Chapter 5

Hannah

I blinked at her. "Jess? Quiet, studious Jess, who's always at the library?"

"The very same. She met this finance guy on a sugar dating app. He's 45, divorced, and works crazy hours. They meet up twice a week; he takes her shopping, gives her an allowance, and yes, they have sex." Emma wiggled her eyebrows. "Apparently, he's amazing in bed. Something about being grateful and compensating with enthusiasm."

"Jesus, Emma!" I covered my face with a throw pillow. "I don't want to hear about Jess's sex life!"

"The point is," Emma continued, yanking the pillow away, "he pays her tuition. All of it. Plus, spending money."

I stared at her. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. She showed me her profile. These guys are loaded, Han. CEOs, doctors, lawyers. And they're willing to pay big for companionship."

"And sex," I added flatly.

"Well, yeah. Eventually. But Jess says most of them just want someone pretty to talk to. Someone who makes them feel young and interesting." Emma leaned forward. "Think about it. A few dates with the right guy could solve your problem."

"By selling myself?" The words came out harsher than I intended.

Emma's face softened. "I know it sounds bad when you put it that way. But is it really that different from what people do in regular dating? Everyone trades something. Looks, status, security."

I stood up and paced around her living room. "I don't know. It feels wrong."

"Wrong, like having a creepy loan shark threaten you? Wrong, like potentially getting kicked out of university with one semester left?" Emma's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm not saying it's ideal. I'm saying it might be your best option right now."

I stopped pacing and looked out her window at the city lights. What choice did I really have? I'd tried everything else. Extra shifts wouldn't cut it. Another loan was impossible. Selling my meager possessions would barely make a dent.

"How would it even work?" I asked quietly, still facing the window.

I heard Emma shifting on the couch. "You make a profile. Choose what you're comfortable with. Meet for coffee first, in a public place, to see if there's any chemistry. If it feels sketchy, you walk. No harm, no foul."

I turned back to her. "And if it's not sketchy?"

"Then you negotiate. Allowance, expectations, boundaries." She shrugged. "Jess says most of these guys are actually super respectful. They know the deal."

I sank back onto the couch. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

Emma squeezed my hand. "Just think about it, okay? No pressure. But if you decide to try, I'll help you set everything up. Make sure you're safe."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. The idea still made my skin crawl, but the alternative was Vincent Graves and his not-so-subtle threats. Between a loan shark and a sugar daddy, was there really any contest?

"I'll think about it," I said finally. My head was already swimming from the wine, but the idea of sugar dating swirled around my brain like a tornado. Was I really considering this? The thought of dating older men for money made my stomach clench, but so did the thought of facing Vincent again.

The next evening, Emma helped me create a profile on Elite Arrangements, an exclusive sugar dating app that apparently catered to the wealthiest men in the city.

I sat on her bed, nervously watching as she uploaded photos of me looking far more sophisticated than I felt and wrote a bio that made me sound like some cultured college girl seeking "mentorship and companionship." Within an hour, my inbox was flooded with messages.

"Holy shit," I whispered, scrolling through dozens of notifications. "These guys are serious."

"Told you," Emma said smugly. "Ooh, look at this one! Richard Thornton, CEO of an investment firm. Fifty-three, divorced, net worth..." She whistled. "Let's just say he could buy this entire apartment building without blinking."

And that's how I found myself the following evening, standing outside Aureole, a restaurant so fancy that the menu didn't even list prices.

My hands trembled as I smoothed down the black dress Emma had insisted I wear. The neckline plunged just low enough to be noticeable without being trashy, and the hem hit mid-thigh, showing off legs I'd spent an hour shaving and moisturizing.

"You look incredible," Emma assured me, squeezing my arm. She'd come along for moral support and planned to sit at the bar, far enough away to give me privacy but close enough to intervene if things went south. "Remember, if you get uncomfortable, just text me the code word."

"Pineapple," I repeated, taking a deep breath. "Okay. I can do this."

The maître d' looked me up and down when I gave Richard's name, his expression shifting from dismissive to overly attentive once he realized I was meeting one of their VIP clients. He led me through the dimly lit restaurant, past tables of women dripping in diamonds and men in expensive suits.

Richard stood when he saw me approach – tall, silver-haired, with the kind of tan that screamed, "I winter in the Maldives." His suit was impeccable, his watch gleaming under the soft lighting. I'd seen his age on the profile, but seeing him in person drove home the fact that this man was old enough to be my father.

"Hannah," he said, his voice deep and confident. "You're even more beautiful than your pictures."

I forced a smile, shaking his outstretched hand. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you."