Chapter 7

The next morning, Portia sought to break Antonia’s resolve immediately. She handed her an impossible checklist of tasks, each designed to push the freshman to her physical and emotional limits.

First came the morning coffee run. "An iced, half-caf macchiato with precisely two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, oat milk, and extra caramel drizzle," Portia demanded, smirking.

"From the boutique café three blocks off-campus. And it needs to be on my desk before the 8:00 AM bell, perfectly cold."

Instead of rushing out in a panic, Antonia kept her composure. She used her sharp memory and knowledge of the campus shortcuts to sprint through the side gates, secure the exact order, and place it on Portia's desk at exactly 7:55 AM.

When Portia took a sip, expecting a mistake, her face fell. The temperature and the flavor profile were flawless.

"Beginner's luck," Portia muttered, setting the cup down with a hard thud.

By noon, Portia tried a different angle: academic sabotage. She dumped a massive stack of complex reference books and a handwritten outline onto Antonia’s desk.

"I need a comprehensive, ten-page literature review on macroeconomics formatted in perfect APA style. It’s due for my 1:00 PM seminar. Don't plagiarize, and don't make mistakes."

Portia expected Antonia to beg for more time or fail miserably under the tight deadline. Instead, Antonia sat in the quietest corner of the library, her fingers flying across her laptop keyboard.

Her flawless academic background and sharp mind became her greatest assets. She synthesized the data, cross-referenced the citations, and printed out a pristine, professional-grade paper.

At 12:50 PM, Antonia calmly slid the report onto Portia’s lap. Portia flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning desperately for a misplaced comma or a weak argument.

Finding absolutely nothing to criticize, her manicured fingers gripped the edges of the paper tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Frustrated by the freshman's absolute perfection, Portia threw her heaviest challenge during the late afternoon.

She deliberately knocked a large bottle of dark, metallic green nail polish off her desk, letting it shatter and splatter across the pristine marble floor of the student council office.

"Clean it up," Portia ordered, her voice laced with venom. "And I don't want to see a single stain left behind."

Antonia didn't flinch. She quietly retrieved a cleaning kit from the maintenance closet. Drawing on her experience of helping her family keep their modest home spotless, she applied a clever mix of pure acetone and rubbing alcohol to lift the stubborn pigment without ruining the marble. She worked methodically, her face a mask of serene calm.

When Antonia stood up and moved the bucket aside, the floor gleamed perfectly. Not a single trace of green remained.

Portia stared at the spotless floor, then up at Antonia, who stood tall with her chin up and her gaze steady.

There was no anger, no exhaustion, and no defeat in the freshman's eyes. Portia’s chest heaved with quiet fury.

Her cruel psychological game was completely backfiring. Instead of breaking down a helpless servant, she had accidentally hired a flawless, unstoppable force—and the terrifying realization that she couldn't break Antonia was starting to drive Portia completely crazy.