The Billion Dollar Heiress

The music from the party throbbed faintly through the wall, but inside the quiet guest room, everything stilled. The air was thick with alcohol and heat. Isla’s hand was pinned loosely above her head, her back sinking into the soft bed beneath the heavy weight pressing down on her.

This shouldn’t be happening.

This shouldn’t be happening.

The words echoed in her head like a warning bell, but they drowned beneath the haze clouding her thoughts. His wet mouth trailed along her neck, leaving burning kisses and light bites that made her dizzy in a dangerously good way.

Her body jolted when he pushed inside. Sharp pain collided with the blur of pleasure. She winced, pressing against him, but his grip only tightened, as if he needed her more than she needed air.

Everything reeked of alcohol, his breath, her skin, the sheets. The soft, addictive sounds he made as he moved against her pulled her deeper into the haze.

It hurt, until it didn’t. Isla felt her body being taken in ways she didn’t know existed. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t pull away. Time slipped, blurred, until she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

The rays of sunlight flickered through the curtains. Isla squinted her eyes open, trying to process where she was. Everything looked different — the ceiling, the expensive walls, the soft bed. This wasn’t her room. She tried to get up, but a sharp pain pulled her back down. It hurt like hell between her legs.

“Fuck,” a grumpy mutter sounded beside her, making her instinctively turn her head.

Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

Damien Da Silva was lying beside her. Shirtless. And she....

Her memories surged back in fragments. Last night there was a frat party, the first she had ever attended. A drinking game. Too many shots. The blur of laughter. She couldn’t explain how it happened, but she didn’t need anyone to tell her what she had done.

She had spent the night with him.

“I’m sure we both understand this was an accident,” Damien finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “If you tell anyone about this, I swear I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Isla’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, though nothing went down. She had admired Damien from afar for years and had never been bold enough to speak to him, not even to wave. She never imagined the first words he would direct at her would drip with such disdain.

“Understood.” The word slipped out in a whisper she hadn’t intended.

As if she could convince anyone she had slept with Damien. He was filthy rich, born into power, one of the “it boys” of the decade. His type of women were models, fashion icons, the wealthy and stunning, everything Isla wasn’t. It was bad enough that someone as average as her got to study at the same elite school as him. Now she had crossed the invisible line and shared his bed.

“Good. Clean yourself up and leave as fast as you can,” he ordered, standing and disappearing into the bathroom.

Isla hurried to fix her hair and clothes. Her legs still burned painfully, but she managed to limp out of the room. The frat house was a wreck: broken bottles, liquor cups, half-eaten food, people passed out on the floor. Music still boomed through the walls as Isla slipped outside.

When she finally arrived at her dorm, her roommate was pacing with a phone pressed to her ear. Priya froze when she saw Isla in the doorway, her gaze dropping immediately to the phone in Isla’s hand.

“It was switched off,” Isla explained quickly.

“You look like a mess! I told you not to go to that party, but you wouldn’t listen.” Priya rushed over, concern etched across her face. “Why didn’t you come back to the hostel? This isn’t like you.”

Isla managed a faint smile. She loved Priya. When she first received her scholarship to study at this prestigious school, Priya had been the only one who hadn’t treated her like an outsider because of her background.

“I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’m fine. I’m already late for class, so I’ll get ready. You don’t have to wait for me,” Isla said softly, forcing her aching legs toward the bathroom.

After a few minutes of self-reflection — and disgust — she was ready. When she stepped out, she was surprised to find Priya still sitting on the bed, waiting.

“It’s fine. I hate Mr. Kasom’s class anyway. If me being late annoys him too, then let’s go together,” Priya said with a grin.

Isla couldn’t help but chuckle. She hooked her arm through Priya’s as they walked out. She would be fine. She just had to pretend last night never happened. Damien probably didn’t even remember what she looked like. He had always seen her as invisible.

History class passed quickly, and for a moment, everything felt normal. Until she noticed the stares. The whispers. The laughter. People pointing at her.

“Slut,” someone muttered as she walked by. She ignored it, though questions screamed silently inside her.

“Isla! Thank God I found you,” Priya said, rushing up to her. “There’s a video going around in the school group chat. It says you slept with Damien Da Silva.”

Isla’s heart slammed against her chest. “What?”

She couldn’t process it before the air around her shifted. A familiar scent lingered, an expensive cologne and attention. Damien walked down the hallway, flanked by his usual group of boys. He looked perfect, as always but his sharp eyes found hers, burning red.

“Pereira.” His voice carried firmly across the hall. “I’ve never spoken to you. I’ve never had anything to do with you since you came to this school. So who do you think you are to start a scandal like this?”

Isla shook her head, panic rising. Too many people were watching.

“I didn’t—”

“Listen.” His words cut through hers like a blade. “You’re not my type. Everyone knows I’d never stoop so low as to settle for someone like you. I know you’re desperate for attention, but don’t drag me into it. End this rumor immediately.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He just walked past, leaving her frozen.

Isla’s vision blurred. Whispers, laughter, insults closed in on her. Priya tried to defend her, but it was useless. Something wet and slimy smacked against her chest. She looked down as egg yolk slid across her shirt.

“Apologize to Damien, you slut!” someone shouted.

Her phone buzzed with headlines and messages. Pictures of her, edited, mocked, dissected. Her humiliation spreading like wildfire.

But none of it hurt as much as Damien’s words.