Ruined by My Student's Billionaire Father

Everything hurt.

My thighs. My hips. A deep, sore ache between my legs that made me wince when I rolled over.

I blinked at the ceiling. Not my ceiling.

Then it all came back. The desk. His mouth. My voice screaming his name until it cracked.

I sat up too fast and looked down. I was wearing a white dress shirt. His. The sleeves hung past my fingertips.

On the nightstand sat a tray. Coffee, eggs, toast cut into triangles. Two painkillers lined up next to a glass of water. My clothes were folded beside it, blouse on top, the buttons he'd ripped open now neatly closed.

"You're awake."

Ronan stood in the doorway. Fresh suit. Hair combed back. Tie knotted perfectly at his throat.

He looked like the man who signed my paychecks. Not the man who'd been inside me six hours ago.

"Good morning," I said. My voice came out scratchy.

"Take the pills. You'll need them."

My face burned. "Ronan, about last night..."

"Mr. Kessler is fine."

The words landed like ice water down my back.

He crossed the room and set a slip of paper on the tray, right next to my toast.

A check. Two hundred thousand dollars. Signed in his sharp, slanted handwriting.

"What is this?"

"I'd like you to resign from tutoring Theo. Effective today." He adjusted his cufflink without looking at me. "And I'd appreciate your discretion about what happened."

I stared at the zeros. They blurred.

"So I'm a problem," I said quietly. "And this is how you fix problems."

"That's not what I—"

"Think of last night as an accident, Miss Doyle. Isn't that what you want to say?"

His jaw flexed. He didn't deny it.

I picked up the check. My hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled.

Then I tore it in half.

He went still.

I tore it again. And again, until it was confetti in my lap, and the tears I'd been holding back spilled over and dripped onto his shirt.

"I don't need your charity," I said. "I'm not for sale. I never was."

"Maeve. Listen to me. The money is for your tuition, so you don't have to work while you—"

"Stop."

I grabbed my clothes and turned my back to him. I yanked his shirt over my head and threw it on the bed. I didn't care that he could see me naked. He'd already seen everything.

"Maeve—"

"Tell Theo I'm sorry."

I zipped my skirt and walked out barefoot, shoes in my hand.

At the door, I glanced back once.

Ronan wasn't watching me. He was staring at the bed.

At the small, dark red stain on his white sheets.

His face had gone pale.

I left before he could say a word.

...

I don't remember the bus ride. I don't remember walking into Professor Lindqvist's marketing lecture.

I only remember his hands.

The way he'd said *breathe for me.* The scrape of his stubble on my inner thighs.

I pressed my knees together under the desk and stared at a blank page in my notebook.

"Miss Doyle?"

I jerked my head up. The whole class had turned around.

"Sorry, what?"

Professor Lindqvist peered over his glasses. "I asked about brand loyalty. Twice."

Someone snickered. My roommate, Priya, kicked my ankle from the next seat.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

"Nowhere," I said. "I'm fine."

I wasn't fine. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on that desk.

...

When classes let out, a crowd had formed at the front gates.

"Whose car is that?"

"That's a Maybach. Like, an actual Maybach."

"Somebody's sugar daddy is here."

I stopped dead on the steps.

Black. Gleaming. Tinted windows. And a license plate I'd seen in the Kessler driveway every Friday for eight months.

My stomach dropped through the pavement.

If anyone saw me get near that car, I'd be finished. Every rumor, every whisper, every ugly word they'd use.

I spun around and pushed back through the crowd. Down the hall. Into the first empty classroom I found.

I shut the door and leaned against it, heart pounding.

Then the door swung open behind me.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me back against a hard chest.

"Running from me already?"

Ronan's voice was low in my ear.

"Let me go!" I twisted in his grip. "Are you insane? Someone could see us!"

"Then stop fighting and they won't hear you."

"You can't just show up at my school!"

"I just did."

His hand slid up from my waist and closed over my breast through my sweater. He squeezed, slow and firm, and his thumb found my nipple through the fabric.

Heat shot straight down my body.

"Stop," I gasped. "Mr. Kessler, stop it."

"Ronan," he murmured. "Isn't that what you called me this morning?"

"You told me to!"

"I was an idiot this morning."

His other hand dropped to the hem of my skirt. He pushed it up and pressed two fingers between my legs, right over my panties.

He groaned against my neck.

"Fuck, Maeve. You're soaked."

"I'm not."

"No?" He rubbed a slow circle over my clit, and my knees almost buckled. "Then what's this?"

"I hate you," I whispered.

"You're grinding on my hand while you say it."

He was right. My hips were moving. My body remembered last night even if my brain was screaming at it to stop.

His fingers. His mouth. That moment he pushed inside me and the whole world split open.

I clamped my thighs together, trapping his hand.

He went quiet for a second.

Then he laughed. A soft, rough chuckle right against my ear.

"Thinking about last night?"

"Shut up."

"Me too. All fucking day." He pulled his hand away and smoothed my skirt down like nothing had happened. "I couldn't focus in a single meeting."

I turned around and shoved him in the chest. He barely moved.

"What do you want?"

"Dinner. Tonight. A charity gala at the Halvorsen Hotel." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Come with me."

"Why would I ever do that?"

"Because Daphne Rowe will be there."

I froze.

Daphne Rowe. Founder of Lumen Creative. The woman whose company I'd applied to three times. Three rejections. Three form emails that didn't even spell my name right.

"How do you know about that?"

"Theo told me you have her picture taped inside your planner." He almost smiled. "He thought she was your mom."

I looked away, my cheeks on fire.

"I'll introduce you," he said. "No checks. No strings. Just a conversation."

"There are always strings with you."

"Maybe." His gray eyes didn't blink. "But you still want to go."

I hated that he was right. I hated even more that my legs still felt shaky.

"Fine," I said finally. "One dinner."

"Good girl."

Before I could slap him for that, he opened the door and walked out.

I stood alone in the empty classroom, pressing my palms to my burning face.

Then my phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

*Who's the man, Maeve?*