Fucked Raw by my School's Billionaire Owner
He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low."I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this."I moaned, looking away, couldn't help it,"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly."Fuck," he groaned. "So tight."He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster."Damien," I cried out his name as I came."That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder....weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me.Damien BlackwoodPrincipal Benefactor and OwnerColumbia University.Same man who'd just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"
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Chapter 5
The money arrived in my account the next morning plus a little extra I hadn't expected. I stared at the notification on my phone for a full minute. I didn't waste time feeling guilty. I transferred the full amount to the hospital right there. After a few hours I went to the hospital, when I got to the ward, the nurse at the desk actually smiled at me, first time anyone in that place had looked at me like I wasn't just another broke family member taking up space.
"Your father's in surgery now," she said. "They started about an hour ago."
I nodded, throat tight. "Can I wait?"
She pointed to the chairs down the hall. "Family's area's that way. I'll let you know when he's out."
I sat for hours, my mind kept replaying last night, the way he had said 'one night' like he was convincing himself more than me. I shifted in the plastic chair every time the memory hit too hard. My body still ached in places I hadn't known could ache. Not bad pain, just... there.
When the doctor finally came out, he looked tired but calm. "Successful," he said. "He's in recovery. We'll keep him here a few more days, but the worst is over. You did good getting the funds so fast."
I almost laughed. 'Good' wasn't the word I'd use. But I thanked him, signed the forms, and left before anyone could ask too many questions.
I went straight to the diner after. Sofia was wiping down the counter when I walked in. She looked up, eyes searching my face like she could read the whole night off me. "You're alive," she said, half joking, half serious.
"Barely," I muttered.
She dropped the rag and pulled me into the back room, away from the lunch crowd. "Okay, spill."
I leaned against the wall, arms folded tight. "I did it."
"I know you did it, I want details," she said rolling her eyes.
I stared at the floor. "He didn't look like the picture."
Sofia's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Yeah. The profile showed some old guy. The man who opened the door was... thirty nine, tall, built. Looked like he stepped out of a magazine."
She let out a low whistle. "So you got a handsome man instead?"
I snorted despite myself. "Something like that."
She stepped closer, voice dropping. "And? Was it... bad?"
I chew the inside of my cheek. The memories rushed back, the I had said his name when I came, his mouth on mine. Hear crawled up my neck. "It wasn't bad," I said quietly. "It was... intense."
Sofia studied me for a second. Then she reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "You okay?"
I shrugged. "I got the money, Dad's in surgery, that's what matters."
She didn't push, just nodded. "You're tougher than you look, Elena. But you don't have to pretend with me. We're friends now, right?"
The word 'friends' hit me harder than I expected. I blinked fast. "Yeah, friends."
She smiled. "Good. Then next time you're at my place, we're getting drunk and you're telling me everything. No holding back."
I laughed, shaky. "Deal."
She hugged me quick and tight before we went back to work. For the first time the diner felt like somewhere I belonged.
The next week blurred together. Dad came out of surgery okay. I visited every day after classes, brought him magazines he wouldn't read. He didn't thank me, didn't ask where the money came from. Just grumbled about the food, nurses and the TV channels. Same old Victor.
School was the same hell, but I had less patience for it now. Monday morning, I was walking down the main corridor when the usual trio spotted me.
"Still wearing the same jacker?" one of them called. Chloe, the leader, voice dripping fake sweetness. "You know they sell new ones in stores, right?"
I kept walking. "Hey, scholarship girl," another one said. "Your dad still drinking the rent money?"
I stopped, looked her dead in the eye. "Better than drinking Daddy's credit card," I said flatly.
Chloe laughed, but it sounded forced. "Wow. Got a backbone today."
I stepped closer. "I've always had one. You just never noticed because you were too busy staring at your own reflection."
Chlow opened her mouth, closed it, then flicked her hair and walked away like she had won something. Her friends trailed behind.
By Thursday, the soreness was mostly gone. I could sit through lectures without wincing. I could walk without feeling every step between my legs. But I still thought about Damien. I hated how often the memory crept in and how my body warmed just remembering. I went to the hospital after school to visit my Dad but met him yelling at one of the nurse.
"Why is the food so bad, I don't pay so much money to get these kind of food," he yelled.
"You don't pay anything at all Papa," I said entering the room.
"I'm sorry," I apologised to the nurse and collected the food tray from her.
"You don't get to act this way here," I scolded him after the nurse left.
"You are developing all these attitude just because you paid the bill," he frowned.
I let out a sigh, tired of his behaviour. "Think what you like, but you don't get to shout at anyone here, they aren't me that would put up with you behaviour," I said trying to control my anger.
"I don't remember raising such a disrespectful child," he shouted.
"Well I don't remember you raising me at all, you can't even be appreciative for once in your life," I dropped the food tray and left angrily. Dealing with him was just too much to handle so I went home, I would probably visit him another day.
Friday afternoon I had to go to the administration building in school for my final year scholarship renewal, some form I had to sign in person, get a stamp, make sure my grades hadn't dropped below the cutoff. I had been putting it off because the building always felt cold and official, like they were judging me just for existing there. The main hall was quiet when i walked in. High ceilings, portraits of donors and past presidents lined the walls. I barely glanced at them, I was just focused on finding the right office.
Then I turned the corner and stopped shocked. The portrait was massive, bigger than the others, gold frame. It read, "Damien Blackwood, Principal Benefactor and Owner, Columbia University."
I stared at the frame, same jawline, same dark hair, looking straight through the camera like he knew exactly what you were thinking.
My stomach tightened so fast, i felt sick. "Oh fuck, what have I done?" I whispered.
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8.4
Ayleen Avery was just a struggling hotel worker trying to survive her shift. But during a sudden blackout, she accidentally stumbled into the pitch-black VIP suite of a ruthless billionaire driven mad by chronic insomnia.
Calmed only by her unique natural scent of roses and rain, the terrifying man attacked her from the shadows and forced himself on her. Terrified and broken, Ayleen fled at dawn, unknowingly leaving behind her late mother's antique rose necklace in his bed.
Her greedy coworker found the necklace, claimed to be the woman from that night, and was instantly swept into a life of luxury. Meanwhile, Ayleen was blackmailed into a forced marriage with her attacker—Cassius Doyle—to save her adoptive father from prison. Deceived by the stolen necklace, Cassius believed Ayleen was a manipulative spy. He brought the coworker into their home and paraded her around the master bedroom.
"In this house, you are lower than the dirt on my shoes."
He choked Ayleen, forced her to sleep in a damp storage room, and treated her with violent disgust while pampering the thief.
Ayleen was suffocating in absolute despair. She had lost her innocence, her freedom, and her mother's only relic to a vicious liar. She couldn't understand how this all-powerful man could be so completely blind. Why couldn't he recognize the very scent that had cured his agonizing madness?
Staring at the dark bruises he had just left on her neck, Ayleen wiped the blood from her lip. She would endure this three-month marriage to secure her family's safety, but once the contract ended, she would expose the truth and tear down the fake savior he cherished so much.
9.5
On the day she discovers she is pregnant, Amara is handed divorce papers by the man she loved for three years. Betrayed by her husband and her best friend, she walks away with nothing-except the secret growing inside her.
But what Ethan Cole doesn't know is that the woman he abandoned is not weak... and not alone.
When Amara returns as a powerful heiress, no longer the woman he could control, Ethan begins to regret everything. But as secrets unravel and the truth about her pregnancy comes closer to light, one question remains-
When he finally finds out the child is his... will it already be too late?
9.7
I was a top cardiac surgeon, trapped in a dead marriage with a ruthless billionaire.
One afternoon, he brought his mistress to my hospital, ordering me to perform her high-risk heart surgery.
When I refused and handed him our divorce papers, he violently tore them up and threatened to erase my name from the medical community.
Worse, I discovered they had a five-year-old surrogate son—bought and born the exact same year I bled out on an operating table, losing our baby.
The mistress mocked my trauma, calling me a barren piece of trash who couldn't give him an heir.
I slapped her across the face.
The next morning, the NYPD publicly handcuffed me in my own hospital.
She had framed me for attempted murder, claiming I injected her IV with a lethal dose of potassium.
My husband cornered me in the interrogation room.
"Just confess to me. I will throw enough money at the DA to make this entirely disappear."
I looked into his dark eyes and saw nothing but raw, unfiltered suspicion.
He actually believed I was a jealous murderer.
I swore I would rather rot in a concrete cell for the rest of my life than bow down to them.
Just as my childhood savior miraculously appeared to bail me out, my phone rang.
The mistress had gone into full cardiac arrest.
Only I had the surgical skill to save her.
I turned around, deciding whether to let the woman who ruined my life die, or pick up my scalpel.
7.7
Alondra spent three hours making soup for her husband, only to find him at the hospital tenderly holding another woman's hand.
"I'm four weeks pregnant, Gerard," the woman said softly.
Gerard coldly handed Alondra a divorce agreement, claiming their three-year marriage was just a placeholder because this woman had once saved his life.
Heartbroken, Alondra fled in her car, only to realize her brakes had been completely disabled.
She spun out of control and crashed head-on into a massive delivery truck.
As she lay trapped in the mangled wreckage with her ribs crushed and blood filling her mouth, Gerard's black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
He stared at her dying body through the window with a completely blank expression.
He didn't call an ambulance or even open his door.
He simply rolled up his tinted window and drove away into the rain.
A raw, suffocating hatred burned in her chest, hotter than the pain in her shattered bones.
She couldn't understand how the man she had loved and served so devotedly could just coldly watch her die like a piece of trash.
Opening her eyes again, Alondra gasped for air.
She had returned to the exact morning two years ago, right before she was supposed to deliver that pathetic soup.
When Gerard walked in and threatened her with divorce, she didn't cry or beg.
"I agree. Let's divorce," she said calmly, packing her bags to reclaim her true identity as a billionaire heiress.
8.0
After years of a freezing, loveless marriage, my billionaire husband Israel finally threw me out to make room for his new lover, Ayla.
Before I even packed my bags, he ordered a crew to shred the Dogwood tree in our backyard and pour thick concrete into the crater, claiming it was a symbol of my infidelity.
He didn't know that buried beneath those roots was the urn containing the ashes of our unborn baby.
Stripped of everything, I tried to rebuild my shattered life by securing a supporting role in an indie film.
But Israel bought the entire production studio just to cast Ayla as the lead, demanding I act as her pathetic stepping stone.
When I refused, he cornered me on set with a sickening audio recording.
"We want one million dollars. This will ruin Karen forever."
It was my own parents. They had forged my medical records, planning to sell a story to the tabloids that I was a violent, delusional schizophrenic.
Israel smiled coldly, threatening to lock me in a padded room on an involuntary psychiatric hold unless I signed an unpaid contract to serve Ayla unconditionally.
My own flesh and blood had sold me out to a ruthless monster for cash.
Staring at the extortion contract, the last shred of desperation and love in my chest burned away into cold, gray ash.
To survive a monster, you have to become one.
I picked up his pen, violently signed my name, and prepared to rip his precious Ayla to shreds on camera.
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.