📖 The Story Continues
The story doesn't end here.Continue reading the full story adaptation below and discover what happens next.
Pregnant and Spoiled by the Billionaire – Episode 4
The success of Amelia’s article did not change the balance in her bank account. A few days later, she stood in a crowded campus café with a six-dollar sandwich on the counter and a line of impatient students behind her. She had received her paycheck yesterday, so when the cashier frowned at the register, Amelia assumed the machine had made a mistake.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the cashier said, sliding the card back. “It was declined due to insufficient funds.” Amelia stared at the card as if it belonged to someone else. Her paycheck, combined with what she had saved, should have left nearly three thousand dollars in the account—just enough to cover the dorm payment due soon.
“That can’t be right,” Amelia said. “I just got paid yesterday.” She searched the cashier’s expression for some sign of a system error, but the woman only looked tired. Behind Amelia, someone groaned loudly and demanded that the line move.
Heat crawled up Amelia’s neck. Hunger had already made her light-headed, and now dozens of eyes seemed fixed on the cheap meal she could not afford. “Are you going to pay or not?” a man behind her snapped. “You’re taking forever.”
A familiar voice drifted from farther back in the line, sweet with false sympathy. “Oh, Amelia. You might as well go to a food bank instead of wasting everybody’s time.” A few students laughed. Amelia recognized the girl from one of her classes, someone who had always treated financial hardship as a personal failure.
“Do you even go here?” another student called. The cashier shifted awkwardly while Amelia fought the urge to abandon the sandwich and run. She had survived rejection at Preston Group eight times; she would not let a failed card reduce her to tears in public. “Could you please try it again?” she asked.
The cashier swiped the card a second time. The machine beeped with the same merciless result, and the irritation behind Amelia erupted. Someone shouted for her to get her “broke ass” out of the line. She grabbed the card, left the food on the counter, and pushed through the crowd before humiliation could break her composure.
Outside, the autumn air struck her burning face. Amelia found an empty bench and opened her banking app with shaking fingers, expecting to see a technical delay. The balance on the screen was so low that she refreshed it twice. Several large withdrawals had erased nearly everything she possessed.
There should have been at least three thousand dollars in the account. Amelia studied the transaction history until dread hardened into certainty. She had not made those withdrawals, but someone else still had access from the days when she was too young to open the account alone. “Unless…” she whispered.
She called her father. He let the phone ring long enough that she almost lost her nerve, then answered with an annoyed grunt. Amelia skipped any greeting. “Dad, did you take money out of my account again?”
His lack of surprise gave her the answer before he spoke. “So what if I did?” he said. “I’m your father. You owe me.” There was no apology in his voice, no concern for how she would survive. He spoke as though her wages belonged to him by right.
Amelia closed her eyes against the familiar ache. Her father had taken smaller amounts before, always with an excuse and always with a promise that never became repayment. This time he had emptied the account she had built through months of work. “I needed that for rent,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking.
He dismissed the problem as if she had complained about a minor inconvenience. Amelia’s anger flared through the fear. “I have nothing left,” she told him. “Do you want me to get kicked out and end up on the streets?”
For one foolish second, she hoped the question would reach whatever remained of his parental instinct. She remembered being small enough to believe he could solve any problem, before disappointment became the most reliable thing he gave her. The silence on the line held no guilt, only impatience.
“Figure it out,” he said. His next words were colder. “You’re young and pretty. Use it.” Amelia recoiled as though he had struck her. A father should have protected his daughter from people who thought that way, not suggest she sell herself to repair the damage he had caused.
“No, wait, Dad.” She rose from the bench, panic sharpening her plea. She wanted to demand the money back, to ask where it had gone, but the call ended before she could say another word. The blank screen reflected a face pale with disbelief.
Amelia called again. He rejected it. A third attempt went directly to voicemail, leaving her alone with the distant noise of campus and the deadline hanging over her. Her dorm fees were not negotiable, and admiration for an article would not keep a roof over her head.
She considered calling the financial-aid office, but she already knew how long emergency requests took. Taking extra shifts would help eventually, not before the payment came due. Even selling her laptop would cover only a fraction of what her father had stolen and leave her unable to complete her coursework.
Leo’s card was still tucked into her notebook. For one dangerous moment, Amelia imagined calling the billionaire whose interest had seemed so genuine. Three thousand dollars would mean nothing to him, but asking would turn their unfinished connection into a transaction, and she could not bear the thought of him seeing her as someone pursuing his wealth.
She put the card away and searched for the only person close enough to ask. Her roommate Bethany had money, contacts, and a talent for finding unconventional solutions. Amelia hated the thought of admitting how desperate she was, but with her rent due and nowhere else to turn, she headed back to the dorm—unaware that Bethany’s help would carry a price far more dangerous than debt.
