The Secret Diary of a College Girl

My name is Ava Roscente. I'm 18 years old, a college freshman.

Since high school, I've been the school beauty—the kind of girl boys couldn't stop talking about. Men have always surrounded me.

"Flawless," they called me.

Maybe being pretty comes with privileges. Life has been smooth sailing for me so far.

All I had to do was slip into something sexy, put on a little makeup, and the boys would hand me whatever I wanted.

But a woman's desires are endless. Especially when I saw my less attractive classmates flaunting their Chanel bags and posting photos from high-end restaurants. Envy gnawed at me. Restlessness stirred.

College boys weren't enough anymore. I needed a man with real money.

That night, fresh out of the shower, I climbed into bed when my phone buzzed with multiple messages.

"Sweetheart, have you thought about it? $8,000 a month is generous!"

"Your latest photos are stunning. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"I'm returning to the States in three months. If you agree, I can arrange an exchange program at an American university for you."

All from Thomas Lowell—Tom for short. A visiting professor from the U.S., married.

We'd met on campus days ago. His gaze had been hungry, devouring.

At first, I just wanted to practice my English. He played the gentleman. But after a few meetings, he offered to make me his Sugar Baby.

He said many of his friends kept beautiful college girls. Mutually beneficial arrangements.

I ran away, horrified.

Yet he persisted. His offers climbed from $5,000 to $8,000 a month.

Biting my lip, I typed back: "I'll think about it."

Five seconds later, my phone rang. Tom.

Sighing, I answered. "I said I'd think about it. Why call?" I pulled the bed curtains shut, whispering under my covers.

"I want to see you." His Mandarin was flawless.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. The implication was clear.

Part of me had already accepted. But a girl had to play hard to get.