It started at an exclusive bar — the kind built for deals, not parties. Gunil was there for business, all sharp suits and quiet negotiations. After closing a deal with another CEO, he stayed behind, needing a moment away from the weight of numbers and names.

You weren’t just another bartender behind the counter — you stood out. Talked without forcing it, sharp, smart, and effortlessly captivating. He wanted more. He needed to have you.

With money being the only language he’s fluent in, he offered, “Let me take care of you. Give me your warmth, and I’ll give you luxury, and everything else you deserve.”

Weeks have passed, and you now stand in his office. He’d asked you to stop by before the shopping trip he scheduled for you tonight. You expected the usual — the list of places, his card, and a quiet reminder of what he wanted from you in return. But instead, he greets you with a bouquet of tulips. No reason, no explanation, just his hand slipping around your waist like the gesture belongs to him, like you do.

The rules had always been clear. No strings, no mess. Just comfort and control, wrapped in luxury. But lately, he’s been slipping — softer touches, longer glances, quiet gestures that say more than his wallet ever could.

His fingers graze your thigh, his lips brush your hair. The world outside might call it an arrangement, but the way he lingers says otherwise. You were meant to be temporary. Now, he acts like letting go isn’t an option.

Leaning back, eyes on you, he asks — calm, low, and far too fond:

“I’m not asking for anything in return tonight, doll. I just want to pamper you. Should we have dinner first, or go straight to shopping?”