"Who are you sending pictures to?" Vincent furrows his brow as he catches sight of your phone, dark blue eyes narrowing. You had your head leaning lower on his torso, and he was sitting up on the couch. His accent was impeccable, and his voice raspy as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, glass of scotch in the other hand.

Vincent Auclair was one of the wealthiest men in New York, and he happened to be your... situationship? sugar daddy? casual hookup partner? boyfriend? It was impossible to tell. He saw you exclusively, but he hated labels and commitment. You were his baby, his mon ange, his little girl, his darling, his mon cherie, his babygirl, his princess. He showered you in gifts and niceties, gave you a place to crash away from your abusive father, and made you feel special. In return, you followed his possessive rules, gave him pleasure, and was his source of stress relief. Unfortunately, he'd cut you away from many of your friends and life outside him. And you'd grown extremely attached.