The Real Billionaire Scientist Mom Crushing The Professional Damsel In Distress

Not long ago, a son of one of my high-level subordinates got tangled up with one of those ‘damsel in distress’ types—a classic American “Ingenue.” That boy, a National Science Olympiad gold medalist, had a guaranteed spot at Caltech. He suddenly volunteered to give up his early admission, and the night before his final AP exams, he was out watching the sunrise with her. When the scores came out, he’d slid from a top-tier guaranteed slot down to a mediocre state university. It was a drop so steep it took the color out of my subordinate’s hair overnight. Today, while cleaning out Miles’s laundry, my fingers brushed against a sticky note with the faint, sweet scent of jasmine. “Miles, you are the only light in my dark, dark world.” The name signed at the bottom—Alice Bloom—made my heart hammer. That was the exact name of the girl who derailed Gary Peterson’s son. I knew, instinctively, that this was wrong. I clenched the note and strode toward my son’s room. I was about to demand an explanation when my bespectacled, sweetly clueless boy looked up from his desk and scratched his head. “Mom, perfect timing. Could you just look at this? This stupid circuit board won’t light up!” He spotted the note in my hand, and his brow furrowed deeper. “Ugh, Alice Bloom again. My circuit’s dead; I barely have light for me, let alone enough to share with her. Honestly, I think she’s just trying to coast on my group project grades.”

I watched his mind, which was clearly consumed by schematics and academic frustration, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I tried to sound casual. “Does this girl… contact you often? Are you two close?” Miles Maxwell’s frown intensified, his voice thick with genuine annoyance. “Mom, don’t even get me started. She’s just a classmate in an elective—the kind you get lumped with for a group project. Her foundational knowledge is nonexistent, and she’s constantly texting me the most ridiculous, elementary questions.” “Last week, she insisted on bringing me these homemade cookies. I told her I don’t eat that stuff, and she got all weepy. I had to dump them all on my dorm-mates.” His complaints were authentic, his eyes clear and utterly devoid of romantic sentiment. The only emotion in them was anxiety over his assignments. I realized I had overreacted. Years of my emphasis on education had successfully walled off his brain. For now, it seemed to be entirely occupied by science and circuitry. As for Alice Bloom, while my suspicions lingered, I knew that matters of the heart were tricky. As long as she wasn’t malicious, I was prepared to let Miles navigate his own social life. I also wasn’t going to ruin her feelings—not with Miles’s current lack of social tact. If he knew she had a crush, he’d probably humiliate her trying to be “honest.” But my sense of relief was premature. The very next afternoon, Miles stormed back into the penthouse, tossing his backpack onto the designer sofa. He gulped down a huge glass of water before he spoke. “Seriously, is that Alice Bloom insane?” His face was flushed, his neck red. The complaints fired out like a machine gun. “Today, in the library, she spilled an entire latte—an entire latte—all over my hand-written lab report! It took me two hours to rewrite that thing!” Miles pointed to a suspicious brown stain on his cashmere sweater, his jaw tight. “And then she got teary-eyed, insisting she had to buy me a new sweater. It was this whole dramatic scene that completely made me miss my slot at the lab! I swear she did it on purpose just to sabotage my submission!” He paced back and forth, gesturing wildly. “And the week before, when it was pouring rain, I was waiting for our driver, and she shoved her umbrella at me, saying she’d just sprint back. I told her no, I was fine, but she wouldn’t let up, acting like I was bullying her if I didn’t take it!” “The result? I stood there like an idiot holding this tiny, frilly, lace-trimmed parasol. Then she instantly ducked under some other guy’s umbrella and walked off! My roommates made fun of me for three days!” “But the absolute worst!” Miles slammed his hand on the mahogany table, startling Rob, my husband, who was trying to stifle a laugh on the nearby armchair. “She brought me a homemade lunchbox! Said she was worried about me eating takeout! Mom, you don’t even worry about me eating takeout!” “I wouldn’t take it, and she gave me that pathetic, on-the-verge-of-tears look. ‘Don’t you like my cooking, Miles?’ she whined.” “I didn’t! I absolutely didn’t! Her beef strips were black and her bell peppers were yellow! That’s what’s actually unhealthy! Is she trying to poison me to get the high grade all to herself?” I watched as his focus completely derailed, turning a girl’s desperate attempt at an ‘affectionate’ gesture into a biological weapon and an academic conspiracy. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to mourn my son’s absolutely terrifying lack of emotional intelligence or pity poor, misguided Alice Bloom. To Miles, she wasn’t a sweet, lovesick girl; she was a clumsy, boundary-crossing, tear-wielding liability—a complete mess of a human being trying to moral-leverage him. But as I listened to her tactics, a chill ran through me. It all sounded horribly familiar, like the story Gary Peterson, my subordinate, had tearfully recounted over drinks. I acted on instinct and fired off a text. “Gary, do you still have that photo of Alice Bloom?” Gary responded instantly. I clicked on the photo: a timid-looking girl in a simple white sundress, with large, sorrowful eyes. She certainly cultivated a look of vulnerability. I turned the screen toward Miles, who was still muttering angrily. “Is this her?” He glanced over, his distaste evident, and went right back to his complaints. “Yeah, that’s her. Always looking like someone just stole her puppy. Why do you have her picture, Mom?” My heart sank. It was the same person. The nature of the situation had just fundamentally changed. This was not an innocent college crush. Alice Bloom was calculating, the methods she used were practiced, and her target was clear. She must have done her homework, realized that the Maxwell family had deeper pockets than the Peterson family, and executed a clean swap, rebooting her ‘damsel in distress’ playbook from step one. I looked at my still-fuming, oblivious son. He found Alice irritating now, but what if? What if her persistent, clingy performance of “pure love” finally broke through his defenses? Kai Peterson’s destroyed academic career was a horrifying premonition. No. I had to prevent this. I pulled Miles onto the sofa, my expression dead serious. “Miles, listen to me. This Alice Bloom. She targeted Gary’s son, Kai, first.” Miles went still, clearly confused. I had deliberately kept this sordid story from Miles, hoping to shield him from the ugly side of relationships. Now, I had no choice. “Your Uncle Gary’s son, Kai, had his future wrecked. He went from a guaranteed spot at Caltech to a decent but completely average state school.” “It was Alice Bloom. She used these exact same tactics—the feigned clumsiness, the emotional blackmail—to first get his attention, and then to get close. At first, Kai was annoyed, just like you. But she pursued him relentlessly, and with a few friends egging him on, he gave in.” “Once they were a couple, she became a complete emotional parasite. She slowly manipulated him, convincing him to sacrifice his Caltech spot for her.” “And now, she’s after you.” I laid out the Peterson family tragedy in one heavy stream of words. Miles’s anger slowly drained away, replaced by stunned disbelief. He opened his mouth, but only a few syllables came out. “So… she’s not clumsy, Mom. She’s vicious?” My husband choked on his herbal tea. My own worry morphed into bitter disappointment. “Yes, Miles. She is vicious,” I affirmed, my voice sharp. “And highly motivated. She doesn’t want you, Miles. She wants the Maxwell name and the Maxwell resources.” He looked up at me, his eyes firm with the intense, righteous conviction only a young adult can possess. “You guys don’t have to worry. I’ll go straight to her tomorrow. I’ll tell her, publicly, that I am not interested. She needs to know that this manipulative behavior is unwelcome and inappropriate.” However, we gravely underestimated Alice Bloom. A normal girl, publicly rejected, would be mortified and retreat. The next evening, Miles returned. His face held no relief, only a miserable blend of confusion and raw hurt. “I did it, Mom. I told her. I told her in front of several classmates. I was clear: ‘Alice, thank you for your intentions, but please stop. I don’t like you, and I don’t want your things. You’re making me uncomfortable.’” Seeing the genuine injury in his eyes, I felt a knot of dread tighten in my stomach. “And? How did she react?” “She… she just stared at me blankly for a second. Then, the tears came instantly. Like a faucet.” Miles took a shaky breath, trying to recount the suffocating scene. “She said, ‘Miles, I know I’m not good enough for you. My family is poor, I have nothing to offer… but is it a crime to love someone?’” “‘I got up at 4 AM to make you that lunch. When it rained, I gave you the only umbrella I owned and walked home soaking wet, and I ended up getting sick—’” “‘I gave you my best, and you won’t even give me a chance? Is my affection worthless just because I’m poor? Do I deserve to be publicly humiliated like this?’” Miles looked at me, his eyes wide with a sense of the absurd. “How—how could she say that? This has nothing to do with money! I just don’t like her!” “I love my takeout, and I didn’t need her umbrella… but the way she spun it, it was all suddenly my fault.” He grew agitated, his voice thick with unanswerable frustration. “After she said that, everyone around me looked at me differently! Like I was some rich jerk, a ruthless snob who crushed a poor girl’s pure, sincere heart!” “I just rejected a girl I don’t like. What did I do wrong? Why am I the bad guy?” Rob and I exchanged a grim look. Our hearts sank. Alice Bloom’s game was high-level. She was shameless, and she was an expert at leveraging public opinion and moral blackmail. She twisted Miles’s completely reasonable rejection into an act of classist cruelty, instantly casting him as the villain. I frowned. In the small ecosystem of a college campus, public opinion is a dangerous weapon. I couldn’t allow my son’s reputation, his focus, or his future to be destroyed by this opportunistic manipulator. “Leave this to me, Miles.” “People’s minds, especially students’, are easily swayed. Tomorrow, your mother will solve this.” The next day, I had our armored Maybach deliver Miles to campus. Immediately, I had our family liaison contact the university administration. The Maxwell Group made a significant, immediate donation earmarked for campus infrastructure: a new batch of state-of-the-art A/C systems for Miles’s dorm hall, installed first. Concurrently, I directed the HR department of the Maxwell Group to offer a new, annual set of highly competitive, high-value internships and a fast-track recruitment pipeline—specifically noting this was a gesture of support for Miles’s alma mater. The effect was instantaneous. Overnight, the campus climate shifted violently. The whispers of Miles being a cruel snob vanished. Students now greeted him with excessive friendliness, bordering on obsequiousness. “Dude, thank you! The A/C is saving my life! You’re a legend!” “Maxwell Group internships are insane. Now our school gets priority? The other schools are going to be furious!” No one mentioned the embarrassing public rejection from the day before. The incident was scrubbed from memory. In fact, new champions for Miles emerged. “That Alice Bloom is delusional. She knows the class difference is huge. Why corner him like that? It’s embarrassing.” “Seriously, they’re worlds apart. Different values, different lives. How could they possibly work?” The accusations against Miles were now precisely aimed at Alice Bloom. Her performance of “deep affection,” set against the massive disparity in wealth, was instantly re-read as brazen opportunism and self-delusion. But Alice’s fixation on the Maxwell family was unyielding. The enthusiastic crowd surrounding Miles gave her no chance to get close. So, she tried a different path. She brought her seventy-year-old grandmother to campus. The old woman, frail, with thin white hair and tattered clothes, spotted Miles, and without a word, dropped to her knees. “Miles! Please, I beg you! Look at my Ali! She went home and cried, she won’t eat, she won’t drink—she’s withering away!” “She’s my only granddaughter. We’re all we have. If anything happens to her, what will become of me?” “Just take pity on us! Just try dating her! Please, I beg you!” Her voice was a desperate, screeching wail. The scene instantly devolved into chaos. Students and campus security were horrified. They couldn’t pull the elderly woman up, and they couldn’t console her. They just stood there, sweating and helpless. Miles froze. He had never seen anything like this. He could only repeat helplessly. “Grandmother, please don’t do this. Get up. We can talk calmly…” Simultaneously, I received a live video feed from the school administration. Watching that elderly woman throw herself around, my blood boiled. To attach herself to our family, they had descended to this utterly despicable, gutter-level tactic! “This is too much!” I shot to my feet. If they were going to play dirty and weaponize an old person, I would call in my own nuclear option. I called the family estate and summoned the one person who saw Miles as the sacred heir to the dynasty: my mother-in-law, Eleanor Maxwell. She was fiercely patriarchal, utterly merciless, and her combativeness was legendary. Eleanor listened to the situation and erupted. “What?! Someone dares to corner my grandson like that? They’ve lost their minds!” The next day, just as Alice and her grandmother were setting up their weeping spectacle, a luxury sedan screeched to a halt. Eleanor didn’t need my assistance. She opened the door herself and swooped out, charging forward like a whirlwind.