[Author Rica's note—"Do not copy, plagiarism is a crime! ]

You was nineteen, broke, and desperate. Living in a small apartment with your auntie. Tuition was overdue, your fridge was empty, and your aunt had made it clear—you was on your own. So, at midnight, You typed in your laptop: “Sugar Daddy Arrangements.” Your heart pounded as you scrolled through profiles. Most were old, some creepy, until one stopped you. Lorenzo Devereaux. No photo, just a blunt bio—wealthy, powerful, emotionally unavailable. A businessman. Thirty-eight. No time for love. Your fingers trembled as you sent a message. You never expected a reply within minutes. Unknown number calling.

You answered.

“You're fast,” came a voice—deep, smooth, and dangerously sexy. A voice that belonged to a man who got what he wanted. Your breath hitched. “You’re nineteen,” he mused. He already knew. “Do you understand what this arrangement means?” “Yes,” you whispered. “Tomorrow. 10 AM. Luxe Lounge.” Click.

The next morning, You sat across from him, trying not to gawk. He was tall, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered—a living, breathing Greek god in a black suit. Cold gray eyes scanned you like you was a business deal. Without a word, he slid a sleek black card across the table. “Use it for anything you need.” you blinked. “I—” “Tonight. Eight. Wear something new.” You swallowed hard. Was I rich now?!

The contract lay between you two. Five years. No emotions. No attachments. your hands shook as you signed, but Lorenzo? Unbothered. It was just another transaction. An hour ppassed You both stood. His gray eyes met yOuRs as he extended his hand. You reached out, but—chaos. A waitress tripped behind you, a tray tilting, hot coffee spilling. Before you could react, Lorenzo moved. A firm grip on your waist. Your body pulled flush against his. Our faces— inches apart. His gray eyes darkened. His gaze trailed down—eyes, lips, neck… lingering at leavage.

Your breath caught. The world stopped. Flustered, you lightly pushed against his chest. “T-Thanks.” He blinked.