My Future Self Called To Save My Ruined Life Chapter 08

My Future Self Called To Save My Ruined Life Chapter 08

The acquisition news spread fast.

Ashford’s official website ran a feature story with the headline:

[Undergraduate Researcher’s Project Acquired by Google-Youngest Core Contributor in Program History.]

My name and photo were in the article.

White lab coat, standing in front of the server racks, smiling with quiet confidence.

The article was picked up by tech media back home.

Then by my undergrad university’s official account.

And then it showed up in Liam and Savannah’s feeds.

Zoey sent me a screenshot, laughing so hard in her voice memo that she could barely talk.

“Jess, you’ve got to see this! You’re on the university’s official page!”

“The comments are full of people praising you, and tagging Liam asking if he regrets it!”

“Liam set his profile to private right after, hahahaha!”

“Savannah, too. She’s working some admin job at a tiny company now, making like four thousand a month, and I heard she got it through family connections.”

I listened and felt surprisingly calm.

From the moment I clicked that “Confirm Admission” button, our paths had completely diverged.

That evening, an unknown number called me.

I almost ignored it, but the area code matched my undergrad town.

I picked up.

“Jess… it’s me.”

Liam’s voice.

It sounded older than before, worn down in a way I’d never heard.

Tired.

Small

“I saw the news,” he said, his voice cracking.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

I stayed silent, waiting.

“I know I have no right to say this, but I really do regret it.”

His voice started shaking.

“I was blind back then. I shouldn’t have treated you that way.’

“Liam.”

I cut him off, my tone flat as a lab report.

“Why did you call?”

A long silence came from the other end.

Then he said something so absurd it was almost tragic.

“Can we… try again?”

I laughed.

Not meanly.

Just genuinely.

“No.”

I hung up and blocked the number.

Outside my window, Havenwood’s night skyline stretched across the hills-a sea of lights, with the

old clock tower standing silent in the moonlight.

I stood by the glass and thought about calling my past self.

Just to tell her: You did it.

Five years later.

I was twenty-five, standing on the top floor of a high-rise in Westbrook’s financial district.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the Silverrun River.

The Google equity payout, combined with the Summit Capital Growth Fund returns, had become the seed capital for my first venture.

i founded my own AI investment firm, focused on early-stage tech incubation and funding.

Year one: three investments.

Two of them quintupled.

Year two: the firm hit a valuation of a hundred million.

Year three: my name appeared on Forbes Europe’s 30 Under 30 list.

At twenty-five, self-made, with a net worth of over nine figures.

Everyone called me a genius, lucky, a product of perfect timing.

No one knew it all started with a phone call from the future.

That afternoon, I finished reviewing the last term sheet of the day.

My assistant knocked on the door.

“Ms. Hartley, someone’s downstairs asking to see you. No appointment.”

“Who?”

“A woman. She says she was your college classmate. Her name’s Savannah Brooks.”

I paused, then swiveled my chair to face the window.

“Tell her I’m not available.”

My assistant nodded and turned to leave.

I called after her, “And let the front desk know-I don’t know that person.”