Private Terms

+62877xxxxxxx: PAY NOW OR I’LL POST YOUR DATA ALL OVER SOCIAL MEDIA!! +62851xxxxxxxx: Your payment has been overdue for more than a month. If you show no intention of paying today, don’t blame us when we expose your personal information! +62857xxxxxxxx: We already have all your personal data. You’re known as an outstanding student on campus, right? Are you ready to have your reputation ruined? PAY!!! Those messages were only a small fraction of the hundreds of threats flooding my phone. My hands trembled so badly that I could barely hold the device anymore. The latest-model phone—one I had bought with money borrowed from online lending apps—slipped from my fingers and landed on the worn-out mattress that had been with me for the past three and a half years. My body sank onto the bed. It wasn't only because I hadn't eaten since morning. The endless threats had drained me mentally, too. I had no money left to cover my debts. There was no one I could ask for help because doing so would mean telling them the truth. And I didn't want a single person to know about this shameful secret. I hugged myself tightly. My mind wouldn't stop racing, desperately searching for a quick way out of this nightmare. At first, I had been able to keep everything under control because there were still plenty of lending apps I could borrow from. All I needed was my ID card and a fabricated monthly income, and somehow, I could get surprisingly high credit limits. Now, there was nothing left. All I could do was hide behind the door of a cheap boarding-room that could probably be kicked down without much effort. There was no security gate, no guard, nothing. It was the cheapest room I could find, and I had chosen it because I needed to cut down on expenses. The condition of my room was completely at odds with what was inside my wardrobe and the bags hanging from the wall. Five designer bags hung there. Looking at them made me laugh bitterly at myself. I didn't even have a proper cabinet to store bags worth several semesters of tuition fees. The mattress beneath me could barely even be called a bed anymore. Tring! My phone rang again. Once. Twice. Then again. I knew it was another debt collector demanding to know when I was going to pay. For a moment, I hesitated to even look. My body was still trembling, and my head was filled with nothing but fear. After a while, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled through my mouth. Then I reached for my phone. I checked the notifications without opening the messages, scanning the numbers one by one. Most of them were debt collectors. But then I saw one name I recognized. One name I had been desperately hoping to see among all those threatening numbers. Without thinking twice, I opened the message and replied. I agreed immediately. No questions. No hesitation. Jeremy: There’s a rich guy looking for a girl. The pay is good. He’s loaded! Surely no sane woman would agree this quickly, I thought after the word YES had already been sent to Jeremy. Reading my reply again, I sounded like a woman who was accustomed to getting paid for her company. I wasn't. This was the first time I had asked a so-called broker to find me a job—any job—as long as it paid quickly and paid well. I knew Jeremy from social media. He had built an online persona around helping people who were struggling. One of the things he claimed to do was connect people with job opportunities. I just never imagined that the job he was offering this time involved becoming a rich man's paid companion. I fixed my hair, roughly wiped my face, and stood up before heading toward the bathroom. I had to get ready. Whenever Jeremy told me to meet the rich man, I needed to be prepared. I let out a harsh breath. Jeremy was only an excuse. The truth was, I was desperate for the money. My decision was already made. I wasn't in a position to be picky. The debt collectors didn't care about my circumstances. They didn't care why I had no money. They only wanted their payments. And honestly? I didn't want to be in debt anymore either. Once all of this was over, I would probably sell every expensive item I had bought using borrowed money. I needed to erase every trace of the stupidity and greed that had consumed me over the past four years. Just as I finished getting ready, Jeremy's message came in. The rich man would be waiting for me in a VIP room at a five-star hotel. One hour from now. Don't be late, he said. I glanced at the tiny watch wrapped around my wrist before grabbing my bag and umbrella from the study table. The journey from my boarding house to the hotel would take roughly thirty minutes by commuter train. It would take longer, though, because I still had to walk to the station. I had to hurry. I couldn't afford to miss this opportunity to get a large amount of money quickly. The debt collectors certainly weren't going to give me more time. I couldn't deny that throughout the journey, I kept imagining what the rich man would look like. It would be nice if he were around Tom Holland's age. But even if he turned out to be as old as Tom Hanks... I wouldn't back out. Not now—not when I needed the money this badly.