When I finally got pregnant and was preparing to dump the father and keep the baby, I accidentally discovered my boyfriend was the heir to a massive corporate empire. I patted the one-million-dollar check in my pocket, ready to toss it at him as a breakup fee, and then caught a glimpse of the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist that I had always assumed was a fake. God damn it, he’s actually filthy rich! Terrified he would fight me for custody, I hid my pregnancy and skipped town overnight. [I’m tired of paying for your life! We’re done, you broke loser!] Two days later, I was dropping serious cash in a high-end maternity boutique. Suddenly, someone yanked the hood of my sweatshirt backward. "Baby, care to explain why you’re stocking up on prenatal vitamins?" 1 My family owned a plot of land out in the suburbs. After three generations of hard work, my grandfather had built a massive, sprawling farmhouse on it. It wasn’t pretty. It was just big. So big I could literally ride a Razor scooter laps around the living room. Even though the house was huge, it wasn't worth much. Because everything surrounding it was just farmland and dirt roads. Until one day, the city council rezoned our area for a massive new sports stadium complex. My childhood home, that big, ugly farmhouse... was demolished. A bright red circle with an 'X' was spray-painted on our exterior wall, and the warm home I grew up in vanished. It transformed into a freezing, hard sixty million dollars sitting in our bank account. With a heavy heart, I walked away from my home without looking back, officially becoming a newly minted member of the nouveau riche. 2 I'm an only child. My parents' expectations for me were incredibly low: just be happy and stay alive. When we were poor, my parents were extremely relaxed about the concept of marriage. "Luna, sweetie, if you find someone you like, get married. If not, don't worry about it. It’s not like we have a throne to pass down. As long as you’re happy." Once we became millionaires overnight, their tune changed drastically. "Luna Sterling. You don’t have to get married, but you absolutely must have a child. We actually do have a throne to pass down now." Look at that. They even started using my full legal name. They were getting formal. I completely agreed with their logic and began my hunt for an outstanding specimen of a man. As everyone knows, truly excellent men rarely circulate on the open market. After five rounds of blind dates, the guys were either gold-diggers drooling over my family's new fortune, or arrogant heirs from established corporate families who looked down on my "new money" status but still wanted to bleed me dry. Summary: Not a single usable candidate. I gave up on blind dating entirely and decided to source my own material. I looked high and low until my sights landed on an exclusive, high-end private club downtown. I paid a hefty premium just to get my hands on a membership card. Rumor had it their male hosts were top-tier gorgeous, and they strictly sold companionship, not their bodies. Hilarious. I didn't need them to sell their bodies. If I saw one I liked, wouldn't a little wave of my finger be enough to hook him? A young, rich, beautiful woman like me is practically impossible to find. A lowly club host? He’d be eating out of the palm of my hand. 3 My master plan failed immediately. I hit a massive roadblock on my very first deployment. I booked a private VIP room and requested the club’s newest, most handsome host to keep me company. The club was massive. Hoping to catch a glimpse of some other eye candy along the way, I refused the hostess’s offer to escort me, just asking for directions instead. I wandered through a maze of hallways, currently standing in front of two doors, deep in thought. Was it room "886" or "668"? Instant amnesia. I pulled out my phone to double-check when the slightly ajar door of room 886 was pushed open by a draft. A deep, raspy male voice drifted out. "Come in." Oh, sweet Lord. That has to be my guy. His voice was incredible. This was an ultra-exclusive club. "886" was exactly the kind of tacky, uncultured room number a newly rich person like me would pick. I didn't hesitate. I pushed the door open. Sure enough, a man was leaning back on the leather sofa. His suit jacket was draped over the backrest. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up halfway, revealing lean, muscular forearms. You didn't even have to look closely to see the prominent veins. His collar wasn't unbuttoned, but his tie was slightly loosened. That half-undressed, effortless vibe? Who wouldn't fold instantly? Well, I definitely did. But what stood out even more than his body was his face. If he debuted in Hollywood right now, he'd be an A-list star in minutes. He was on a completely different level than the usual guys you see around. He seemed to have had a few drinks and was resting with his eyes closed. I made a decent amount of noise walking into the room, but he didn't even twitch an eyelid. I swallowed hard and slowly crept toward him. No wonder his base rate was three thousand dollars just for drinks. For this kind of premium quality, I’d gladly pay ten grand! The man spoke without opening his eyes: "Clean yourself up. We're going to my room." Huh? Clean what up? Me? Or him? Go to his room? To do what?! Didn't they say these guys didn't sell their bodies?! Coming on this strong right out of the gate... even if he was gorgeous, I had standards! I asked completely seriously, "Can you show me your most recent STD panel first? I'm a little paranoid." I wasn't about to catch something and bring it home! The man finally opened his eyes. His brows furrowed tightly. He didn't say a word. I tried to be accommodating. "I can pay extra." His face remained a blank, freezing mask. Damn it. Nobody told me these club hosts had such fragile egos! He wouldn't even show me his medical records! I was physically thrown out of the room by him. I was furious. I was definitely not requesting him next time. No, wait... I probably will. He was seriously, objectively hot. 4 I ran into the hot host again. This time, on my university campus. Hard to believe, but even after five rounds of blind dates, I still hadn't graduated college. It wasn't my fault. The decent guys on campus were all taken. The single ones either weren't interested in dating, or they were total players. Twenty-two is the prime age for everything, including having kids. Have them early, recover early, and they grow up early. My family has money. I didn't need to stress over education funds. My grand master plan: Get the baby-making done before I turned twenty-five. I still had three years. Spotting the host, I very "casually" shifted my designer bag so the massive 'LV' logo was practically flashing in his face. Just a little subtle flexing. He walked right past me without a single reaction. Excellent. You've officially secured my attention, sir. I sprinted in front of him and blocked his path. "Hold on! You're one of the low-income scholarship students here, right?" I saw him with my own two eyes. He just walked out of Room 306 in Building A. The campus PA system had been blasting all morning, announcing a mandatory meeting for all low-income students in that exact room. No wonder he had to moonlight at that shady club. I flashed my most confident smile. "How about this? You become my guy. I'll give you twenty grand a month, and you never have to do that kind of dirty work again." He raised an eyebrow. "Twenty grand?" Not enough? Makes sense. His base rate for one night was three grand. I gritted my teeth. "Fifty grand." He looked at me, an amused, unreadable expression on his face. "Which 'dirty work' exactly?" See? I knew there was no problem that throwing more money at couldn't solve. Since he had accepted my arrangement, he belonged to me now. "You don't need to go back to that club. I'm taking care of you now." I laid down my very reasonable terms: "Of course, I still need to see your medical records. I can go with you to the clinic tomorrow." He narrowed his eyes, clearly calculating something. Suddenly, he smirked. "Deal." I was incredibly pleased with myself. I had officially secured myself a hot, broke college boy. 5 My broke college boy's name was Oliver Vance. He wouldn't tell me anything else about himself. I figured he was probably worried that if news of our arrangement leaked, it would ruin his reputation on campus. As a generous, forgiving sugar mommy, I completely understood. Oliver was in perfect health. Not a single red flag on his medical panel. The only slight issue was... he was incredibly, painfully pure. He wouldn't even let me hold his hand. It took until month two for hand-holding, and month three for a quick peck on the lips. And then... total stagnation. No further progress. Until the day I graduated. On graduation day, I was buzzing with excitement. By then, I had been paying his allowance for six months. To maximize our time together, I had rented an apartment near campus, and we had been living together for three months. Living together for three months and not crossing the final line? If I told anyone, I wouldn't even believe it myself. Using my graduation as the perfect excuse, I demanded a gift. Oliver was in the kitchen washing vegetables, prepping dinner. I wrapped my arms around him from behind. "Mr. Vance, I graduated today! Where is my present?" He turned off the faucet. "It's in my room. I'll give it to you after dinner." I shook my head against his back. "No. I don't want that present." He chuckled softly. "You haven't even seen it yet, and you already don't want it?" I nodded emphatically. "There is only one present I want today." I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck. "I've been paying your bills for six months. It's time you made a substantial contribution." "Tonight, your only job is to please your sugar mommy."
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