Student Trillionaire with Seven Beautiful Women

Chapter 4

Nathan left the beach in a hurry that morning, his bare feet sinking briefly into the cold sand before he reached the road. The morning sun was already climbing into the sky, its golden light mocking the chaos in his heart. His mind was a storm—Amelia’s betrayal replayed again and again, Michael’s laughter echoed cruelly, David Brune’s unbelievable call refused to feel real, and the absurd weight of the $20 billion sat like a dream he was afraid to wake from.

Yet none of it mattered.

Not the money. Not the future. Not the humiliation.

Only one thing overshadowed everything else—his grandmother.

As he hurried, he suddenly realized something that made his stomach churn again. He was still wearing the boxers he had been left with after Michael’s public humiliation. The night air on the beach had numbed him to it, but now, in the clear light of morning, reality crashed down once more.

He clenched his fists.

He stopped by an ATM and withdrew the $20,000 that had been in his account before everything changed. He didn’t touch the $20 billion. Not yet. It didn’t feel real. It felt dangerous—like touching it would wake him from a dream or drag him into another nightmare. With the cash stuffed into his pocket, he hurried into a nearby store, bought the cheapest clothes he could find, changed quickly, and left without looking back.

Then he flagged down a taxi.

“Club9,” he said urgently.

The driver glanced at him through the mirror but said nothing, stepping on the accelerator.

By the time Nathan arrived, the club was already alive.

Club9 never slept.

Even in the morning hours, music pulsed through its walls, bass vibrating through the ground. Neon lights flickered against dim corridors, and the smell of alcohol and sweat hung thick in the air. Nathan stepped inside, his heart pounding—not from fear of the place, but from fear of time.

He had one goal.

Find his grandmother.

He scanned the crowd frantically, eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any sign of the Zohran Gang. That was who the voice on the phone belonged to. That was who Roland had hired.

As he moved through the club, memories pressed heavily on him.

Nathan and his grandmother had been late on rent for months—months that turned into years of silent anxiety. The debt had grown to over $200,000, and on top of that was the loan his grandmother had taken from their former landlord. She had used it to secure Nathan’s admission into ESU, believing in him when no one else did.

Back then, things were different.

The landlord had been a good man—a friend of Nathan’s late grandfather. He respected the old man deeply and treated Nathan and his grandmother with patience and kindness. He never pressured them. Never threatened them.

But three weeks ago, the man died.

And everything changed.

His children took over the estates.

The Acuds family.

They despised Nathan and his grandmother. To them, the debt was no longer a matter of compassion—it was leverage. They demanded everything immediately: rent, loan, interest, penalties. The total climbed mercilessly to $600,000.

Something their late father would never have done.

Nathan’s jaw tightened as he moved deeper into the club.

Just then, his phone rang.

Roland Acuds.

Nathan answered immediately. “Where is my grandmother?”

Roland’s laughter came through the line, slow and mocking. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that.”

“You said money isn’t the issue,” Roland continued. “Funny. A starving pauper and his shrinking grandmother on the verge of extinction, and you say money isn’t the issue.”

Nathan ignored the insult. “Just let me see her. I’ll clear the debt immediately.”

Roland laughed again, harsher this time. “I ordered the Zohran Gang to get $600,000 and more from you—one way or the other. You think I’d just hand her back because you asked nicely?”

“What do you want?” Nathan demanded.

“A game,” Roland replied casually. “Ten minutes. Find where they’re holding her. Fail—and I tell them to proceed.”

The line went dead.

Nathan stopped walking.

Ten minutes.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move again. Frustration burned in his chest, but he pushed it down. Anger wouldn’t save his grandmother.

He turned sharply around a corner—

—and collided with someone.

A tray slipped from a waitress’s hands, drinks spilling forward in a cascade of liquid and shattered ice. It splashed all over a man and the woman beside him.

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry!” the waitress cried.

Nathan reacted instantly. “It’s my fault,” he said, bowing slightly. “I wasn’t looking.”

The waitress shook her head quickly. “No, sir, it’s my mistake. I’m really sorry.”

Nathan turned to apologize to the couple.

The man looked mildly annoyed but seemed ready to wave it off—until the woman’s eyes widened.

Her lips curled into a slow, cruel smile.

“Well, look who it is,” she said loudly.

Nathan recognized her instantly.

Zea.

From campus.

From that day at the vendor.

Back then, he had only come to buy something—an errand for one of the rich students. Zea had treated him like dirt, berated him for daring to speak back, and swore she’d deal with him someday.

Now, fate had delivered him right into her hands.

Zea laughed openly. “What’s a campus pauper doing at Club9?”

Her boyfriend frowned. “You know this fool?”

“Oh, I know him very well,” Zea said. “And I’ve been begging God for a chance like this.”

The man straightened. “What did he do to you?”

Before she could answer, Nathan interjected, his voice tight. “Stop calling me a fool.”

The man’s eyes hardened instantly. “I’ll call you whatever I want. You got a problem with it? Do something.”

Zea smirked. “See? That’s his problem. Too proud for a pauper.”

The waitress stood frozen, confused. From her view, Nathan had done nothing but apologize. Yet somehow, he was the villain.

She stepped forward. “Please, I spilled the drinks. It’s not his fault.”

Zea turned on her viciously. “Shut up, you cheap bitch. What—trying to sell your body to another poor loser like him?”

Laughter rippled through the surrounding crowd.

The waitress froze, eyes wide in shock.

Nathan snapped.

“Watch your mouth,” he warned Zea coldly.

Zea’s eyes flashed. She raised her hand—

—and slapped him.

The sound cracked through the air.

Gasps followed, then laughter.

Nathan staggered slightly, his cheek burning. Rage surged—but so did urgency. Five minutes were gone already.

He considered walking away.

But then—

Zea slapped him again.

Harder.

Nathan’s vision blurred.

Humiliation crashed over him in a suffocating wave. Amelia. Michael. Melody. Ava. Now Zea.

Too many slaps. Too much.

He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Don’t ever lay your hands on me again.”

Zea laughed. Her boyfriend stepped forward, towering over Nathan. “Or what?”

The waitress rushed between them. “Please! Stop this—”

Zea shoved her aside—and slapped her.

Nathan clenched his fists—

—but before he could act, Zea’s boyfriend punched him square in the face.

Pain exploded through Nathan’s nose.

“Oops! I was just reaching for my wallet,” the man claimed mockingly.

Blood nearly spilled.

Nathan wiped his nose slowly.

Then, unexpectedly—

He smiled.

He turned to the waitress gently. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, stunned.

Then Nathan faced Zea and her boyfriend.

“I’m also going to reach for my wallet now,” he said calmly.

The crowd leaned in.

Zea’s boyfriend cracked his knuckles. “Try it.”

Nathan slipped his hand into his pocket.