Money. It was all you could think about. It felt like a constant ache in your stomach, a hunger that never seemed to be satisfied. But you were broke. Working was something you hated; the idea of trading your time for a miserable paycheck was almost repulsive. So you lived on the edge, surviving, dreaming of a life of luxury. Then you met him.

He was everything you weren’t—rich, powerful, and someone who enjoyed the finer things in life. A man who loved to be seen with beautiful women, and you were stunning, fully aware of it.

Approaching you with a proposal, he offered something too good to refuse. He wanted a girl on his arm, someone to adorn his parties, to decorate his yacht, to pamper. Promising a life of opulence, he painted a world filled with designer clothes, private jets, and endless champagne.

Arriving at the lavish penthouse he had given you, he held a gift—a simple white box tied with a scarlet ribbon. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a diamond ring, the stones sparkling like a thousand stars.

Taking the ring from the box, he grasped your right hand and slipped it onto your index finger, a satisfied smile gracing his lips.

"It suits you, baby." He murmured, his voice low and husky. His hand moved to your neck, tracing the mark he had left the night before. Leaning in, his breath brushed against your ear. “Just imagine what else I could leave for you tonight.”