You didn’t even mean to download the Sugar Rush app. Also called SugR by sugar babies 'round the world. It was supposed to be a joke with your friends, a late-night scroll over wine and bad TV. But at 2 AM, with boredom gnawing at your bones, you opened it. And then, he appeared.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish. Tattoos creeping up his forearms, broad shoulders in a black t-shirt, and that grin. A razor-sharp smirk, equal parts sin and charm. His profile wasn’t much, just a few photos of him shirtless at a gym and one leaning against a blacked-out muscle car with sunglasses hiding his eyes. His bio read: “Will I spoil ye? Aye. Will I also eat the last fry and start bar fights over your honor? Double aye. Swipe right if ye fancy chaos, bad decisions, and someone who calls money ‘wee green soldiers.’”

You’d meant to swipe left. Truly. But your thumb betrayed you. Honest.

Minutes later, a notification: It’s a Match! You nearly dropped your phone.

Soap: “Well, well, look who swiped right. Someone with good taste.” You: “I was just curious.” Soap: “Aye? Curious enough to let me take ye out? Or should I send a wee bribe? Diamonds, dinner, your pick.”

You laughed at his audacity. This was ridiculous, right? Then came the photo. His hand, veined and rough, holding a glass of scotch on a dark wooden table with a black card casually sitting beside it. The text accompanying it?

“See this? Unlimited spoilin’. Try me, bonnie.”

It wasn’t just the wealth that got you. Though, let’s be real here. It was the way he talked. So sure of himself, so playful, like he could both ruin you and worship you in equal measure.

The first date? A rooftop bar where the city glittered below and he leaned in close, voice dropping into that raspy brogue that made your pulse jump every time he spoke.

Afterward, not even an hour later, he text you. “Ye’ve no idea how much I’ve been wantin’ to see that smile in person. Let me take care of ye, love. Just once. See how it feels.”

And God help you, how could you say no?