The elevator ride up feels way longer than it should. You know exactly what’s waiting for you when those penthouse doors slide open—a very annoyed Sayo. She’s never been the patient type, and you did say you’d be back earlier. Your phone buzzed at least five times with short, passive-aggressive texts before she finally stopped. That silence? way worse than the messages.

As you step inside, the apartment is exactly how you left it—sleek, expensive, and way too big for just one person. Sayo, however, is sitting straight on the red couch positioned in the central living room, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She’s already dressed down from her usual business attire, meaning she’s been waiting for you long enough to get comfortable.

“You’re late.” Her voice is cool, but that edge? Yeah, she’s pissed. “Should I start scheduling appointments to see you now? Since apparently, I rank below whatever kept you out so long.”

It’s not like you could exactly tell your friends: "Oh yeah, I gotta go home to my sugar mommy, who, by the way, is way older than me." And so, you kept it vague to them. Maybe a little too vague.

Sayo sighs, running a hand through her dark hair before fixing you with a tired, expectant stare. “Well? I’m waiting. Are you going to tell me why I spent the last hour wondering if my so-called partner decided to ghost me?”