Chapter 3 - No Feelings
Victoria's POV
I bought his body at eight PM—by midnight, I wanted his heart too.
At seven fifty-five, the doorbell rings.
I wait ten seconds before answering. Can't look too eager.
Ethan's standing in the hallway wearing a navy button-down and black slacks. More formal than the gym, but I'm noticing details: the collar's slightly frayed, his shoes are polished but outdated, and he's holding flowers in his left hand. Not the carefully arranged kind from high-end florists. These are the twelve-dollar mixed bouquets from the grocery store.
Something softens in my chest.
He's trying to maintain dignity. I understand that feeling. Having everything, losing it, still pretending you're okay.
"Come in." I take the flowers. "You didn't need to bring anything."
"I know." He steps inside, glancing around the penthouse. "But my mom taught me not to show up empty-handed."
The way he mentions his mother, casual but warm, tells me plenty.
"Your mom has good taste." I set the flowers in a vase. "Sit. What do you want to drink?"
"Water's fine."
"You sure? I have excellent whiskey."
He hesitates. "Whiskey. Thanks."
I pour two glasses, hand him one. Our fingers brush for a second. He pulls back like he's been shocked.
Nervous. Good.
I settle on the couch across from him, crossing my legs. No point delaying.
"Let's skip the small talk." I take a sip. "I looked into your background. You owe one point eight million, your mother needs two hundred eighty-seven thousand for medical bills, your rent's two months late. Am I right?"
His face goes pale, but he doesn't deny it. Just grips his glass tighter.
"You're thorough."
"I'm careful with my investments." I set down my drink. "That's your situation. Now let me tell you my offer."
He watches me, those gray eyes holding resignation and a trace of defiance. Like he's saying, go ahead, lay it out.
"Fifty thousand monthly allowance, plus all your mother's medical expenses, plus I'll help clear your debt. My lawyers can negotiate a better settlement."
He stays quiet, waiting for the catch.
"In exchange," I continue, "you be available. Attend events with me, keep me company when I need it, and..." I pause. "Satisfy my other needs."
"You mean sex." He says it directly.
"Yes." I don't dodge. "But not just sex. I want an exclusive arrangement. No other relationships, romantic or otherwise. We keep it discreet, professional."
"Professional sex." He almost laughs, but it sounds bitter.
"If you want to call it that."
He stands, walks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, turns his back to me. I watch the tension in his shoulders.
"You know what this sounds like?" His voice is low.
"What?"
"Like I'm prostituting myself."
"You're not." I stand too, move behind him. "Prostitutes don't choose their clients. You can say no, walk out that door right now. I won't blame you."
He turns. We're inches apart. I catch his cologne, cheap, probably from a drugstore, but it smells good on him.
"If I say yes," he says, "do I still have my own life?"
"Of course. Actually, I want you to. I'm looking for a companion, not a pet."
"Can I continue my career?"
That surprises me. The others never asked. They just wanted the money, period.
"What do you want to do?"
"Rebuild." His voice is firm. "My company failed, but my ideas didn't. I want to try again, but I need resources."
I think for a moment.
"You can consult at Sterling Tech. Part-time, flexible hours. You'll have access to our resources, rebuild your network."
His eyes light up. "Serious?"
"I don't joke about business."
"Why?" he asks. "Why give me this?"
"Because I don't just want a pretty face." I meet his gaze. "Boredom is my worst enemy. You have a brain. That makes you valuable."
He stares at me, trying to figure me out.
"I need to hear you say it," I say quietly. "Explicit consent."
"Yes." He nods. "I'll do it."
"Conditions?"
"One condition." He straightens. "No feelings. This is a transaction. We keep it professional. I give you what you want, you give me what I need, but we don't pretend this is anything more."
The words sting, though they shouldn't.
"Deal." I extend my hand.
He takes it. This time, he doesn't let go.
"When do we start?" he asks.
I look into his eyes. "Now."
I lead him to the bedroom.
He follows, and I sense his nervousness. Not fear. Anticipation mixed with uncertainty.
"Ethan." I turn around. "Have you done this before?"
"Sex?" He smiles bitterly. "I'm twenty-nine, not fifteen."
"No, I mean this. An arrangement."
"No." He admits. "You're my first sugar mama."
I laugh, step closer. "Don't call me that. Too tacky."
"What should I call you?"
"Victoria." I reach for his shirt buttons. "Or when we're alone, Vic."
I start unbuttoning his shirt. His hand covers mine, stops me.
"Wait." He says. "I need to know what you want. Exactly."
The question makes me pause.
"I want you present," I say. "Don't go through the motions, don't fake it when you don't feel it. I want real reactions."
"Even if the real reaction is that I'm scared shitless?"
"Especially then."
He takes a deep breath, releases my hand.
I continue unbuttoning. His skin is hot, his heartbeat racing under my fingertips.
When his shirt falls, I see his body. Lean, muscular but not overdone, a small scar below his left ribs.
"What's this?" I touch the scar lightly.
"Appendectomy. When I was fifteen."
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
I kiss the scar. He shudders.
"Vic..."
"Shh." I look up. "Let me lead. You just follow."
The next hour, I show him what I like. Not rough, not performative, just sincere. He's a quick learner. The initial awkwardness quickly becomes genuine passion.
When he kisses me, he's focused, like he's trying to memorize the taste. When he touches me, there's hesitation, but that uncertainty is sexy. He's not running a playbook. He's discovering.
When he's finally inside me, his eyes stay open, watching me.
"You're beautiful," he whispers.
"Don't," I say. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make this romantic."
He smiles, sad. "Too late."
Then he moves, and I stop thinking.
I've been with the others before, but they were boring, mechanical, treating my words like a checklist. But Ethan? He treats me like a woman with desires.
And most importantly, his stamina is incredible.
Hours later, he's lying beside me, staring at the ceiling. We're both breathing hard.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah." He says. "This is just surreal."
"Regrets?"
"No." He turns to look at me. "But I keep thinking, is this real? Yesterday I was worrying about rent, today I'm in bed with a millionaire."
"Millionaire," I correct. "I'm not a billionaire yet."
He laughs. "That makes me feel so much better."
We're quiet for a while.
"Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"You were right. No feelings. We keep it that way."
"Yeah," he says. "Definitely."
But when I close my eyes, I feel him still watching me.
And I think: Liar.
We're both liars.
