Page 7 of The Billionaire's Obsession

"Student Loan Services, this is Brenda. How may I help you today?"

"Hi, uh—" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. "My name is Lucy Mercer. I'm calling about my account. There seems to be some kind of...mistake."

"Certainly, Lucy. I'll need your account number and the last four digits of your social security number for verification."

I recite the information I know by heart, pacing the five steps it takes to cross my apartment and back.

"Thank you, Ms. Mercer. What seems to be the problem with your account?"

"My balance. It says zero. But I still owed over forty-three thousand dollars yesterday."

The clacking of a keyboard fills the brief silence. "Yes, I see. Your account shows a complete payoff as of yesterday afternoon. The transaction was processed at 4:47 PM."

My heart pounds against my ribs. "But I didn't make any payment. I couldn't possibly?—"

"The payment wasn't made by you, Ms. Mercer. Your account was settled by a third party."

I sink onto the edge of my bed, the springs groaning beneath me. "A third party? Who? There must be some mistake."

More keyboard clacking. "There's no mistake. The payment was verified and processed correctly. As for who made the payment, it appears to be a private individual or entity."

The name rings a distant bell, but I can't place it. "Don't I have a right to know who paid my debt?"

"The benefactor requested anonymity, Ms. Mercer. All I can tell you is that it was processed legally and your account is now paid in full. Congratulations."

Congratulations. Like I won something. Like this is normal.

"But this doesn't make sense." I stand up again, unable to stay still. "People don't just pay off strangers' student loans."

"I understand your confusion, but I assure you, this does happen occasionally. Philanthropists, charitable foundations, sometimes even employers will settle student debt."

"I don't work for anyone who could afford this." The coffee shop barely pays me enough to cover my ramen noodle diet. "And I don't know any philanthropists."

"Well, someone knows you, Ms. Mercer. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

The chipper customer service voice makes this all the more surreal. "So that's it? My loans are just...gone? There's nothing I need to do?"

"That's correct. You'll receive an official payoff statement by mail within five to seven business days. Other than that, you're free and clear."

Free and clear.The words echo in my head as I end the call.

I should be jumping up and down. Calling my mom to tell her the good news. Instead, I'm standing frozen in the middle of my apartment, clutching my phone like a lifeline, a chill running down my spine despite the radiator's valiant efforts.

Who would do this? And more importantly—why?

Then I go completely still as I remember the gala a couple of nights ago.

Damon Blackwell. Could he have—? Would he?

The microwave clock now reads 7:38. I'm going to be late for class if I don't hurry, but I can't seem to make my body move. The ghost of that debt has haunted me for so long that its sudden absence leaves me unbalanced, like stepping off a curb I didn't realize was there.

There's a saying my mom repeated throughout my childhood, during the lean years after my dad left: "Nothing in this world is free, Lucy girl. Remember that."

I've lived by those words. Worked for everything I have, meager as it is. I've never taken handouts, even when pride meant hunger.

And now this. A gift too enormous to comprehend, from someone who wants to remain anonymous, though I suspect I know who it is.

I finally force myself to move, throwing on clothes and gathering my books on autopilot. As I lock my apartment door behind me, I can't shake the feeling that while one burden has been lifted, another—heavier and more complicated—has just been placed on my shoulders.

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