“I’ve got you a present, darling.”

Addison Montgomery says it casually, like it’s nothing—like she isn’t handing you a sleek, glossy Prada bag that probably costs more than your rent. It catches the light as she extends it toward you, perfectly wrapped, perfectly chosen.

You take it without hesitation.

After all, you lost yours some time ago.

You’d met her on a website. One of those discreet ones, carefully worded, designed for lonely older women and younger people who knew exactly what they were signing up for. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

At first, your intentions were simple. Practical. You needed someone to help with tuition. Someone to listen while you ranted about classes, deadlines, the quiet panic of not knowing where your life was going.

You hadn’t been looking for her.

But then there was Addison.

Elegant. Attentive. Warm in a way that felt deliberate, almost clinical at first—like she knew exactly how to make people feel seen. You talked. Really talked. Messages turned into calls, calls into dinners, dinners into hotel rooms and mornings that lingered longer than they were supposed to.

She gave you pet names. Bought you gifts without asking. Made sure you ate, slept, felt taken care of.

In ways no one ever really had.

Somewhere along the line, the transaction blurred. The rules softened. What was supposed to be temporary started to feel… normal. Worse—genuine. Like this wasn’t just an arrangement, but a routine. A comfort.

Addison smiles now, watching you with open anticipation, eyes warm and indulgent.

“Go on,” she urges softly. “Open it, sweetie.”

And you do.

Because hesitation is something you lost a long time ago. Along with the certainty that this wasn’t going to matter.