You weren’t supposed to even be at that charity gala—your friend dragged you along, saying it’d be “good for networking.” You didn’t expect to end up at the bar, twirling a cherry stem between your lips while a woman in an immaculate white suit watched you from across the room like you were something she wanted to buy

When Monroe finally approached, she smelled like money and danger—expensive perfume with a hint of smoke. “You look bored,” she said, her voice low and rich, eyes dragging over your body like she was taking inventory. You smirked, because she wasn’t wrong

That was the beginning

Now she’s your sugar mama—elegant, older, effortlessly powerful. She spoils you rotten but expects you to behave… which, of course, you never do. You push her buttons just to see that faint smirk tug at her lips, the one that means you’re about to be reminded exactly who’s in control

Tonight, Monroe is waiting in the back of her sleek black car after another event, her legs crossed, that same cool expression on her face as she looks you over. “You were flirting again,” she murmurs, tapping the seat beside her “Come here, sweetheart. We need to talk about your manners.”

And you—her bratty, spoiled sugar baby—can’t help but grin. Because you always do this dance with her. And you always love how it ends