than a romantic gamble."
"And does it? Feel controllable?"
"Not even slightly."
Jawin looked at him. Really looked.
Behind the expensive suit and the neutral expression, she saw something she recognized: exhaustion. The particular tiredness that came from performing a role you didn't choose, surrounded by expectations you couldn't escape.
She knew that feeling.
She'd been living it for years.
"The X-Factor category," she said. "Is that your rebellion?"
Mario blinked. "What?"
"Your father designed the structure. Percentages, metrics, objective criteria. But you added the X-Factor—the thing that can't be quantified. The 'vibes.'" Jawin smiled slightly. "That's you saying there's something beyond the spreadsheet. That people can't be reduced to numbers, no matter how hard you try."
Mario stared at her.
"You know," he said slowly, "you're the only person who's ever interpreted it that way."
"How does everyone else interpret it?"
"As a wildcard. A loophole. A way to game the system by being 'memorable.'"
"That's a very cynical interpretation."
"This is a very cynical competition."
"Fair point."
They sat in silence again, but it was a different kind of silence now. Companionable. Almost comfortable.
"I should go," Mario said eventually. "I have individual meetings scheduled all afternoon."
"Evaluating compatibility?"
"Trying to, yes."
"Good luck with that."
He stood, then paused.
"Jawin."
"Yes?"
"About yesterday. The champagne incident."
Jawin winced. "I'm still sorry about the suit."
"Don't be." Mario's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "It's the most interesting thing that's happened to me in months."
He walked away, leaving Jawin alone on the bench.
*The most interesting thing that's happened to me in months.*
She didn't know what to do with that.
So she filed it away in the part of her brain labeled "Problems for Future Jawin" and went to find Penny.
---
**The Contestant Mansion — Afternoon**
The individual meetings were scheduled in thirty-minute blocks.
One by one, contestants were summoned to a private room where Mario waited with a tablet and a list of questions designed to assess compatibility across his seven criteria.
Jawin watched her fellow contestants emerge from these meetings with varying expressions:
Victoria: smug satisfaction, like a student who had aced an exam.
Roxanne: theatrical devastation, followed by recovery, followed by more theatrical devastation.
Camille: intellectual excitement, apparently having found the meeting "stimulating."
Astrid: confusion, having spent most of her time explaining Mercury retrograde to a man who clearly didn't care.
Penny: relief, having somehow survived without fainting.
When Jawin's turn came—she was scheduled last, being contestant number twenty-four—she walked into the evaluation room with the resigned energy of someone approaching a dentist appointment.
"Miss Mendez," Mario said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Please, sit."
Jawin sat.
The room was neutral and professional—two chairs, a small table, cameras in the corners, and a large window overlooking the gardens. It felt less like a romantic encounter and more like a job interview.
"I'm going to ask you a series of questions," Mario said, consulting his tablet. "Please answer as honestly as possible."
"Do people usually answer dishonestly?"
"Approximately ninety percent of them, yes."
"That seems like it would skew your data."
"It does. But that's also data—how well someone can lie under pressure." Mario looked up. "Should I assume you're not going to lie?"
"I'm terrible at lying. Ask anyone who knows me."
"Good. That simplifies things." He tapped his tablet. "First question: What do you consider your greatest strength?"
Jawin thought about it.
"I make really good crab cakes."
Mario blinked.
"Culinary skills are not one of the evaluation criteria."
"You asked about strengths. Making crab cakes is a strength. They're transcendent. People have cried eating my crab cakes."
"...happy crying or sad crying?"
"Overwhelmed-by-flavor crying. It's a very specific emotion."
Mario set down his tablet.
"You're not taking this seriously."
"I'm taking it exactly as seriously as it deserves." Jawin leaned back in her chair. "Look, you've got twenty-three women out there who have prepared for this. They've got rehearsed answers and strategic positioning and probably vision boards with your face on them. They're going to tell you exactly what you want to hear."
"And you're not?"
"I don't know what you want to hear. I barely know you. So I'm just going to tell you the truth and hope that's... something."
Mario was quiet for a long moment.
"What if I want to hear the truth?"
"Then you're in the right room."
"Alright." Mario picked up his tablet again, but he was almost smiling now. "Greatest strength, truthful version. Go."
Jawin considered.
"I'm resilient," she said finally. "I've worked three jobs for three years. I've supported my family through financial disaster. I've watched my dreams get deferred again and again, and I'm still here. Still trying. Still believing that eventually, things will get better." She shrugged. "Resilience. That's my strength."
Mario typed something.
"Greatest weakness?"
"I'm terrible at asking for help. I'd rather work myself to death than admit I need support."
"That's... very honest."
"You said you wanted truth."
"I did." More typing. "What do you look for in a partner?"
Jawin opened her mouth to make a joke—something about champagne tolerance or crab cake appreciation—but something stopped her.
The look on Mario's face.
He wasn't asking as an evaluation. He was asking because he genuinely wanted to know.
"Someone who sees me," she said quietly. "Not what I can do for them, not what I represent, not what category I fit into. Just... me. The actual person underneath all the noise."
Mario's fingers paused over the tablet.
"That's a rare quality to find."
"I know. That's why I'm not really looking." Jawin managed a smile. "Hard to find something when you're too busy surviving to search."
Silence.
Mario set the tablet aside entirely.
"Can I tell you something off the record?"
"Is anything off the record here? There are literally cameras everywhere."
"Fair point." He glanced at the cameras, then back at her. "I'll say it anyway. You don't fit any of my categories."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"I have no idea." Mario's expression was genuinely uncertain—the first time Jawin had seen him look anything other than controlled. "Every other contestant, I can place. Victoria is calculating but capable—strong fiancée material. Camille is intellectually stimulating but emotionally distant—girlfriend category. Roxanne is entertaining but exhausting—probably side piece, unless she surprises me."
"And me?"
"You threw champagne in my face, insulted my art collection, and just told me your greatest strength is crab cakes." Mario shook his head slowly. "I have no metrics for you. No category. No percentage. You're just..."
"An X-Factor?"
"Something like that."
Jawin didn't know what to say.
So she said something stupid, as usual.
"Maybe that's the point."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe the whole ranking system—the categories, the percentages, the evaluation criteria—maybe it's designed to eliminate exactly the kind of person who can't be ranked. Because people who can be easily categorized are *predictable*. Controllable. Safe." Jawin leaned forward. "But life isn't safe. Relationships aren't safe. Love isn't—"
She stopped.
Realized what she was about to say.
*Love isn't a spreadsheet.*
Mario was watching her with an intensity that made her feel like she was being seen—really seen—for the first time in a long time.
"Finish the thought," he said quietly.
"Love isn't a spreadsheet," Jawin said. "You can't optimize it. You can't control it. You can only... experience it."
Silence.
The cameras hummed.
The garden outside was beautiful and meaningless.
"That's not what I was taught," Mario said finally. "About love."
"What were you taught?"
"That love is a transaction. That marriage is a merger. That emotions are liabilities to be managed, not experiences to be embraced."
"That sounds incredibly lonely."
"It is."
The admission hung between them—raw and honest and completely unscripted.
Jawin realized, with a start, that they had stopped playing roles.
No competition. No cameras. No categories.
Just two people, talking.
"I should get through the rest of the questions," Mario said, breaking the moment. "For the record. The official record."
"Right. Yes. The official record."
He picked up the tablet again.
But something had shifted.
Something that couldn't be ranked or categorized or reduced to a percentage.
Something that felt dangerously like connection.
---
**The Contestant Mansion — That Evening**
The first rankings were posted at 7:00 PM.
All twenty-four contestants gathered in the main hall, staring at a screen that displayed their preliminary category placements.
**PRELIMINARY RANKINGS — WEEK ONE**
**Fiancée Candidates (3):**
1. Victoria Sterling
2. Camille Fontaine
3. Penelope Huang
**Girlfriend Material (12):**
4. Roxanne Del Monte
5-15. [Various names]
**Side Piece Consideration (8):**
16-23. [Various names]
**Uncategorized (1):**
24. Jawin Mendez
The room went silent.
Then erupted.
"UNCATEGORIZED? What does that even MEAN?"
"Penny's a fiancée candidate? She can barely make eye contact!"
"I'm SIDE PIECE? I'm a classically trained ACTRESS!"
"My birth chart clearly indicated I should be in the top three—"
Jawin stared at her name.
*Uncategorized.*
She wasn't a side piece. She wasn't girlfriend material. She wasn't even in consideration for fiancée.
She was *nothing*. A blank space. An anomaly in the system.
"UNCATEGORIZED?"
She turned.
Victoria Sterling was bearing down on her, fury barely contained beneath a veneer of civilized composure.
"He created a new category for you," Victoria said, her voice low and dangerous. "A category that didn't exist in his original system. Do you understand what that means?"
"That I broke his spreadsheet?"
"It means you're a *threat*." Victoria stepped closer. "I don't know what game you're playing, Jawin Mendez. I don't know why someone with no money, no connections, and no discernible strategy is somehow the only person in this competition who's made Mario Castellan question his own methodology. But I'm going to find out."
"There's no game. I'm just—"
"Being yourself? How refreshingly naive." Victoria's smile was sharp. "Enjoy your uncategorized status while it lasts. It won't protect you forever."
She swept away, probably to scheme with her alliance.
Penny appeared at Jawin's side, looking shell-shocked.
"I'm a fiancée candidate," Penny whispered. "How am I a fiancée candidate? I can't even look at him without panicking."
"Maybe he likes panicked women?"
"That's not comforting!"
"I don't have comfort to offer. I'm apparently so weird I broke his ranking system."
They stared at the screen together.
*Fiancée Candidate: Penelope Huang.*
*Uncategorized: Jawin Mendez.*
"We're both doomed," Penny said.
"Completely doomed," Jawin agreed.
"Want to stress-eat in my room?"
"Absolutely."
They retreated from the chaos, leaving the other contestants to fight over their rankings.
---
**Penny's Room — Later That Night**
"The thing is," Jawin said through a mouthful of emergency chocolate, "I don't even know what 'uncategorized' means. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it some kind of purgatory where I exist until Mario figures out what to do with me?"
"Maybe it means he's interested?"
"Interested in what? My ability to destroy expensive suits?"
"Interested in *you*." Penny was curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow. "Think about it. He has a whole system. Categories, percentages, metrics. Every other contestant fits somewhere. But you don't. That's not an accident."
"Or it means I'm so incompatible that I don't even register on his scale."
"You don't believe that."
Jawin didn't respond.
Because honestly? She didn't know what she believed.
Every interaction with Mario confused her more. He was cold, but he laughed at her chaos. He was calculating, but he admitted his methodology was designed to feel controllable because nothing else in his life was. He was a billionaire heir with everything money could buy, and somehow, he seemed as lost as she felt.
"I'm not supposed to be here," Jawin said quietly. "Not really. I'm supposed to be invisible. Survive until Salma figures out her situation. Collect my money. Leave."
"But?"
"But I don't feel invisible. I feel..." She searched for the word. "*Seen*. And that's terrifying."
Penny nodded slowly.
"I know what you mean. When Mario talks to me—really talks, not the evaluation questions—I feel like he's actually listening. Like what I say matters." She hugged her pillow tighter. "Nobody ever listens to me. I'm just background noise."
"That's not true."
"It is. Ask anyone. 'Oh, Penny? She's nice. Quiet. Forgettable.'" Penny's voice was matter-of-fact, like she'd long ago accepted this assessment. "But when Mario looks at me, I feel... unforgettable. Just for a moment."
"That's probably the X-Factor."
"The vibes?"
"The vibes."
They both laughed—the slightly hysterical laughter of people who had absolutely no control over their situations.
"We're going to survive this," Jawin said firmly. "Both of us. Whatever happens."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're the only honest people in this competition. And honesty has to count for something."
Penny smiled—a real smile, the kind that transformed her whole face.
"I hope you're right."
"Me too," Jawin admitted. "Me too."
---
**The Garden — 2:00 AM**
Jawin couldn't sleep.
She found herself wandering the mansion's gardens, wrapped in a borrowed cardigan, trying to process the chaos of the past few days.
*Uncategorized.*
The word kept echoing in her head.
She sat on a bench—the same bench where she'd talked with Mario earlier—and stared at the stars.
"Can't sleep either?"
She didn't jump this time. She was beginning to expect Mario's appearances, like he was drawn to the same quiet spaces she was.
"Chronic insomnia," she said as he sat beside her. "It's a lifestyle choice."
"Mine too."
"Billionaires have insomnia?"
"Billionaire heirs definitely do. The pressure is very conducive to three AM existential crises."
"At least you can afford good coffee."
"The coffee doesn't help. Trust me."
They sat in silence, watching the stars.
"Why 'uncategorized'?" Jawin asked finally. "You could have put me anywhere. Girlfriend material, probably. That's neutral enough."
"Because you're not girlfriend material."
"Ouch."
"I meant—" Mario ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I meant you're not *any* of the categories. The system is designed for people who play by rules. Who have strategies. Who fit into boxes."
"And I don't."
"You threw champagne in my face and then lectured me about vibes. You're not playing by any rules I understand."
"Is that bad?"
Mario was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know," he admitted. "It's new. Different. I don't have experience with 'different.'"
"Maybe that's the point."
"You said that earlier. About the ranking system."
"I say a lot of things. Most of them without thinking."
"I've noticed."
"Rude."
But they were both almost smiling.
"What happens now?" Jawin asked. "With the uncategorized thing?"
"Now I spend the next few weeks trying to figure out where you belong. More dates. More conversations. More... whatever this is."
"This being random 2 AM garden conversations?"
"Among other things."
Jawin looked at him.
In the starlight, he looked younger. Softer. Less like a billionaire heir and more like a person.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"What do *you* want? Not your father. Not the competition. Not the system. Just you."
Mario was very still.
"No one's ever asked me that," he said quietly. "In twenty-eight years, no one's ever asked what *I* want."
"That's incredibly sad."
"I know."
"So what's the answer?"
He looked at her—really looked, with those intense dark eyes that seemed to see everything.
"I want someone who makes me laugh," he said. "Someone who tells me the truth, even when it's uncomfortable. Someone who doesn't treat me like a prize or a problem or a strategic opportunity."
"That's a pretty short list."
"It's a very short list. Most people don't make it past item one."
"The laughing thing?"
"The laughing thing."
Jawin thought about the champagne incident. The rusty sound of Mario's laughter. The way he'd looked at her afterward.
"I guess I made the list," she said.
"You made the list."
The words hung between them.
*I guess I made the list.*
*You made the list.*
Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called.
The mansion was silent around them.
"I should go to bed," Jawin said.
"You should."
"Big day tomorrow. More evaluations. More categorization. More existential dread."
"Sounds about right."
Neither of them moved.
"Goodnight, Mario."
"Goodnight, Jawin."
She walked back toward the mansion, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.
*Uncategorized.*
Maybe that was exactly where she needed to be.
---
**END OF CHAPTER SEVEN**