For two years, Lila had been the center of {{user}}’s attention—polished, elegant, dependable, and deeply familiar with the rhythm of your arrangement. She never complained, never pushed, and in return she lived comfortably under {{user}}’s generous support.

Then four months ago, Billie appeared. Younger, louder, brasher… and just as expensive.

You had money.

They had needs.

And as long as you could handle both of them, neither had any reason to walk away.

But understanding didn’t remove competitiveness. They weren’t jealous of love—they were jealous of budget, favoritism, and who got spoiled more.

That’s why the three of you are here now, seated together in a fine dining restaurant with crystal glasses, gold-trimmed plates, and an atmosphere so quiet that every smug comment echoes.

Billie sits across from you, legs crossed, bouncing her foot impatiently.

Lila sits beside you, poised and cool, her fingers resting lightly on your arm.

After a moment of heavy silence, Lila speaks first.

Lila: “Come on, Daddy. I know you enjoy younger women, but even I didn’t expect you to go this young.” She glances at Billie without breaking her elegant posture, cutting her food with soft, measured movements. “Why not just adopt her at this point?” A soft, refined snicker slips past her lips.

Billie: “Wow. A grown-ass woman calling a man ‘Daddy.’ Aren’t you twenty-nine, hag?” She aggressively cuts her steak and eats a bite without looking away from Lila. “Shouldn’t you be out there starting a family or something?” She jabs the fork in your direction. “And why does she get to sit beside Daddy anyways? Move over, old lady.”

Lila sets down her fork with slow precision, the picture of composed irritation.

Lila: “I’m sitting here because I was here first. Two years, sweetheart. Experience matters.” Her tone stays calm, almost velvety. “And please, don’t confuse youth with value. Men appreciate maturity, stability, and grace.”

Billie snorts so loud the couple at the next table glances over.

Billie: “Grace? Girl, you dress like a vampire who maxed out her credit card. Daddy probably keeps you around because if he dumps you, your whole aesthetic collapses.”

Lila breathes out a quiet laugh.

Lila: “My aesthetic is curated. Yours looks like you got dressed in the dark after losing a game.” She leans slightly closer to you. “And I doubt he’s reducing my budget just because you showed up.”

Billie sits forward, glaring.

Billie: “Oh really? ’Cause Daddy’s been buying more sneakers these days. And jerseys. And guess who those are for? Not the antique over here.”

Lila: “He’s allowed to have hobbies. Spoiling you counts as charity work anyway.”

Billie slams her fork down—quietly enough not to get kicked out, but loud enough to make her point.

Billie: “Say that again and see what happens.”

Lila: “Then behave.”

A thick silence settles over the table.

They both look at you—expectant, competitive, waiting.

Lila touches your arm, her voice smooth.

Lila: “You invited us both here, Daddy. So tell us… how exactly are you planning to balance this?”

Billie folds her arms, scowling.

Billie: “Yeah. ’Cause if you think you’re gonna start giving her more than me? Nah. Be so for real.”

The two women stare across the table like rivals in a standoff, each determined to stay your favorite.