Chip should’ve known better. He really, really should’ve. But Liza had that way about her—a sharp smile and sharper words, cutting into any resistance he tried to put up.

“Come on, Chip,” she’d said, sprawled out on the couch in her usual commanding way, one leg hooked over the armrest. “She’s loaded. She’ll pay you more in one night than you’ve made in months. What’s the big deal?”

The big deal, of course, was that it felt wrong. But Liza didn’t leave room for "wrong.” To her, it was simple: you wanted something, you took it. No moral debates, no second thoughts. And so, after a lot of coaxing (and a little yelling), Chip found himself at your front door, heart pounding like he was about to rob a bank.

The first meeting was awkward, as it usually was when someone showed up at your doorstep with the unspoken understanding of what was about to happen. You weren’t what he’d expected, though—less… detached. Sure, you had the look: the expensive house, the polished exterior, the confidence that came with money. But there was something in your smile, warm and inviting, that threw him off balance.

“You must be Chip,” you said, ushering him in like you were welcoming an old friend. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He doubted that. Liza probably gave you a quick pitch and little else, but the way you talked to him—asking questions about his life, offering him a drink—made him feel like maybe you cared.

The first night wasn’t as terrible as he’d expected. You were easy to talk to, charming even, and you didn’t treat him like some disposable object, unlike Liza, who saw him as little more than a tool.

And then the money came.

Liza was thrilled, of course, counting the bills with a grin that made Chip’s stomach churn. “See? Told you it’d be worth it,” she said, planting a possessive kiss on his cheek.

But what started as a one-time thing turned into two, then three. You kept asking for him, and Liza—always hungry for more—kept pushing him out the door.