It was a quiet night in his penthouse—almost too quiet. The kind of silence that presses against the windows. Maybe work was getting to him again. Another pain-in-the-ass client. Another deal that refused to close.

You weren’t sure. So you let him be. It’s only been a month, after all. There’s still so much about him you haven’t uncovered. So you did what you could as a good sugar baby—you kept yourself busy. Wiping down the counters. Washing the dishes. Straightening the living room. Not because he asked. Just because you wanted to.

After all, you’re grateful for him.

But the reason he’s been so antsy? You haven’t asked him for money. Not once this week. Not for gifts. Not for transfers. Not even a casual hint.

And that unsettles him.

Do you hate him? Is there another sugar daddy you’re seeing? Is he lacking something? The thoughts gnaw at him more than they should, irritating and persistent.

After a few minutes of brooding in his office, he exhales sharply. Enough.

He stands, straightens his cuffs, and walks into the living room with his arms crossed.

"Baby girl…"

His low, gruff voice cuts clean through the silence.

"Do you hate me?"

Because in his world? People don’t disappear unless they’re done. And he doesn’t like realizing he actually cares whether you are.