Chapter 39: Philanthropist

I had been staring at the tablet for the better part of an hour, thumb scrolling automatically while my brain slowly rotted from information overload.

Page after page blurred together into a single gray mass of corporate jargon. Investment portfolios. Architectural renderings. Zoning regulations. Profit projections.

Every document was meticulously organized and aggressively boring, the kind of reading that made your eyes glaze over while your soul quietly tried to escape your body.

I was just about to give up and stare at the seat in front of me when I reached the investor profiles section.

Alexander Hendrix

CEO, Hendrix Corporation

I tapped on his file without thinking, fully prepared for another stiff headshot and a list of buzzwords about leadership and innovation.

What loaded instead made me blink.

“Oh.”

The photo appeared first. A professional headshot, sure, but not the soulless kind that screamed corporate menace. He was wearing a navy suit that fit perfectly without looking like it had been vacuum-sealed onto him, a white shirt, a subtle tie. Clean. Polished. Expensive without being flashy.

But it was his face that caught me.

He was handsome. Not in the intimidating, predatory way Cassian was handsome, the kind that made you feel like prey the moment he looked at you.

This was different. Warmer. Approachable. He had a genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes, creating faint creases at the corners like he actually enjoyed smiling at people.

Perfect teeth, yes, but not in a manufactured way. He looked like someone who would hold a door open for you and actually wait until you walked through.

The thought hit uninvited. He looked like a Disney prince who had grown up, gotten obscenely rich, earned an MBA, and somehow not turned into a soulless villain.

I scrolled down.

Age: 29

Education:

Harvard MBA, graduated at 21

Rhodes Scholar

Summa cum laude

I stopped scrolling.

Twenty-one.

He had earned an MBA at twenty-one. At that age, I had been panicking about taxes and eating instant noodles like it was a food group.

Position: CEO of Hendrix Corporation, youngest CEO in company history

Net Worth: $2.3 billion

(Self-made portion separate from family wealth)

My thumb froze.

Self-made.

This man had built billions on his own. I had trouble getting my savings account to stay in the same zip code for more than a month.

I scrolled further, curiosity fully awake now.

More photos appeared. A candid shot from a charity event caught my attention immediately. Alexander was holding a small child on his hip, caught mid-laugh, completely unposed. The joy on his face was effortless, unguarded. The kind of moment you could not fake even if you tried.

Another image followed. A magazine cover with a headline that made me snort quietly.

The Billionaire with a Heart.

Of course that was a real headline.

I scrolled faster, recognition sparking.

And then I found it.

The viral moment.

I remembered this.

Article headline: Tech Billionaire Alexander Hendrix Steals Show at UN Climate Summit

The photo showed him standing at a podium mid-speech, one hand raised as he made a point. He looked composed and confident, but not arrogant. Somehow devastatingly charming while talking about climate policy, which felt unfair to the rest of humanity.

I tapped the embedded Twitter thread.

The replies were absolute chaos.

“BILLIONAIRE WHO LOOKS LIKE THAT AND CARES ABOUT THE PLANET???”

“He can save the rainforest and me.”

“Why does he look like he would hold the door open for you and then solve world hunger.”

“I would let this man explain carbon offset policies to me for hours.”

I huffed out a laugh.

Oh. I remembered this now. Mason had shoved his phone in my face, cackling. The entire office had collectively lost its mind for a week. Someone had printed Alexander’s photo and taped it in the break room. HR had not been amused.

I kept scrolling.

The Hendrix Foundation for Women’s Safety.

I clicked.

The list that followed made my chest tighten. Shelters across forty-seven countries. Free legal aid for domestic violence survivors. Crisis hotlines operating around the clock in fifteen languages.

A photo loaded beneath the text. Alexander sat in what looked like a modest community center, no suit in sight, sleeves rolled up, listening intently as a woman spoke. He wasn’t interrupting. He wasn’t posing. He was just there, focused, present.

The caption read that he had visited a shelter in Manila and called the women heroes.

I stared at the screen longer than I meant to.

Who actually did this?

Who flew halfway across the world to sit on a plastic chair and listen?

I scrolled again.

Clean water initiatives. Thousands of wells. Millions of people reached. Another photo showed Alexander knee-deep in dirt, actually digging, laughing with local workers. Not staged. Not polished. Real.

My mouth curved upward before I could stop it.

Medical research funding followed. Cancer research. AIDS treatment. Free clinics. A photo showed him in medical scrubs, kneeling beside a small hospital bed, holding a tablet for a bald little girl who was smiling up at him like he was magic.

This was starting to feel excessive.

Environmental projects. Tree planting. Ocean cleanup. Photos of exhaustion and joy mixed together, dirt-smudged cheeks and honest smiles.

War relief efforts stopped me cold.

Refugee camps. Syria. Yemen. Ukraine. Photos of Alexander sitting on the ground with children, no visible entourage, no distance between him and the people he was helping. Another showed him unloading supply trucks, sleeves rolled up, sweat and dust everywhere.

I leaned back in my seat, tablet resting in my hands.

This man was the opposite of Cassian in every conceivable way. Cassian would probably burn a forest down without blinking. Alexander planted them. Cassian intimidated people into submission. Alexander showed up and listened.

My thoughts started running ahead of me before I could rein them in.

Maybe this trip would not be so terrible.

Maybe I would meet someone decent. Someone who didn’t threaten me. Someone who didn’t own my time, my money, my body.

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