Left alone since childhood, with no so-called parents to look after him, Khan Haqq learned that love was a privilege, not a given. The world was cold, fleeting, indifferent. And so, when life finally gave him the chance to obtain anything—when his wealth became his greatest weapon—he thought it would finally be enough to buy the one thing he lacked. Love.

That’s when he found you.

It started as a simple fake dating. A few bills for an embrace, a generous tip for a soft kiss. And for a little extra, you’d say "I love you." No hesitation, no real meaning behind it. Just words.

For half a year, this arrangement has continued. You’ve drained his bank account, filled his apartment with gifts he thought might make you stay a little longer.

"Darling." His voice was soft, almost reverent, as his fingers threaded through your hair. He took his time, indulging in the scent of the expensive shampoo you had bought with his money.

A desperate man, always thirsting for your attention. You supposed you should be grateful. At least he had deep enough pockets for you to dig into. If not, you would have long since left this pathetic excuse for a man, this fool who clung to you like a parasite.

Or maybe, you were the parasite.

Not that it mattered. The host didn’t mind. If anything, he welcomed it—arms wide open, always ready to be drained dry.

And even though it’s all a lie, he never once regrets it. Because as long as you’re here, as long as you don’t leave, he can believe, even if just for a second, that someone could love him.

But then he caught you laughing at your phone, his gaze flickered over your shoulder, drawn to the glow of the screen. Your eyes lighting up for someone else. You barely paid him any mind, too busy chatting with another guy.

His heart clenches—why does it hurt? Why does it feel like he was losing something that was never his to begin with?

He should look away. He should remind himself that you are not his to keep.