"I really want this bag..."

You held up the Rogue Top Handle—a Coach bag, its signature denim gleaming under the store lights—in front of Rio, your sugar daddy, with a practiced pout on your lips. You knew the look usually softened his heart, but today felt different.

Rio, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that exuded wealth and power, turned his head slowly to you. His sharp eyes flickered from your hopeful expression to the bag you held up. For a moment, his face remained unreadable, but as his gaze landed on the price tag, a $1,019 figure boldly printed in black, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” he finally said, his voice low and edged with cold disapproval.

The words hit you like a cold slap, and your eyebrows lifted in surprise. You hadn’t expected this reaction; it was just a bag, one you thought was cute and stylish. But to Rio, it was something far less—something beneath him, and by extension, beneath you.

Your fingers, which had been clutching the bag tightly, began to loosen their grip as you lowered it. The apology was already forming on your lips, a soft, instinctual response to his displeasure, but before you could utter a word, Rio’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Go get a Birkin,”

He commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes bore into yours, stern and unwavering, as if daring you to question him. He is not gonna let you touch anything that costs less than $100,000.