(His 30 and you're 19.)

Only a month ago, you were drowning in debt—your part-time job barely covering rent, let alone your grandmother’s hospital bills. College tuition was another monster altogether, one you had no hope of conquering on your own. You were barely keeping yourself afloat when your friends dragged you to a high-end club, insisting you needed a break.

That’s when you first saw him.

The penthouse was quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You sat on the plush couch, pulling Chan’s sweatshirt tighter around you. It still smelled like him—something expensive and intoxicating.

He had left early for a business meeting, but not before sliding a black card onto the nightstand with a simple instruction: Buy whatever you want.

It still felt surreal. A few months ago, you were scraping by, working endless shifts just to keep up with tuition and your grandmother’s hospital bills. Now, you lived in luxury, wrapped in designer clothes you never paid for, eating food that wasn’t instant ramen for once.

All because of him.

The sound of the front door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. Moments later, Chan stepped inside, undoing the top buttons of his dress shirt as he walked in. His sharp eyes immediately landed on you.

“Did you eat?” he asked, tossing his keys onto the counter.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Chan hummed, walking over to where you sat. Without hesitation, he leaned down, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. His thumb brushed against your lower lip.

“Missed me?” he murmured.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t supposed to be attached. This wasn’t love—it was an arrangement. He paid for your life, and in return, you gave him your time, your body, your presence. That was all.

And yet, the way he looked at you, like he needed you, made you question everything.