Fifty Dollar Bet, Million Dollar Revenge

For fifty dollars, I sold a piece of my dignity to the school's golden boy. I was eighteen, starving, and desperate enough to take his bet.

That single photo destroyed my life. I became "Fifty-Dollar Ella," the school slut, haunted by whispers and scorn.

My stepmother and stepsister reveled in my public humiliation, ensuring my life was a living hell.

I spent the next decade clawing my way to the top of Wall Street, but I died alone, filled with the bitter regret of a stolen youth.

Until the end, I never understood why they all hated me so much.

Then, I opened my eyes. I was eighteen again, back in that classroom, moments before the bet that ruined me. A shadow fell over my desk. It was him.

"Meet me after school," Javier Mack whispered, a smug look on his face.

But this time, the scared, hungry girl was gone. In her place was a shark. And I was ready to play.

Chapter 1

Ella Walker POV:

I woke up because I was starving.

It was a gnawing, hollow ache in my stomach that twisted itself into a tight knot. It was a familiar feeling, one that had been a constant companion in my eighteenth year. My head was pillowed on my crossed arms, my cheek pressed against the rough, pilled fabric of my school uniform's sleeve. The scent of chalk dust and cheap disinfectant filled my nose.

I didn't move. I kept my eyes closed, letting my other senses take over.

The low hum of the classroom fluorescent lights.

The scratchy sound of a pencil against paper a few desks away.

And the whispers.

"Look at her. Sleeps all the time. Must be exhausted from… you know."

A snicker. "For fifty bucks, I'd be exhausted too."

The voices were young, laced with the casual cruelty of teenage boys who thought they were men. I recognized them. In another life, a life that ended just hours ago in a plush, soundproofed Manhattan penthouse, these voices were a faint, pathetic echo from a past I had buried under a mountain of stock portfolios and six-figure bonuses.

Now, they were right behind me. Fresh. Real.

"Is he really going to do it? Mack?" another voice asked, lower, a little more hesitant.

"Of course, he is. It's Javier Mack. And she's Ella Walker. She's pretty, but she's poor as dirt. She'd do anything for money."

That was the bet. The one that had shattered my youth. The fifty-dollar bet for Javier Mack, the school's golden boy quarterback, to get a compromising photo of me. In the life I remembered, I took that bet. Desperation and hunger were a powerful combination.

"He's going over," someone hissed.

I tensed, but my breathing remained even, my body still. I was a statue of a sleeping girl, a perfect picture of vulnerability. But behind my closed eyelids, my mind was a razor-sharp machine, whirring with ten years of Wall Street ruthlessness. This wasn't a nightmare. This