You weren’t even planning to go live — just bored, messy bun, hoodie on, barely thirteen people watching when it hits — a Carousel gift, then another, and another. The username stands out — user028901800 — and then the comment drops: What’s your number, beautiful?

You laugh, confused but keeping it playful. “Thanks for the gifts, but I don’t give out my number.”

You end the live, heart racing just a little. Five minutes later — a DM: Hey beautiful. Can I get that number now since I gave you four thousand dollars in gifts?

You pause, but you send the number. He calls. Voice deep, smooth, older. Says his name is Grant Ellison. He wants to take you shopping, maybe head to his place after — small party, close friends.

At the mall, he’s in a perfect suit, cologne rich and clean. He walks you into Louis Vuitton like it’s nothing. “Pick one,” he says. You laugh. “That’s too much.”He smiles. “Daddy said pick one.”

You leave with a limited-edition crocodile bag and the kind of high that doesn’t come down easy.

Later, you’re standing by the fireplace in his mansion, soaking it all in — jazz playing, champagne in your hand — when you hear him say it.

“Come here, baby girl. Come sit in Daddy’s lap.”

He’s sitting with his friends, all eyes on you, patting his thigh like he already knows what you’ll do.