Priced to Break: The Billionaire's Contract

I put myself up for auction on the school's private forum. $3,000 for a casual lunch. $5,000 to be your arm candy at a formal gala.

During gym class, the trust-fund kids clustered together, their eyes tracking my every move.

She always acts so high and mighty. Turns out it's all a fake act.

Tristan, the heir with the deepest pockets and the most power, cut through the chatter with a bored drawl. "Cheap, vain, and utterly trashy."

I heard him, but my pulse stayed dead calm. At this hyper-elite prep school where power was the only religion, dignity was a useless luxury for someone like me. I didn't need their respect. I only wanted the cash lining their designer pockets.

Later in the hallway, I purposefully slammed my shoulder against Tristan's chest. Holding his icy gaze, I gave him a slow blink and slipped a piece of paper with my number directly into his palm.

After the final bell rang, my phone buzzed in my pocket. One unread text.

"What's the price tag for the girlfriend package?"

Chapter 1

By the time I checked the text from the unknown number, an hour had already passed.

The sender must have grown impatient with my silence. Another message popped up. "Money isn't an issue. Name your price."

I rubbed my numb, freezing fingers together and typed back. "Daily rate or monthly?"

A question mark shot back instantly. He must have been staring at his screen. "What's the difference?"

"$5,000 a day. Or 0-000,000 for a monthly buyout, complete with on-call service. No discounts for renewals."

That seemed to shut him up. A long minute dragged by before the next text arrived. "You really do put a price tag on everything."

Half an hour had bled away at the bus stop, and the biting wind was chipping away at my patience. "Take it or leave it. If it's a no, I'm blocking this number."

""

An ellipsis blinked on the screen, immediately followed by: "Deal. Put me down for a month. Be here at eight tonight."

I tapped the location pin. A high-end nightclub.

"Fine." I hit send, shoved the phone into my pocket, and stepped onto the approaching bus.

Night had fully settled by the time I pushed through the club's heavy doors. The bass thumped hard enough to rattle my teeth, vibrating through a sea of flawlessly dressed, loud bodies. I kept my face blank, navigating the crowded floor toward the VIP booth number glowing on my screen.

Shoving the heavy acoustic door open, the deafening bass dropped to a low hum. The sharp sting of expensive liquor hung thick in the air, making me swallow down a cough.

"Come here."

I lifted my chin. Seven or eight guys dripping in designer labels lounged across the semi-circle of leather couches. I recognized every single one of them. The absolute top of our prep school's social pyramid.

The voice belonged to Sinclair. At his command, the rest of the group turned their calculating stares my way.

"Told you she'd show up." Sinclair arched a smug brow as I stepped further into the room, his voice dripping with condescension. "Playing hard to get, Sage? It's almost nine."

Sinclair patted the empty cushion next to him. I didn't move a muscle.

The smirk slid right off his face. He tilted his chin, a cold, entitled glint in his eye. "Drop the holier-than-thou act. You're already here. Do I need to roll out a red carpet?"

I ignored him entirely, shifting my gaze to the guy sitting beside him. "Were you the one texting me?"

Tristan had been watching me the entire time Sinclair ran his mouth. At my direct question, he casually set his crystal glass down on the table, letting out a low, rough laugh. "Yeah."

Without another word, I crossed the room and sank into the leather beside him. "I leave by eleven."

"I need a ten-grand deposit upfront. My time only covers sitting with you in this booth. Drinks are extra."

Tristan blinked, clearly thrown by the pure business transaction slipping past my lips. "You are unbelievable"

He didn't finish the sentence. He just tapped his screen, and a second later, my phone buzzed.

[ Tristan transferred $50,000. ]

"The rest buys the rest of your night. And you don't say no to a drink." Tristan said.

I accepted the transfer and gave a curt nod.

Sinclair, visibly agitated by being treated like background noise, slammed a bottle of liquor onto the table right in front of me. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Does the rest of the school know Miss Perfect is this desperate for cash? Drink up. Let's see how much you can handle."

The other guys leaned in, arms draped lazily over the girls in their laps, sneering at me.

"Isn't she our straight-A valedictorian? Guess she's gotta be top of the class at downing shots, too."

"Damn, she acted like I was invisible when I talked to her before. Now look at her, sitting here like a good little pet."

"Tristan always knows how to pull their strings. Acting all untouchable, but she came running the second the money dropped."

I grabbed the heavy-duty tequila off the table. No lime. No salt. Tipping my head back, I downed three shots back-to-back.

The brutal alcohol scorched a path down my throat. My face remained an absolute mask of indifference as I slammed the empty shot glass onto the table.

The sharp crack of shattering glass choked the room into dead silence; the sneering rich kids stared at me, stripped of their words.

Someone suddenly broke the tension, yelling at the staff. "Waitress! Bring ten more bottles in here! Hurry up, let's see her keep drinking!"

Chapter 2

I didn't say a word. I just grabbed another bottle. The jeers and catcalls from the guys grew louder, and even the girls plastered to their sides shot me looks laced with pity.

By the time I reached for my fifth bottle, Tristan finally decided to intervene, his voice a lazy drawl. "Enough. She's my girlfriend. Give it a rest."

The rowdy cheers died down.

"How much is Tristan paying you? I'll double it." Sinclair slammed a matte black Amex onto the glass table, raking his eyes over me like I was an overpriced piece of meat in a display case.

"Next month, you belong to me. Name your terms."

He oozed that suffocating, top-percentile superiority. I held Sinclair's gaze and slowly shook my head. "For you? Ten grand a day."

"You bitch!" Sinclair's face flushed a dark, ugly red, his voice spiking as the insult landed. "You trying to fleece me, Sage? You're jacking up the price just for me?"

Ten grand was pocket change to the Sinclair heir. He'd drop hundreds of thousands at a poker table in a single night without blinking. But it wasn't about the cash. It was about his ego taking a massive hit because I dared to give him a different price tag.

"As of right now, it's twenty grand a day. If you can't afford it, stay out of my face."

I dismissed him entirely, dropping my gaze to my phone to type out a text. Sinclair shot me a venomous glare before sinking back into the leather couch, seething.

The VIP booth slipped back into its chaotic rhythm, the air filled with the shrill laughter of the girls. Cutting through the heavy noise, Sinclair suddenly muttered, "Fine. It's not a big deal. Next month"

"Sage." Tristan cut Sinclair off mid-sentence. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unnerving calm.

"Can you stand? It's eleven. I'm taking you home."

I gave a curt nod, grabbed my jacket, and followed Tristan out of the club.

The next morning hit me like a freight train. I woke up with my skull pounding, the brutal hangover from downing raw tequila clawing at my temples. I massaged my head, forced myself out of bed, and barely managed to slide into my desk right as the warning bell rang.

That marked the official start of my transaction as Tristan's girlfriend. I played my part flawlessly. Good morning texts. Good night texts.

During gym class, I stood on the sidelines holding his varsity jacket and handing him ice water when he finished running the court.

As the bell rang to end class, Tristan threw me a casual glance. "We're grabbing lunch today."

I didn't reply immediately. I just took my time, slowly dabbing a towel against the sharp line of his jaw to catch a drop of sweat. I met his gaze with absolute clarity.

"Lunch dates are an extra five hundred. And I don't do cheap fast food."

Tristan paused, a mocking glint flashing in his eyes. He let out a harsh scoff, pulled out his phone, and wired me ten grand. "That buys your lunches for the month. Keep the change as a tip."

Tristan was prep school royalty. Everywhere he went, an entourage of trust-fund clones trailed behind him. Whenever I showed up, they'd shoot me these dirty, knowing smirks.

Sinclair was always the loudest, throwing out some passive-aggressive trash talk every time I walked by. I treated his voice like dead air.

On day twenty of our contract, Tristan's birthday rolled around. He was an only child, utterly spoiled by his billionaire parents, and rumors were already flying about the massive, over-the-top gala they were throwing for him.

As the final bell rang, Tristan cornered me by my locker. "My birthday is the day after tomorrow. I'm sending my driver for you. Be ready early."

I mentally checked the date and shook my head. "I can't. I have plans."

Tristan snapped.

He kicked the desk next to us so hard the metal screeched against the linoleum. The kid sitting there flinched, terrified to make a sound.

"Sage, I paid to buy out your time, which means even your soul revolves around me!" Tristan lunged forward, his towering frame swallowing me in his shadow. His eyes were dark, practically bleeding with a suffocating need for control.

"You're dragging your feet over a damn birthday party. Who exactly are you hiding on the side?"

I held my ground, though I instinctively took a half-step back from his sheer size. "I really can't make it. I'll make it up to you later."

"Fine. Tell me right now. What are these plans?"

I clamped my mouth shut. Total silence.

Seeing me flinch backward, a muscle ticked in his jaw. The realization that I thought he might actually hit me seemed to twist something ugly inside him. He kicked the desk a second time, the deafening crash echoing through the classroom, and stormed out without looking back.

Chapter 3

One of his lackeys stood up, a mocking smirk plastered across his face. "You already took the money. Drop the act."

He didn't bother lowering his voice. He pulled a thick stack of bills from his wallet and hurled them straight at my face. The cash fluttered down around my feet.

"Isn't this what you want? Here. Apologize to Tristan tomorrow."

Every eye in the classroom locked onto me. My expression didn't so much as twitch. I crouched down and began collecting the scattered bills from the floor, one by one.

When I reached Sinclair's designer sneakers, I kept my voice perfectly flat. "Move. You're stepping on it."

Sinclair jumped back like he'd been burned, revealing the crumpled hundred-dollar bill trapped under his sole. As I picked it up, he crossed his arms, his face twisting into an ugly, conflicted scowl. "Sage, you are absolute trash."

That night, my goodnight text to Tristan was left on read. My good morning text the next day met the same dead silence.

When I walked into the classroom, the chaotic chatter instantly dropped to a low murmur. Tristan was slouched at his desk, lazily scrolling through his phone.

I stopped right in front of him. "You didn't wait for me at the gates today."

We had been practically joined at the hip lately. To anyone on the outside, we looked exactly like a normal couple. Tristan didn't even blink.

He acted like I was completely invisible. I checked his earsno AirPods. He was doing this on purpose.

Sensing the suffocating tension, the kid sitting next to him let out a nervous laugh and bolted for an empty seat in the back.

I sat down, turned my head, and cut straight to the chase. "Why are you ignoring me? You didn't reply to my texts."

"Sage, I paid to buy out your time. That means your soul has to revolve around me!" Tristan suddenly lunged closer, his towering shadow swallowing me up.

His dark eyes bled with a suffocating, almost violent need for control. "Dragging your feet over a damn birthday partywho exactly are you hiding on the side?"

The casual, arrogant smirk he usually wore was entirely gone.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He didn't say a word, just kept his dead-eyed stare locked on my face. I reached into my bag, pulled out a small box, and pushed it across the desk. The heavy scowl on his face shifted into genuine confusion.

"What is this?" He flipped the lid open and let out a harsh, cutting laugh.

"Sage. This texture is rough, the color is god-awful. This wouldn't even qualify as a rag in my house."

"It's a birthday gift. Happy birthday."

Tristan froze.

The realization visibly hit him, and his pupils dilated just a fraction. "You knitted this?"

When I didn't answer, he dropped the box onto the desk. The rigid tension bled out of his shoulders. He leaned back against his chair, a cocky smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"It's completely cheap, but I guess it proves you have a tiny bit of a conscience. I'll force myself to accept it."

"But you were supposed to give it to me tomorrow. Giving it to me now just ruins the whole thing. You're so stupid."

His posture was relaxed now. The storm had passed.

"Are you still mad?" I asked.

"Do I look mad to you? You're the one who came crawling over to apologize."

"Then I need to take tomorrow off. Don't worry. I'll wire you a refund for tomorrow's daily rate."

The air in the room evaporated. His face went blank, his eyes darkening into pitch-black voids.

"Sage. You are unbelievable." The words ground out through his teeth.

He shoved his chair back with a harsh screech, grabbed the gift box, and hurled it at the trash can in the back of the classroom. The heavy thud made the girl in the back row flinch hard.

The closest guy instinctively reached down to grab it, but Tristan pointed a finger at him. "Don't touch it. Anyone who picks that up is dead to me. Trash belongs exactly where it is."

He snapped his head back, glaring down at me with eyes sharp enough to carve a hole straight through my chest.

Chapter 4

"What a joke. Go wherever the hell you want. You think anyone actually gives a damn?" Tristan spat, his voice laced with venom.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Sage? I never want to see your face again."

I let out a quiet sigh. I crouched to pick up the textbook that had been knocked off the desk behind us, murmuring a soft apology to the kid. Straightening up, I met Tristan's furious gaze.

"Does this mean the contract is terminated? I'll refund the remainder of your deposit. But I can't calculate it at the monthly rate anymore; it'll have to be prorated by the day"

"Get the fuck out!"

His eyes were rimmed with a manic, bloodshot red. He snatched his jacket, deliberately slamming his shoulder into mine as he shoved past me.

The classroom door nearly ripped off its hinges with the force of his exit.

Back in my seat, I wired the remaining balance to his account. When the final bell rang, I checked my phone. He hadn't accepted the transfer. Our chat history was nothing but a cold string of transaction receipts.

I packed my bag. The guy sitting behind me leaned forward with an easygoing grin. "Hey, Valedictorian. Let me borrow your AP Calc notes."

Without looking up, I pulled the notebook from my bag and tossed it onto his desk. "Two hundred bucks a day. Cash or Venmo?"

He didn't even blink. He just scanned my QR code, grabbed the notebook, and strolled out.

His desk mate, a sweet-faced girl named Elsie, waited until he was out of earshot before turning to me. "Sage, I finished checking my English test against yours. Here you go."

I gave a short nod, took the paper, and shoved it blindly into my desk. Elsie hovered, chewing on her bottom lip. It took her a long minute to finally speak up.

"Why don't you ever charge me? I should be paying you, just like him." She watched me carefully, her voice dropping to a hesitant whisper.

"Are you in trouble? Do you need money? I can loan you some. I've saved up a lot of allowance."

I reached out and patted the top of her head, allowing a rare, genuine smile to break through my defenses. "You've already paid your tab."

The very first time I walked into this classroom, a bucket of freezing water had been rigged to drop squarely on my head. She was the only person in the room who had offered me a dry jacket.

"But you don't hear the things they say about you behind your back"

I held up a hand, cutting off her frantic warning. I knew exactly what my reputation was. Fake. Gold-digger. Trash.

I was the target of every whispered insult and sneer. I just kept smiling.

"They're right. You should keep your distance from me