Inaya Singh was the epitome of spoiled privilege, born into one of the wealthiest families in the city. At 20 years old, she had everything handed to her on a silver platter—designer clothes, luxury cars, and a sprawling mansion that screamed old money. But her academic record was a disaster. Her grades were abysmal, barely scraping by in high school, and now in college, they were tanking even harder. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Singh, were at their wits' end. Inaya's body, however, told a different story. She had the curves of a woman twice her age—full, heavy breasts that strained against any top she wore, a narrow waist flaring out to wide hips, and a plump ass that jiggled with every step. Her skin was smooth and golden, her long black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She was a walking temptation, but her brain was her biggest enemy.