Robert McAfee; The New Student Trillionaire

CHAPTER 8

Nobody could insult his mother, especially not these cruel parasites dressed in privilege and pride.

Without hesitation, Robert lunged forward, rage igniting in his chest like gasoline to flame. But before his fist could crash into Bucky’s smug face, strong arms grabbed him from behind, half a dozen students dragged him down. Their grip was brutal.

One of them leaned in, voice flat and cold, “We don’t care what you do after the ceremony, but until we get our payment, lay a hand on any Orlando again, and you’ll regret it the rest of your miserable life.”

His knees hit the marble floor with a dull thud. His arms were pinned behind him, students pressing down like guards restraining a convict.

Then came Jackson, grinning like a man drunk on power. He stood above Robert, radiating mockery.

“Feels right, doesn’t it?” he sneered. “A dog should always kneel.”

Without warning, Jackson slapped him hard across the face.

Robert’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t rise. His body burned with fury, his knuckles itching to strike, but he stayed still. He had to. One wrong move, and he would break the first condition of his grandfather’s will.

Endure.

Observe.

Do not reveal your power, yet.

Then Bucky stepped in.

He strutted forward and drove his knee straight into Robert’s stomach. A burst of pain flared through his gut. Robert doubled over, breathless.

Bucky then lifted one leg and rested it—mockingly—on Robert’s head like he was conquering a defeated animal.

“This is where poor people belong,” Bucky announced, his voice raised so everyone could hear. “Beneath our feet.”

The room rippled with dark laughter.

David Orlando, standing beside his brother, chuckled and waved lazily. “Relax, Buck. The fool will get what’s coming.” He glanced down at Robert with disgust. “Especially since that useless mother of his finally did something good for society—by dying.”

The laughter exploded this time.

On the stage, Matthew McCastrol, dressed in a white velvet tux, stood tall with his arm wrapped around a figure beside him—Olivia.

Robert’s stomach turned.

She didn’t just stand there. She leaned into Matthew like she belonged there, her red lips curved into a triumphant smirk. Her eyes flicked toward Robert and narrowed with cold amusement.

“Welcome, everyone,” Olivia called out, her voice proud and polished, echoing from the stage. “Let’s give a warm Pinehills greeting to our special guest tonight... the sacrifice.”

The crowd whooped and whistled, eating it up.

Matthew took the mic from her hand, every inch the spoiled prince of Pinehills. “This,” he gestured toward Robert with theatrical flair, “is the beginning of a new era for the Twine Group. We’ll cleanse Pinehills of its filth, one useless bastard at a time. And don’t worry—my father will ensure the school continues to rise in prestige.”

He raised his glass high. “But first, let the lamb be slain!”

Another cheer. Olivia clapped, laughing like she was watching a stand-up comedy set.

Robert didn’t move. But inside, he was cracking—bit by bit.

The mocking... the slaps... the lies...

And now, they were cheering for his humiliation like it was a sport.

David Orlando swaggered toward him again. “But we’re not done yet. Our Messiah here—” he jabbed a finger at Robert’s forehead “—needs to pay proper tribute.”

“What tribute?” someone called from the crowd.

David grinned. “He tried to buy a $250,000 watch recently. Stole my chance at it. Imagine that—a rat trying to look like a lion.”

Bucky stepped forward. “He’s going to apologize. Publicly. Now.”

David waved his hand. “Not good enough. He needs to lick Matthew’s shoe.”

The room went silent. Audible gasps echoed through the hall. Even the music stopped.

Robert’s head snapped up. “What?”

David was smiling like a devil. “You heard me. Lick the shoe of our leader. Pay your debt. Or be forced to.”

For a brief second, nobody moved.

Then Bucky raised two fingers. A signal.

Suddenly, students closed in again. Rough hands grabbed Robert’s shoulders, forcing him up. His legs dragged along the marble tiles as they pulled him toward the VIP section, toward the raised lounge where Matthew and Olivia sat like king and queen.

Cameras rolled. Phones flashed.

Matthew leaned back as they approached, arms casually around Olivia, legs crossed with authority. “Tsk,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I wouldn’t let this loser touch my shoe, not even with his tongue.”

The crowd burst into laughter again.

Eva McCastrol, draped in silver and pearls, leaned into the mic. “Maybe let him lick the cheapest shoe here?” she suggested sweetly, venom in her voice.

She turned to Olivia with a playful smirk. “That would be... you, darling.”

Matthew laughed. “Perfect. You heard her. Make him lick his ex-girlfriend’s shoe.”

He looked down at Robert. “Take notes, bastard. This is how a woman is supposed to be treated.”

Robert’s body trembled.

He tried to push back, but the hands on him were relentless. They slammed him to his knees again.

He grit his teeth. Every part of his body screamed to fight. His pride, his past, his mother’s dignity—it all burned in him like fire.

And just as his face was forced downward—his lips hovering above the pointed black heel of Olivia’s designer shoe—

A voice pierced the room.

“What’s going on here?”

It was like thunder had struck the ballroom.

Every head turned toward the entrance.

Standing there, dressed in a dark blue suit, was Principal Mario, the head of Pinehills. His presence immediately changed the energy in the room. Students stood frozen, eyes wide like they'd been caught committing a crime.

The principal strode forward, steps deliberate, eyes sharp. He approached the VIP lounge and stopped right in front of the crowd circling Robert.

“Mr. Robert,” he said in a loud, dry voice, “what are you doing on the floor?”

Robert, still pinned down, looked up in disbelief. His mouth opened to speak, but Principal Mario had already turned away.

He wasn’t asking out of concern. He didn’t even acknowledge the group holding him down.

Instead, he looked up at Matthew and smiled. “How’s your father?”

Matthew smirked, adjusting his cufflink. “He’s well, sir. Asked me to request your account number again—he wants to send the annual donation.”

The principal chuckled. “Ah, wonderful. Always so generous.”

Then he turned back to Robert, his tone suddenly sharp.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Back on your feet. I want to see you in my office tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. sharp.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

The principal turned to the crowd, raised his hand slightly, and said, “Continue. Have your fun.”

He walked away without another word, already pulling out his phone. His eyes stayed glued to the screen.

Waiting.

Refreshing.

Everyone knew what he was doing. Waiting for the McCastrol alert.

If the McCastrols had requested his account, the funds were already on the way. He didn’t care what they did in this hall—as long as the alert arrived on time.

The moment he disappeared from the ballroom, the laughter began again.

David crouched beside Robert and whispered, “Now where were we?”

The group pressed him back down. Hard.

Olivia’s heels stood firm before him—sharp, black, cold.

His nose was almost touching the leather. His mouth hovered just above the toe.

The room w

as silent again, everyone watching. Holding their breath.

Then—

A new voice rang out.

Female. Firm. Elegant.

“What is the meaning of this nonsense?”