Chapter 1
I was twenty-three years old, one semester away from graduation, and dangerously close to losing everything I had worked for.
Funny how life does that.
One moment you are sitting in a biology lecture pretending to understand molecular genetics while dreaming about your future, and the next you are calculating how many packets of instant noodles you can survive on for the week.
University was supposed to be my escape.
Instead, it became another battlefield.
The dean had given me exactly fourteen days to settle my tuition balance or risk expulsion. Fourteen days to somehow produce money I didn’t have.
I already worked three jobs.
Morning shifts at a coffee shop.
Weekend tutoring.
Night deliveries for a small restaurant that barely paid minimum wage.
And still… it wasn’t enough.
I was exhausted all the time.
My body hurt constantly. My feet ached from standing for hours. Sometimes I fell asleep during lectures because I had worked until three in the morning the previous night.
But poverty does not care about exhaustion.
Bills still arrive.
Rent still needs to be paid.
Life keeps moving even when you are drowning.
I stared at my reflection in the tiny cracked mirror inside the coffee shop bathroom.
Dark curls tied into a messy ponytail.
Glossy lips.
Long lashes.
Curves squeezed into a uniform that had become shorter over the months because shorter skirts meant better tips.
I hated that fact.
But customers tipped more when I smiled prettier and showed more skin.
So I adapted.
Beauty was useful.
Just not useful enough.
“You’re late with table four,” my manager barked from outside the bathroom door.
“Coming.”
I splashed cold water on my face before forcing on my fake customer-service smile.
The coffee shop smelled like cinnamon, espresso, and expensive perfume. Most of our customers were wealthy businessmen and spoiled university students with parents who sent money every week.
I envied them.
Not because they were rich.
Because they didn’t have to constantly worry.
There was a difference.
By the end of my shift, my back was killing me.
I counted my tips while changing out of my apron.
Enough for groceries.
Not enough for rent.
Definitely not enough for tuition.
My phone buzzed inside my bag.
Ethan.
Just seeing his name made guilt settle heavily in my chest.
Ethan was my best friend. The kind of friend people prayed for but rarely found. He had loaned me money for last semester’s tuition without hesitation.
I still hadn’t paid him back.
And I knew he would help me again if I asked.
That was the problem.
I couldn’t keep depending on him.
I answered the call while walking out into the freezing night air.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“You sound dead.”
“I feel dead.”
He laughed quietly. “Long shift?”
“When is it not?”
“You eat today?”
I smiled faintly despite myself.
Ethan always asked that first.
Not How are you?
Not What are you doing?
Just whether I had eaten.
“Yeah.”
“You’re lying.”
“I had fries.”
“That’s not food, Mia.”
“It counts.”
He sighed dramatically. “Come over. I made pasta.”
“I can’t. I still have assignments.”
“Assignments won’t matter if you collapse from starvation.”
I leaned against a street pole and closed my eyes briefly.
God, I was tired.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
There was silence for a moment before his voice softened.
“You got another notice from the university, didn’t you?”
I swallowed hard.
Ethan knew me too well.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Mia—”
“I said I’ll figure it out.”
I ended the call before he could offer money again.
Because if he offered…
I might accept.
And I hated myself enough already.
The streets were quieter than usual as I walked toward my apartment building.
Cold wind brushed against my bare legs, making me regret shortening my skirt.
A black luxury car rolled slowly beside the sidewalk.
I ignored it.
Cars like that didn’t belong in neighborhoods like mine.
The tinted window slid down.
“Hey, Cupcake.”
I frowned immediately.
A man sat behind the wheel wearing a dark suit and an arrogant smirk.
Expensive watch.
Sharp jawline.
Older.
Maybe mid-thirties.
Definitely rich.
Definitely trouble.
“How much for a night?” he asked casually.
I stopped walking.
“What?”
His smirk widened.
“You heard me.”
Anger rushed through me instantly.
“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
“No,” he said calmly, eyes dragging slowly over my body. “You look like someone desperate for money.”
Humiliation burned my cheeks.
“So because I look desperate, you think you can buy me?”
“I think everyone has a price.”
His confidence irritated me even more.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you stop walking?”
That shut me up for half a second.
Because part of me had stopped walking the moment he mentioned money.
And he noticed.
His dark eyes sharpened with amusement.
“There it is,” he murmured. “Reality.”
I crossed my arms defensively.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know desperation when I see it.”
His gaze moved briefly toward my short uniform skirt.
“The outfit helps too.”
I looked down at myself and suddenly felt exposed.
Cheap heels.
Bare legs.
Tight shirt.
I hated that he made me self-conscious about something I only wore to survive.
“I’m not for sale,” I snapped.
“Everyone says that at first.”
His arrogance was unbearable.
“You think money can buy everything?”
“No.” He tilted his head slightly. “Just people who need it badly enough.”
I should have walked away.
I wanted to walk away.
But then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek black card.
“If you change your mind,” he said lazily.
Before I could react, he tucked the card into the neckline of my shirt.
Right between my cleavage.
Heat flooded my face.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
He only smiled.
“Call me when reality wins over pride, Cupcake.”
Then the car drove away.
Leaving me standing there furious.
And shaken.
I yanked the card out immediately.
Adrian Laurent.
A phone number underneath.
That was it.
No company name.
No title.
Nothing.
I scoffed and shoved it into my bag.
Arrogant jerk.
By the time I reached my apartment building, my mood had only worsened.
Then I saw the paper taped to my door.
FINAL EVICTION NOTICE.
My chest tightened.
No.
No no no.
Hands trembling, I ripped the paper off and read it again even though I already understood every word.
Three months overdue.
Pay immediately or vacate the property.
I leaned against the door, suddenly unable to breathe properly.
Everything was collapsing.
Tuition.
Rent.
Bills.
Food.
I unlocked the apartment and stepped into the tiny dark room that barely deserved to be called home.
The ceiling leaked when it rained.
The heater barely worked.
The kitchen light flickered constantly.
But it was mine.
Or at least it had been.
I dropped my bag onto the floor and sank onto the edge of my bed.
The silence felt heavy.
My stomach twisted painfully.
I pulled out my notebook and started calculating again.
Tips.
Paychecks.
Remaining tuition.
Rent.
Transport money.
The numbers never changed.
I was still broke.
Still trapped.
Still failing.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
Crying never fixed anything.
I stared at the black business card sitting on the bed beside me.
Adrian Laurent.
One night.
Just one night.
My stomach churned at the thought.
I wasn’t that kind of girl.
I had morals.
Pride.
Standards.
But standards become complicated when survival enters the conversation.
I buried my face in my hands.
What was worse?
Selling my body?
Or losing everything?
Maybe people like Adrian were right.
Maybe the world really did operate on transactions.
You give something.
You get something.
I hated how much sense that suddenly made.
Hours passed.
I tried studying.
Couldn’t focus.
Tried sleeping.
Couldn’t sleep.
My mind kept replaying his words.
Reality wins over pride.
I looked at the clock.
12:17 AM.
Too late to call.
Too desperate not to.
I grabbed the card with shaky fingers.
Then threw it back onto the bed.
Then picked it up again.
God.
What was I doing?
I inhaled deeply before dialing the number.
The phone rang twice.
A sleepy voice answered.
“Who is this?”
For a second, I almost hung up.
But then I remembered the eviction notice taped to my door.
I remembered the dean’s warning.
I remembered surviving on fries because actual food cost too much.
“I agree,” I said quietly. “One night. Then we’re done.”
Silence.
Then a low laugh.
Not mocking.
Victorious.
“I knew you’d call.”
I hated how smug he sounded.
“This is temporary,” I said firmly. “I’m serious.”
“Of course you are, Cupcake.”
The nickname annoyed me instantly.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Hmm.” I could practically hear his smirk through the phone. “My driver will pick you up tomorrow at eight.”
“That’s it?”
“Leave your address.”
I hesitated before giving it to him.
There was a pause.
“You live there?” he asked.
Embarrassment tightened my throat.
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Then, “Be ready by eight "
The line disconnected.
Just like that he ended the call...what a jerk.
I stared at my phone for several long seconds before dropping it onto the bed.
What had I just done?
I suddenly felt sick.
This wasn’t me.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who slept with rich strangers for money.
But maybe desperation changes people.
Maybe survival forces ugly choices.
I curled up beneath my thin blanket and stared at the ceiling all night.
Sleep never came.
By morning, I looked terrible.
Dark circles under my eyes.
Pale skin.
Anxiety twisting violently inside my stomach.
I almost backed out three different times during lectures , i need to get my shit together...the day goes by in a swift and i avoid seeing Ethan completely. I get home trying to relax but then my landlord knocked aggressively on my door asking for payment again.
And reality settled in.
At exactly eight o’clock, a black luxury car stopped outside my apartment building.
Every neighbor immediately started staring.
Of course they did.
Cars like that didn’t belong here either.
I stepped outside nervously clutching my old handbag.
The driver opened the back door respectfully.
“Miss Mia?”
I nodded slowly.
“Mr. Laurent is waiting.”
My heart pounded painfully as I slid into the leather seats.
The interior smelled expensive.
Everything about this felt unreal.
The driver pulled away from the apartment building smoothly.
As we drove deeper into the wealthy part of the city, my anxiety worsened.
Huge mansions.
Luxury stores.
People dressed like they belonged in magazines.
A completely different world from mine.
I suddenly felt painfully out of place.
“What exactly does Mr. Laurent do?” I asked quietly.
The driver met my eyes through the mirror.
“I’m afraid Mr. Laurent prefers discussing his personal matters himself.”
That sounded suspicious.
Wonderful.
Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of an enormous penthouse building.
I stared upward speechlessly.
Glass walls.
Private security.
Valet parking.
Money.
So much money.
The driver escorted me inside.
Everything gleamed with luxury.
Marble floors.
Golden lighting.
Soft music floating through the lobby.
I felt like a fraud standing there in my cheap heels.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.
And there he was.
Adrian Laurent.
He stood near the window wearing a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Sharp features.
Power practically radiating from him.
He turned toward me slowly.
Those dark eyes swept over my body once before he smiled faintly.
“You came.”
I crossed my arms immediately.
“I’m only here because I need money.”
His expression didn’t change.
“I know.”
For some reason, that answer irritated me more than if he had mocked me.
He walked closer calmly.
Too close.
I could smell expensive cologne and something darker underneath it.
Confidence.
Control.
Danger.
“You look nervous,” he murmured.
“I’m reconsidering this.”
“No you’re not.”
“You seem very sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
God, he was infuriating.
He handed me a glass of water.
“Relax.”
“I don’t think you understand how uncomfortable this is for me.”
“I understand perfectly.”
His voice lowered slightly.
“The difference is that I don’t feel guilty about wanting something.”
The way he looked at me made my pulse stumble.
Not soft.
Not romantic.
Intentional.
Like he had already decided something about me.
I looked away first.
“I need the money upfront.”
Straight to business.
He pulled out his phone, typed something, then set it down.
“Check your banking app.”
Confused, I opened my phone.
Then froze.
My tuition balance.
Paid in full.
I stared at the screen in complete shock.
“You—”
“Your rent too,” he added casually.
I looked at him with fear or maybe curiosity.
"You...how did you know?"
"Ran some background check...i needed to kmow aout the woman i'll be sharing my bed with, in case she decides to kill me in my sleep" he says with that arrogant smirk i hate the most.
