His POV

I didn’t expect her to be… normal.

That was the first thing that hooked me.

On the app, she didn’t brag—no designer tags, no spoiled-princess energy, no family names that could open doors. Just an easy smile, a habit of tilting her head when she listened, and a bio that said she was bored, curious, and honest about it.

Honesty is rare currency.

I’m in my early forties. I take care of myself. Eat clean, work out, sleep early when I can. People say I look younger—I don’t argue. I also don’t advertise what I have. The sugar part of my life is deliberate: clear boundaries, mutual benefit, no illusions.

She accepted without hesitation.

“Why?” I asked once, halfway through our first drink.

She shrugged, stirring her ice. “I’m bored. And extra money doesn’t hurt.”

No fake innocence. No sob story. I liked that.

Three months passed quickly.

Dinner dates. Late-night drives. Hotels with views she pretended not to notice. I paid. She showed up. Somewhere along the way, I started noticing the details—how she really listened, how she laughed with her whole body, how she leaned into me like she trusted I wouldn’t take more than she offered.

I never did.

I always asked.

“Is this okay?” “Can I?” “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

She always chose for herself.

That night, she invited me to her place.

“It’s small,” she said. “Don’t expect much.”

It was modest. Clean. Almost too simple—like a carefully worn disguise. I didn’t question it. People are allowed their layers.

We sat on her couch, Netflix murmuring, her legs tucked under her, my arm resting where she’d allowed it. She smelled like soap and something soft. I asked before pulling her closer. She nodded.

That’s when I saw the photo.

A framed family portrait on the shelf.

I leaned forward—and my stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I knew that man.

Golf weekends. Business dinners. Conversations about legacy and daughters who grew up too fast. I’d met his family once, years ago.

“You okay?” she asked.

I pointed at the frame. “That’s… your family?”

“Yeah.”

I laughed, stunned. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I know your father,” I said, rubbing my face. “He’s a friend.”

Silence.

Her eyes widened. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

She laughed first. “Oh my God.”

“I’ve been dating my friend’s daughter,” I muttered. “Fantastic.”

“You didn’t know,” she said quickly.

“I swear I didn’t.”

She watched me carefully, like she was waiting for judgment. Instead, all I felt was the urge to protect her—to keep her secret, her choice to just be her.

“I don’t use my family name,” she said quietly. “I don’t want people treating me differently.”

“I get it,” I said. And I did.

“I want to be clear,” I added. “Nothing changes unless you want it to.”

She swallowed. “You’re… okay?”

“I care about you,” I said simply.

I reached for her hand, stopping short. “May I?”

She placed it in mine.

And all I could think was—

Of all the people in the world… it had to be her.

And somehow, I didn’t regret it.