The moment the Rolls-Royce came to a complete stop outside the Columbia University dormitories, Chloe unbuckled her seatbelt with shaking hands and shoved the door open.

She practically fell out of the car. She did not look back. She just ran.

Arthur did not try to stop her. He sat perfectly still in the driver's seat. His dark, unreadable eyes watched her frantic, fleeing back until she disappeared into the building.

Chloe ran all the way up to the third floor without stopping. She reached her dorm room, pushed the door open, and collapsed against the wooden panels. She gasped for air, her chest heaving violently.

Her roommate, Paige, was sitting on the couch applying a sheet mask. Paige jumped when the door slammed. She took one look at Chloe's pale, sweaty face and frowned.

"Are you sick?" Paige asked, peeling the edge of the mask away from her mouth.

Chloe shook her head quickly. She avoided Paige's eyes. "No. I just... I skipped breakfast to make it to the morning service. My blood sugar is low."

Paige accepted the lie easily. She reached over to the coffee table and tossed a packaged oatmeal cookie toward the door. Chloe caught it. Her fingers were still trembling so badly she could barely grip the plastic wrapper.

She walked quickly into the small bathroom and locked the door behind her. She dropped the cookie on the counter, turned on the faucet, and splashed freezing cold water onto her face.

She grabbed a towel and patted her skin dry. When she looked up into the bright vanity lights, she froze.

The edge of her high-collared sweater had slipped down just a fraction of an inch. Right there, on the side of her neck, was an angry, dark purple bruise. A hickey.

Chloe gasped. Her stomach dropped. She frantically dug through her makeup bag, pulling out a tube of heavy concealer. She dabbed it over the mark, blending it in with frantic, rough strokes until the skin was raw. She layered it again and again until the purple was hidden.

Right as she put the cap back on the concealer, her phone buzzed on the counter.

The screen lit up with an encrypted text message. It was from Arthur.

The message was one sentence long. "The passcode to the penthouse at 88 Fifth Avenue is your birthday."

Chloe stared at the glowing screen. A wave of intense humiliation washed over her. It made her physically sick. He was treating her like a call girl. He thought he could just toss a piece of prime real estate at her to buy her silence and her body.

She gritted her teeth. She typed back as fast as her fingers would move. "I do not need your charity. Do not contact me again."

The reply came back instantly. It was a high-resolution photo.

Chloe tapped the image to enlarge it. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

The photo showed the black marble vanity of the hotel bathroom from last night. Lying perfectly flat on the cold stone was a piece of black lace. It was her La Perla underwear.

Another text bubble popped up immediately. "Do you need me to have someone deliver your personal items to your business school classroom?"

Chloe started shaking all over again. Tears of pure anger burned the corners of her eyes. She knew Arthur was not bluffing. He was exactly the kind of man who would do something that ruthless just to prove a point.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her hands. She typed her response. "Throw it in the trash. Just like last night."

As soon as the message sent, Chloe held down the power button and turned the phone completely off. She tossed the dead device into the wicker basket next to the sink as if it were covered in poison.

She took one last look in the mirror, fixed her sweater, and walked out of the bathroom.

Paige was sitting on the couch with her laptop open, screaming.

Chloe walked over to the couch, her nerves completely frayed. She looked down at her roommate.

Paige grabbed Chloe's arm and yanked her closer. "Look at the Columbia campus homepage! This is insane!"

Chloe looked at the screen. The headline was in bold black letters. Beaumont Capital donates fifty million dollars to establish a special fund for the Columbia Business School.

Below the headline was a large photograph. Arthur stood tall and imposing in his custom suit, surrounded by the beaming university board members. He was signing a massive novelty check.

"He is the youngest king of Wall Street," Paige sighed, resting her chin on her hands. "He is so cold. So untouchable. He looks like he does not even have human desires."

Chloe stared at the picture of the man on the screen. Her stomach churned violently. Bile rose in the back of her throat.

Her mind flashed back to last night. She remembered exactly how this cold, untouchable man had pinned her to the mattress, forcing her to cry and beg until her voice gave out.

Paige suddenly turned her head. "Wait. Aren't you sponsored by the Beaumont family trust? Have you ever met him in person?"

Chloe's heart slammed against her ribs. She swallowed hard and forced her face to remain blank. "I am just a charity case. I have seen him from a distance a few times. We do not know each other."

Paige nodded, completely buying the excuse. "Makes sense. He is old money. People like us do not get to breathe the same air as him."

Chloe looked back at the laptop screen. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She swore to herself she would find a way to escape this monster.

On Monday morning, Chloe stood at the security desk in the lobby of her dorm building. The guard handed her a massive black gift box tied with a thick silk ribbon. There was no return address.

Chloe frowned. She pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the heavy lid.

Inside, resting on a bed of black velvet, was an extremely rare Hermes Himalayan Birkin bag.

Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. The air left her lungs. She knew instantly this was Arthur's idea of compensation. The bag felt like it was burning her hands. She wanted to throw it across the room.

Just as she moved to slam the lid back on, Katlyn walked into the lobby holding an iced coffee.

Katlyn stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked onto the bag. She let out a loud, exaggerated gasp and marched straight over to the security desk.

Katlyn looked Chloe up and down, her eyes full of pure jealousy. Chloe was wearing a cheap, faded gray hoodie and worn-out jeans. "Did you go down to Canal Street and buy a fake?" Katlyn sneered.

Chloe did not want to fight. Her head was already pounding. "It is none of your business," she said coldly. She grabbed the box and walked quickly toward the elevators.

Katlyn followed right behind her, raising her voice so everyone in the lobby could hear. "If that is real, there is only one way you got it. You found yourself a Sugar Daddy. Some old creep who pays for your company."

Students waiting for the elevator turned their heads. Their eyes crawled over Chloe, filled with curiosity and disgust.

A hot flush of humiliation crept up Chloe's neck. She had no way to explain the bag without exposing the truth. The elevator doors finally slid open. She rushed inside and hit the button, letting the metal doors shut out the whispers and the stares.

After locking the box in the deepest corner of her closet, Chloe grabbed her backpack and ran across campus to the business school building for her mandatory lecture.

She walked into the large tiered classroom and stopped. The back rows, usually empty, were packed with students. The air in the room was buzzing with nervous energy.

Katlyn was sitting in the middle row. She turned to the girls next to her and said loudly, "The guest lecturer today is Arthur Beaumont. The legend himself."

Chloe heard the name and her feet froze to the floor. She spun around, ready to run right back out the door.

But Dean Price was already walking through the entrance, blocking her path. He was smiling widely, ushering Arthur into the room.

Arthur wore a sharp, dark blue suit that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. His presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. His cold eyes swept over the crowd.

Chloe had nowhere to hide. She kept her head down, practically crawling to an empty seat in the very back corner. She pulled out her thickest textbook and propped it up, hiding her face behind it.

The lecture began. Arthur's voice was low and magnetic. He broke down global merger and acquisition cases with brutal precision. The girls in the room stared at him like he was a god.

Right in the middle of explaining a hostile takeover, Arthur stopped talking. He put down his laser pointer. His eyes cut straight to the back corner of the room, locking onto the textbook hiding Chloe's face.

"Miss Tucker," Arthur said. His voice echoed through the silent room. "Tell us the most effective defense strategy against a hostile takeover."

Every single head in the room turned to look at Chloe. Katlyn smirked, clearly enjoying the show.

Chloe's hands shook as she lowered the book. She stood up. Her legs felt like jelly. She forced herself to speak, her voice trembling slightly but her logic flawless as she delivered the correct textbook answer.

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched upward just a fraction. "A very clever resistance," he said smoothly. "But capital always finds a way to make you submit."

It was a double meaning. Only Chloe understood the violent threat hidden in his words. Her knees gave out and she dropped back into her chair.

The lecture ended to thunderous applause. Students rushed the podium, holding out business cards and resumes.

Chloe grabbed her backpack and bolted for the back door.

A woman in a sharp gray suit stepped in front of her. It was Lauren, Arthur's executive assistant.

Lauren smiled a perfect, professional smile. She did not ask. She simply placed a firm hand on Chloe's back and guided her into the VIP waiting room next to the lecture hall.

The heavy door clicked shut behind Chloe, locking automatically.

Arthur was leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk. He was unbuttoning his suit jacket. He looked at her the way a predator looks at a cornered animal.

Chloe pressed her back against the door. She looked like a terrified rabbit. "What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

Arthur closed the distance between them in three long strides. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, expensive tube of bruise ointment, and shoved it roughly into the front pocket of her hoodie.

He reached up and pinched her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice was absolute ice. "Apply the ointment. And remember to take Plan B."