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thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 month ago

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Rule 3: Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

There were five rules to being a sugar baby—or so you’d heard.

If an opportunity falls into your lap, you take it.

Everything is purely transactional.

Don’t let the lines blur between your sugar daddy and your personal or professional life.

Never meet anyone in his inner circle—no close friends, no family.

Unless it’s in writing, underlined, signed by two lawyers, and you get a new Hermes handbag afterward, don’t fuck your sugar daddy.

So why was it so damn hard to keep these rules in place when it came to your CEO Remy LeBeau?

It had been a month since your whirlwind trip to the Caribbean. The sun-drenched beaches and luxurious villa now felt like a distant memory, almost dreamlike in comparison to the steady rhythm of daily life that had resumed back home. There hadn’t been any lavish getaways since then—no private jets, no sprawling estates, no tropical breezes carrying away your worries. But despite the return to reality, there were still moments when your world felt touched by that same sense of indulgence, thanks to Remy.

Though the everyday grind had crept back in, Remy made sure to remind you that your time together wasn’t confined to exotic vacations. He had a way of turning even the simplest days into something special. Some mornings, you’d walk into the office and find a beautifully wrapped box waiting on your desk—its contents never failing to surprise you. One day, it was an elegant silk scarf, hand-stitched in Italy, the kind of luxury accessory you’d never have thought to buy for yourself. His note had simply read, Thought this would look good on ya.

Another time, after a particularly grueling week at work, Remy had whisked you away to a quiet dinner at a secluded rooftop restaurant. The city lights had shimmered below as he handed you a small, delicate bracelet—gold, with tiny emeralds embedded around its circumference. “To match your eyes,” he’d said with a wolfish grin, though the sincerity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat.

There were other gifts too—lavish perfumes from Paris, a pair of designer heels he'd casually gave you over lunch one afternoon, and even a limited-edition watch that gleamed on your wrist, one he'd given you with the offhand comment, ‘Figured y’ could use somethin’ t’ keep track o’ time, since y’ always losin’ it.’

But despite the lavish gestures, life had largely returned to its usual rhythm—work, deadlines, and the endless hum of the office. You and Yelena were huddled by the breakroom counter, barely holding it together as laughter bubbled between the two of you. Yelena had just finished a spot-on impression of Jane, her voice pitched high, mimicking the way Jane had stormed into the office earlier, waving papers around like they were on fire.

“And then she slam folder down, like this—” Yelena smacked her hand against the counter, sending the sugar packets scattering, “—and said, I swear, if I have to clean up intern’s mess, I will personally hunt down their entire family tree and make sure incompetence is hereditary!”

You were doubled over, clutching your stomach as you tried to catch your breath. “I thought she was going to throw the entire printer at him!” you gasped, tears of laughter pricking at your eyes. “He looked like he was ready to crawl under the desk and never come out.”

Yelena grinned, shaking her head. “Poor kid. He didn’t even know what hit him. Jane’s like tornado in heels.”

You snorted, lifting your cup of tea for a sip, still grinning from ear to ear. “And all of that over a missed deadline for the monthly projection report. You’d think the world was ending.”

Yelena leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms with a smirk. “To Jane, probably was.”

You and Yelena were still laughing about Jane’s meltdown when the door to the breakroom swung open. Remy strolled in, his presence commanding the space immediately, his usual smirk already in place. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “Didn’t expect t’ find the office comedians hidin’ out in here. Thought y’all were hard at work.”

You shot him a playful glare, barely keeping a straight face. “We are hard at work,” you said, leaning back against the counter. “This is called team-building. You should try it sometime.”

Yelena, standing next to you, snorted but remained silent, her eyes flicking between you and Remy with a curious glint. She folded her arms, clearly intrigued, but content to watch the exchange unfold.

“Team-building, huh?” Remy pushed himself off the doorframe, strolling farther into the room, his eyes locked on you. “Looks more like y’all are slackin’ off. I should probably dock your pay for this.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms in mock defiance. “Dock my pay? Please. I’m more productive than half the people in this office combined.”

Remy’s smirk deepened as he moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “That so? Well, as the CEO of the place, I’ll be the judge of that.”

Yelena raised her eyebrows, watching intently, but she said nothing, clearly entertained by the banter. You could practically feel her eyes boring into the two of you as the tension in the room shifted.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes but unable to fully suppress a grin. “Oh, right. Mr. Owner of the company. Remind me again, how often do you actually work? Or do you just wander around charming everyone and collecting paychecks?”

Remy chuckled, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to that familiar low, teasing tone that always seemed to make your pulse quicken. “I like t’ think of it as delegatin’. Keeps things runnin’ smooth. Plus, I got talented people like y’ t’ do all the heavy liftin’ for me.”

Yelena let out a quiet laugh, clearly loving every second of this. “This is… fascinating,” she murmured, mostly to herself, but loud enough for you to hear. Her eyes were practically sparkling with curiosity as she watched the back-and-forth unfold.

You shot Yelena a quick glance before turning your attention back to Remy, your arms still crossed, but a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, maybe if you did some of the heavy lifting yourself, you'd know what real work looks like.”

Remy leaned against the counter next to you, his smirk softening into something a little more genuine, though still laced with amusement. “Y’ tryin’ t’ say I’m just a pretty face, chère?”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze head-on. “If the shoe fits…”

Yelena let out an exaggerated gasp, covering her mouth as if scandalized. “Oh my God,” she teased, eyes wide with mock shock. “Did you insult the boss?”

Remy grinned, his eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t worry, Yelena. I like it when she talks dirty. Keeps things interestin’.”

You shook your head, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up. “Of course you do. You love the challenge.”

“Love it?” Remy echoed, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone that made your breath hitch. “Live for it.”

Yelena, clearly sensing the tension between you two, smirked and took a step back, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, watching with barely concealed amusement. “I feel I should leave you alone,” she said, though she made no move to actually leave. “But this too good to miss.”

You turned to her, trying to keep a straight face. “We’re just talking.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, her grin widening. “Sure. Just talking. This how everyone talks to guy who owns company, right?”

Remy chuckled, his gaze flicking briefly to Yelena before returning to you. “I’m a very hands-off boss,” he said, his tone laced with innuendo. “I let people get away with murder… as long as they keep things fun.”

Yelena snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that what you tell yourself.” She glanced at you, her expression playful. “Just don’t let him get distracted, okay? I don’t need Jane coming after me next for whatever report you supposed to be finishing.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Don’t worry, Yelena. I can handle Remy and get my work done.”

Remy’s smirk grew, his voice dripping with amusement. “Handle me, huh? That sounds like a challenge, chère.”

Before you could respond, Yelena shook her head, laughing softly as she grabbed her coffee from the counter. “I am out,” she said, making her way toward the door. “I’ll leave you two… whatever this is.”

You shot her a mock glare, your face warming slightly. “Traitor.”

Yelena winked as she passed. “Good luck,” she teased, giving Remy a playful nod before slipping out of the room.

Now it was just you and Remy, the air between you practically buzzing with the unspoken tension. He leaned against the counter beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with that familiar, lazy confidence.

“So,” he drawled, his voice dropping a little lower, “y’ still gonna pretend y’ don’t enjoy our little exchanges, or y’ finally gonna admit y’ like keepin’ me on my toes?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to break free. “Maybe,” you said, your tone light but your heart racing, “but I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, chère.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, the tension between you two simmering just beneath the surface, always there, always waiting to flare up again. The playful tension between you and Remy lingered in the breakroom, the air buzzing with the sort of energy that always seemed to follow whenever the two of you were alone. His eyes were still locked on yours, that ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You could feel the heat of his gaze, and despite your best efforts to keep things casual, your pulse quickened.

He straightened up slightly, his expression shifting just enough to catch your attention. The playful glint in his eyes remained, but there was something else there now—something more deliberate.

“Tell y’ what,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Why don’t y’ come up to my office at lunch?”

You raised an eyebrow, your interest piqued. “Your office?”

He nodded, leaning in just a little closer, his voice dropping even more, like he was letting you in on a secret. “Yeah. I’ve got somethin’ I wanna show ya.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity taking over. “Something you want to show me? That sounds… suspicious.”

Remy chuckled, the sound low and warm, the kind of laugh that always made your stomach do a little flip. “Trust me, chère. It’s worth your time.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the grin creeping onto your face. “Oh really? This isn’t just an excuse to get me alone in your office, is it?”

His smirk widened, the teasing glint in his eyes dancing in the soft light of the breakroom. “Now, would I do somethin’ like that?”

You shot him a knowing look, one eyebrow raised. “Yes. Yes, you would. That’s exactly something you’d do.”

Remy held up his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Alright, y’ caught me. But this time, I promise—there’s actually somethin’ important I wanna show ya.”

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. There was something in his tone, a seriousness beneath the usual teasing, that made you believe he wasn’t just messing around. Still, you couldn’t resist keeping the banter going. “Fine. But if this turns out to be some elaborate prank, I’m holding it over your head forever.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. I’ll take that risk.”

You shook your head, chuckling softly. “Alright, lunch it is. I’ll be up there.”

Remy gave you a wink, turning to leave the breakroom, but not before throwing one last playful comment over his shoulder. “Don’t keep me waitin’, chère. I’m not a patient man.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips as you watched him walk out. The door swung shut behind him, and the room felt quieter, like he’d taken all the energy with him. You stood there for a moment, still processing the exchange, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and anticipation bubbling up inside you.

What could he possibly have to show you? Knowing Remy, it could be anything, but there was something about the way he’d said it that made you think this wasn’t just some casual flirtation. Whatever it was, you were intrigued.

As you turned back to your tea, Yelena’s voice suddenly cut through your thoughts.

“So,” she said, her tone rich with amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, clearly having lingered just outside, “what that about?”

You nearly jumped, glancing over at her with wide eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

Yelena shrugged, her grin widening. “Long enough to hear that he got something to show you in office.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “So,” she said, her tone layered with curiosity and amusement. “What really going on between you and Remy?”

You blinked, turning to look at her. “What do you mean?”

Yelena gave you a pointed look, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb with me. No boss talk to employee like that unless something going on. Not unless he got zero fear of sexual harassment suit.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly turned back to your half-empty cup of tea, trying to gather your thoughts. “It’s not like that.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Right. So, let me get this straight—he owns company, flirts with you constantly, and now he’s asked you to come up to his office for ‘special meeting’ at lunch. And you expect me believe there nothing?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “We’re just… bantering. That’s how he is with everyone. Yelena snorted, shaking her head. “No. The way he look at you? That not ‘everyone.’ That’s specific. And don’t even try tell me you haven’t noticed.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the flutter in your chest. Of course, you’d noticed. How could you not? The way Remy’s eyes always seemed to linger on you just a little too long, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to you, like you were the only person in the room. But admitting that to Yelena, especially when you weren’t sure what to make of it yourself, felt like stepping into dangerous territory.

“It’s just… harmless flirting,” you said, though your voice lacked the confidence you’d hoped for. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” Yelena replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve seen the way he‘like that’ with everyone. Trust me, it’s not the same.”

You sighed again, leaning back against the counter and staring into your tea. “Okay, fine. He flirts. A lot. But it doesn’t mean there’s anything going on.”

Yelena studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly like she was trying to read between the lines of what you weren’t saying. “You sure about that? Because I’ve seen way you look at him too.”

You felt your pulse quicken, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the sugar packets scattered across the counter. “What are you talking about?”

Yelena smirked, clearly enjoying this. “You think I haven’t noticed? You get all flustered when he’s around. And don’t even get me started on how you bite your lip when he talking to you. It’s like a scene straight out of rom-com.”

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. “I don’t bite my lip.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh, you definitely do.”

You shook your head, refusing to meet her eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m just… It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Yelena repeated, leaning in slightly. “I see. So, it’s not you don’t like him, it’s that you’re trying figure out what do about it.”

You glared at her, though there was no real heat in it. “You’re way too invested in this.”

Yelena grinned, unbothered by your attempt at deflection. “Can you blame me? It’s like watching a slow-burn romance unfold in real time. I just waiting for one of you to finally make move.��

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a romance.”

“Yet,” Yelena added with a wink.

You sighed, shifting your weight as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Look, even if I did… feel something,” you said carefully, “he’s still my boss. And I don’t need that kind of complication in my life.”

Yelena nodded, her expression softening a little. “I get that. But from where I stand, it like he’s already made his move. And if it’s same, maybe it’s worth figuring out?”

You bit your lip again, her words sinking in. “Maybe. But it’s still risky.”

Yelena shrugged, her smirk returning. “Life is risky. But you could do worse than guy who owns the company and can’t stop looking at you like you only person room.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Someone gotta keep you honest,” Yelena replied with a grin. “Now, go have your ‘lunch meeting’ with boss. And hey, if he showing you anything that not safe for work, feel free to skip details when you get back.”

You groaned, playfully shoving her as you grabbed your tea and headed for the door. “You’re the worst.”

Yelena laughed, waving you off. “Just don’t keep him waiting. You know how impatient he gets.”

As you walked back to your desk, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, though that familiar flutter of anticipation was still buzzing in your chest. Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

As lunch hour finally rolled around, you could feel the weight of anticipation growing with every step you took toward Remy’s office. You tried to play it cool, reminding yourself that whatever this was, it was just another one of his games—another round of the lighthearted banter that always seemed to pull you closer to him, no matter how hard you tried to resist.

Still, as you reached the door to his office, your heart gave a little flutter. You took a deep breath before knocking, and almost immediately, you heard his familiar, smooth voice call out, “Come in, chère.”

You pushed the door open to find him leaning back in his chair, that signature smirk firmly in place as his eyes met yours. The office was filled with soft sunlight streaming through the large windows, casting a warm glow over everything. He looked effortlessly at ease, as always, like he had all the time in the world.

“Look who made it,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement as you stepped inside. “I was startin’ t’ think y’ got cold feet.”

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door behind you. “Please, Remy. You’re not that intimidating.”

He chuckled, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his desk. “Oh, I’d never dream o’ intimidatin’ y’. Y’ too tough for that.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a playful look. “So, what’s so important that I had to come all the way up here?”

As Remy rounded the desk, his movements slow and deliberate, you felt a wave of unease ripple through you. It wasn’t fear, exactly—Remy had never given you a reason to feel afraid of him—but there was always something about him that made you feel as though you were constantly on the edge of something. A precipice, maybe. A cliff you couldn’t quite see over. And now, as he came to a stop just inches in front of you, that feeling was more pronounced than ever.

His eyes, sharp and calculating as always, flicked over your face like he was trying to read your every thought, your every emotion. You could feel your pulse quicken under that gaze, heat rising to your cheeks despite your best efforts to maintain composure. He was infuriating in how easily he could unnerve you with just a look, a smirk, a raised brow. And when he held out his hand, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into dangerous territory, even though you had no idea what was coming next.

You arched an eyebrow, letting your gaze flick down to his outstretched hand before meeting his eyes again. “What’s this?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and wariness.

His smile softened, but that teasing glint never left his eyes. “Take my hand, chère,” he said, his voice low, that familiar drawl wrapping around you like a slow-burning flame. “I got somethin’ we need t’ talk about.”

There was something about the way he said it, something in the weight of his words, that made your chest tighten. Despite the easygoing smile on his face, there was a seriousness in his tone that you couldn’t ignore. You hesitated, just for a second, wondering if you should brace yourself for whatever conversation was about to unfold. But you knew Remy—he wasn’t going to let this go. There was always a purpose behind every word, every movement, even when he made it seem like there wasn’t.

So, after a brief pause, you slid your hand into his. His grip was firm, warm, and a little too familiar. The moment your fingers intertwined, your heart skipped a beat. His thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, sending a jolt of something—awareness, a quiet thrill—through you. You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how that simple touch made you feel both grounded and completely untethered at the same time.

And then he looked at you, his expression shifting from playful to something more intense. More serious. The weight of whatever this was settled in the air between you, thick and undeniable.

“I’ve noticed somethin’,” he said, his voice steady, but soft enough that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Y’ been payin’ your rent on the card.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and before you could even think, your eyes widened in shock. Instinctively, you tried to yank your hand back, as if pulling away from him would somehow make the situation less real, less intimate. But Remy held on, his grip firm, his gaze unwavering. There was no running from this.

“Remy, I—" you started, the words tumbling out in a rush, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low but commanding. He wasn’t angry, you could tell that much. In fact, his tone was almost gentle, but it held a kind of finality that warned you not to argue. “Don’t y’ worry. I ain’t mad. Just think it’s time we had a little chat ‘bout it.”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. You wanted to explain, to make him understand that you hadn’t meant to take advantage, that things had just gotten out of hand. But the way he was looking at you—steady, unblinking, like he could see right through you—made it impossible to form a coherent thought. You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Look,” you said, your voice much quieter now, “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t want you to think I was using you.”

Remy’s expression softened, and for a moment, something like understanding flickered in his eyes. He gave your hand another gentle squeeze, pulling you just a little closer as if to assure you that he wasn’t upset, wasn’t accusing you of anything.

“I know y’ better than that,” he said quietly. “Ain’t about that. I just wanna know what’s goin’ on with y’. Is everythin’ alright?”

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself staring at him, unsure of how to respond. Was everything alright? No, not really. But you hadn’t expected him to ask, hadn’t expected him to care beyond the superficial. Remy was always so smooth, so detached from anything too serious. But now, standing this close, his hand still wrapped around yours, you realized this was different. He wasn’t just making small talk. He was genuinely concerned.

“I…” You hesitated, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s just been tough, okay? My landlord raised the rent again last week, and I’m barely making enough to cover my share of it. I didn’t want to ask you for a raise so I thought I could just use the card.”

For the first time, Remy’s smirk faded completely, replaced by something quieter, something more thoughtful.

“Why didn’t y’ say somethin’ sooner?” he asked softly. There was no judgment in his voice, just a quiet question that made your chest ache, “I mean, that’s why I gave ya the card. But if y’ need help, y’ jus’ have t’ ask.”

You shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed now, even though you knew you didn’t need to be. “Because I can handle my own stuff.”

Remy’s lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. “It’s not a problem. Not to me.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you now, made your heart twist in your chest. You weren’t used to this from him—this rawness, this openness. And it scared you a little, how easily he could see through your defenses, how easily he had broken through the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

Before you had a chance to respond, Remy tugged on your hand again, pulling you just a little closer, until you were standing right in front of him, the space between you all but nonexistent.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low but firm. There was no room for argument, no room for hesitation. And despite the flurry of emotions buzzing in your mind—confusion, fear, gratitude, something else you couldn’t quite name—you found yourself nodding.

As you stepped into the hallway, the bustling office atmosphere seemed to shift. The usual hum of conversation and keyboard clicks faded into a palpable silence, broken only by the sound of Remy's confident footsteps and your slightly hesitant ones. You could feel the weight of curious stares from your coworkers, their gazes following your linked hands with poorly concealed interest.

Remy, however, appeared entirely unfazed. He walked with his characteristic easy confidence, his posture relaxed yet purposeful. As you passed by cubicles and conference rooms, he offered polite nods to those who caught his eye, but his grip on your hand remained steady, grounding you amidst the growing whispers.

You felt a ripple of unease coursing through you. The warmth of Remy's hand in yours was both comforting and disconcerting, a stark reminder of the undefined nature of your relationship. You could almost hear the rumor mill starting to churn, could practically see the raised eyebrows and knowing smirks. Your cheeks burned, and you found yourself wishing you could disappear into the plush carpet beneath your feet.

Just as the weight of the stares became almost unbearable, Remy pushed open the glass doors of the office building. The crisp afternoon air hit you like a refreshing wave, carrying with it the scents of the city - car exhaust, nearby food vendors, and the faint aroma of coffee from a nearby café. You blinked rapidly, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness of the sun after the dimmer office lighting.

Remy's pace didn't slow. He led you down the wide stone steps, his hand still firmly clasping yours. At the curb, a sleek black car waited, its polished surface reflecting the bustling city around it. It was clearly expensive - the kind of vehicle that turned heads and invited whispers of its own.

Without a word, Remy released your hand and moved to open the passenger door. The loss of contact left you feeling strangely bereft, and you found yourself missing the warmth of his touch. He motioned for you to climb inside, his expression unreadable - a mask of calm collectedness that revealed nothing of his intentions.

You hesitated, your feet rooted to the sidewalk. Your eyes searched his face, trying to decipher any hint of what was to come. But Remy's features remained impassive, his eyes holding a depth of emotion you couldn't quite place. It was clear that whatever this was, it wasn't a game or one of his usual pranks. There was a seriousness to his demeanor that both intrigued and unnerved you.

The sounds of the city seemed to fade away as you stood there, caught in this moment of indecision. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, carrying with it the faint scent of Remy's cologne. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come.

With a small nod, more to yourself than to Remy, you stepped forward and slid into the car's plush leather seat. As Remy closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were crossing a threshold - not just into a car, but into something new and unknown. Your heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as you wondered where this unexpected journey would lead.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Remy glanced over at you, his gaze soft but serious. “Upper East Side,” he said, leaning back into the leather seat with that casual grace he always carried. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show y’. Somethin’ I need your opinion on.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the weight in his tone. My opinion? That wasn’t something you were used to hearing from him, not like this. The Remy you knew was always the one in control, the one with the answers, never one to defer to anyone else’s judgment.

“My opinion?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I trust y’r judgment. I wouldn’t be askin’ if it didn’t matter.”

You stared at him, searching for any trace of his usual teasing or the playful smirk that always danced on his lips, but there was none. He was serious. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just another one of his games or some casual afternoon distraction. This was something bigger.

After a long pause, you nodded. “Okay. What is it?”

Remy’s gaze softened, and he glanced out the window for a moment, watching the city blur by as the car hummed along the busy streets. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said, his voice low. “But I need y’ t’ be honest with me. When I show y’ what I’ve been workin’ on, I want y’ t’ tell me exactly what y’ think.”

Your curiosity was fully piqued now. Remy, the man who coasted through life with effortless charm, always so sure of himself, was asking you for your opinion. And from the tone of his voice, it wasn’t about something trivial—it was about something that mattered to him. Something important.

You leaned back in your seat, your mind racing with possibilities. “Alright,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll be honest.”

He glanced at you again, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. “Good. That’s all I need.”

The car fell into a calm silence for a moment, the engine’s hum and the soft sounds of the city outside the only noise between you. You watched as the skyscrapers and busy streets turned into the quieter, more pristine avenues of the Upper East Side.

Finally, you couldn’t resist breaking the silence. “So,” you said, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, “what do you think people are going to say when we get back to the office? You know they’re already talking about us being seen leaving together.”

Remy let out a low chuckle, his grin widening. “Oh, chère, don’t y’ know? The office gossip mill’s probably in full swing already. I give it five minutes before everyone’s got some wild theory ‘bout us.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Great. That’s exactly what I need—more rumors flying around.”

He shot you a playful glance, his smile turning mischievous. “What, y’ don’t like a little attention? I thought y’ enjoyed keepin’ ‘em on their toes.”

You gave him a mock glare. “You love keeping them on their toes. I’d rather not have everyone thinking I’m sneaking off with the boss for anything but work.”

Remy’s grin deepened, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, chère, I think most of ‘em already suspect there’s more goin’ on than just work.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Well, they can keep wondering. I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”

“Let ‘em wonder,” Remy said with a shrug, turning his gaze back out the window. “Keeps things interestin’.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And y’ love it,” he teased, his voice warm and teasing.

You shot him a sideways glance, but you didn’t deny it. There was something about this—about him—that made everything feel electric, like you were constantly walking the line between what was real and what was just part of his charm. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind. Not as much as you pretended to, anyway.

As the car slowed to a stop, your heart raced slightly, your mind still spinning with questions about what was coming next. Remy opened the door and stepped out, holding out a hand to help you out of the car. You took it, the familiarity of his touch grounding you as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

He led you toward a sleek, modern building with a doorman who greeted him with a polite nod. The moment you stepped inside the building, you were greeted by an air of understated elegance. The lobby was vast and open, with polished marble floors that gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting. The walls were a rich, deep gray, accented by sleek black trim and modern art pieces that gave the space a sophisticated, minimalist feel. A large, abstract sculpture stood in the center of the room, its metallic surface catching the light in subtle, eye-catching ways. The smell of fresh flowers lingered in the air, coming from the oversized arrangement that sat on a glass table near the back, right next to a concierge desk.

The concierge, a sharply dressed man with a professional but warm demeanor, smiled as Remy approached. Without a word, the man handed over a small, sleek swipe card, which Remy accepted with a nod and his typical easygoing charm. He turned back to you, his smirk firmly in place as he walked over, the swipe card held loosely between his fingers.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and confident as he reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, and with a gentle tug, he led you toward the elevator.

You followed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as he pulled you along with that effortless confidence of his. As you reached the brushed steel doors of the elevator, he swiped the card through a small reader, and the doors slid open with a soft chime. He stepped inside, still holding your hand, and pulled you in behind him.

As the elevator began its smooth ascent, you glanced around at the luxurious details—the dark wood paneling on the walls, the soft lighting, and the subtle hum of the elevator as it carried you upward. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, turning to Remy.

“So, what is this place?” you asked, your tone teasing but curious. “Your supervillain lair?”

Remy chuckled, leaning back against the wall of the elevator, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not quite,” he said, his Louisiana drawl lingering in the air. “Though I gotta admit, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a secret lair. Maybe in my next buildin’.”

You shook your head, grinning. “This is a little fancy, even for you. What, are you branching into the real estate business now?”

His smirk widened as he shrugged. “I dabble in a few things. Keeps life interestin’.”

The elevator continued its smooth ascent, and you felt a slight shift in pressure, indicating that you were moving high—really high. You glanced at the panel, noting that there were no buttons for floors, just a small screen indicating the building’s top level.

“So, what’s at the top of this tower of yours?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “A dragon? A hoard of gold?”

Remy chuckled again, his eyes gleaming with something like excitement. “You’ll see soon enough, chère. Just trust me.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “I’m not sure if I should be nervous or impressed.”

“Maybe a little bit o’ both,” he said with a wink.

Just then, the elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out, and the first thing that hit you was the sheer size of the space.

You were standing in a massive penthouse, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine. The ceilings were high—probably fifteen feet, maybe more—and the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across most of the far wall, offering a breathtaking, panoramic view of the city below. The sunlight poured in, casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The interior was modern and sleek, with clean lines, rich hardwood floors, and minimalist furniture designed for both style and comfort. There was a massive sectional couch in the center of the room, facing a fireplace that was somehow both elegant and understated. The open-concept design made the space feel even larger, with a kitchen in one corner featuring marble countertops and top-of-the-line appliances.

But it was the view that truly stole your breath.

You found yourself slowly walking over to the windows, your eyes wide as you took in the city below. From this height, you could see nearly everything—the sprawling skyline, the glittering river in the distance, and the endless sea of buildings stretching out toward the horizon. It felt like you were standing on top of the world.

“You weren’t kidding,” you murmured, staring out in awe. “This is… incredible.”

Remy walked up behind you, his hands casually slipping into his pockets. “Figured you’d like it. View’s somethin’, huh?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, this is beautiful… but I probably should’ve mentioned earlier—this might be a terrible time to tell you I’m scared of heights.”

Remy let out a deep, amused laugh, the sound rich and warm, filling the large space between you. “Chère, you’ve been hangin’ out with me long enough. Heights should be the least of y’r worries.”

As his laughter faded, the quiet settled back into the room, and Remy found himself standing there, just watching you with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. At first, he wasn’t sure what it was—this sudden stillness, this unfamiliar feeling creeping up on him. He’d spent years perfecting the art of charming and moving through life with a certain carefree ease, never letting anyone get too close, never letting anyone in. But here you were, standing by that enormous window, bathed in the soft afternoon light, and something inside him shifted.

He watched the way your eyes flickered with awe as you took in the view, the city stretching out beneath you like a glittering sea of opportunity and chaos. You were so different from anyone else he’d ever known. You didn’t fawn over him, didn’t fall for his usual tricks or charm. Instead, you challenged him, kept him guessing. Kept him grounded. And for someone like Remy, who was used to coasting through life, always on the move, always one step ahead, that was something new. Something unexpected.

He had brought you here today with the intention of showing you the penthouse—of getting your opinion, sure—but as he stood there, watching you, he realized it was more than that. He wasn’t just seeking your thoughts on the place. He was seeking you. Your presence. Your approval. He trusted you, but more than that, he wanted you to be a part of it. A part of this.

And that terrified him.

He’d never been one for permanence, never been one to settle in any sense of the word. But with you, things felt… different. He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened—when the easy flirtation had turned into something else, something deeper—but it had snuck up on him in a way that made him feel both out of control and entirely captivated. The way you looked at him, the way your smile softened when you caught him off guard—it was like you saw past all the layers of charm and confidence, past the walls he’d built, and yet, you stayed.

Remy stood there, hands slipping into his pockets as he tried to steady himself against the unfamiliar tug in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—not this quickly, not with you. But here he was, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to run from it.

He cleared his throat, more for himself than anything else, trying to shake off the weight of what he was feeling. “Yeah…” he said, his voice a little softer now, more thoughtful, “heights should be the least of y’r worries.”

But even as the words left his lips, his gaze lingered on you. He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed the shift in him—if you could feel it too—but he hoped, in some quiet way, that you did. Because the more time he spent with you, the harder it was to ignore what was happening between you. And while part of him wanted to push it aside, to pretend it wasn’t there, the other part—the part that was standing here now, watching you with a kind of awe—was ready to lean into it. To see where it could go.

For a man like Remy, who had spent his whole life dodging attachments, that was a dangerous thought. But as he looked at you, standing there with that quiet, confident grace, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he was ready for the risk.

Maybe you were worth it.

For a moment, Remy said nothing, just watching you with that unreadable look he often wore when he was calculating something—something you could never quite figure out. His eyes, usually dancing with mischief, were softer now, almost contemplative. He let out a small sigh, glancing around the sprawling penthouse as if weighing his next words carefully.

Then, his gaze found yours again. “Alright. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I gotta ask—what do y’ think about this place?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. This place? You tore your gaze from his face and looked around the penthouse for what felt like the hundredth time, still in awe of its sheer size, the luxury that dripped from every corner, from the high ceilings to the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city.

“I mean… it’s amazing,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “But why are you asking me?”

Remy smiled slightly, that familiar glint of mischief creeping back into his eyes, though it was softer now, more measured. “Because I value what y’ think. And I think this place suits y’. In fact—” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small swipe card the concierge had given him earlier. “—I think it should be yours.”

Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your brain immediately rejecting what you thought you’d just heard. Yours?

“Wait. What?” The word came out as a whisper, your voice barely registering in the large room.

Remy stepped closer, holding the swipe card out toward you, the card dangling between his fingers like it was nothing more than an afterthought. “I’m serious, chère. This place is yours. From now on.”

You blinked rapidly, your stomach twisting as you took an instinctive step back, the reality of what he was saying crashing over you like a wave. “What the absolute fuck, Remy?” You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but the shock—the absurdity—of the situation was too much.

He let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound warm and rich, his eyes never leaving yours. “That’s the reaction I was expectin’.”

You stared at him, completely floored, your mind swirling with disbelief, confusion, and something else—something that felt like a mixture of fear and wonder. “You can’t just… give me a penthouse. That’s insane.”

Remy shrugged, still holding the card out toward you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Why not? It’s already mine. Y’r rent situation’s a problem. So, I’m fixin’ it. Simple as that.”

You shook your head, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of this. “This isn’t just ‘fixing’ it. This is—this is huge. Remy, I can’t take something like this.”

He stepped even closer, his voice lowering, softening just a little. “Y’ can. And y’ will. I wouldn’t be offerin’ if I didn’t think y’ deserved it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you, suffocating and freeing all at once. Your mind was racing, trying to find a foothold in the madness of what he was saying. The logical part of you was screaming that this was too much, that you couldn’t accept something so extravagant, something so… permanent.

“But… why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you do something like this for me?”

For a second, you thought he might deflect with a joke, that he’d brush it off with his usual charm. But when his eyes met yours again, the playfulness in his expression faded into something deeper, something far more genuine than you’d ever seen before. His gaze softened, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

“Because I care ‘bout y’, chère.” His voice was low, intimate, like he was sharing a secret he wasn’t quite ready to confess to anyone else. “And y’ don’t need t’ be stressin’ over rent or dealin’ with some crappy landlord. Y’ deserve better than that.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for a moment, all the noise in your head—the disbelief, the confusion, the panic—went quiet. It was just him, standing there, holding out that swipe card like it was the most natural thing in the world, like offering you a place in his life was as simple as handing over the keys to a penthouse.

And you? You didn’t know what to feel. There was gratitude, of course—so much gratitude that it almost hurt. But there was also a deep, unsettling fear, a fear that accepting this would change something between you, would shift the balance in a way you couldn’t control. Because this wasn’t just about rent. This wasn’t just about money. This was about him, about the two of you, and about the way his feelings for you were starting to bleed into something more than just playful flirtation.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. Instead, you just stood there, staring at him, your mind racing with the implications of what this meant.

Remy, sensing your hesitation, took a small step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know this is a lot,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “But I wouldn’t be offerin’ if I didn’t mean it. Y’ don’t owe me anything. I just want y’ to have somethin’ that makes life a little easier. That’s all.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. This was more than just a gesture of kindness. This was a door opening, an invitation into something deeper, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but something you couldn’t deny was growing between you.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally found your voice. “Remy, I—” You paused, shaking your head, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled softly, his hand still extended toward you, the card waiting between his fingers. “Y’ don’t have t’ say anything, chère. Just… take it.”

And in that moment, with your heart pounding in your chest and your mind racing with a thousand emotions, you reached out and took the card, your fingers brushing against his as you did. His smile widened, a warm, genuine smile that made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “Now y’ don’t have t’ worry ‘bout rent anymore. Just focus on y’rself.”

You stared down at the card in your hand, still trying to wrap your mind around what had just happened. But as you looked up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, you realized that this wasn’t just about the penthouse. This was about him opening a door, offering you a place not just in this apartment, but in his life.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could let yourself walk through that door.

After the initial shock wore off, and the reality of what Remy had just given you began to settle in, you found yourself standing in the middle of a sprawling penthouse that now—somehow—belonged to you. Yours. The word felt foreign, like it didn’t belong in your vocabulary, especially when tied to something so extravagant.

Remy had watched you closely, that ever-present smirk playing at his lips, though there was something different in his eyes now—something softer, more thoughtful, like he was letting you in on a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share fully.

“Take the afternoon off,” he’d said, his voice casual, almost nonchalant. “Get acquainted with y’r new place. I’ll even show y’ around.”

And now, here you were, wandering through this breathtaking space with him at your side, his familiar presence both grounding and surreal. Every room you walked into seemed more luxurious than the last, each corner of the penthouse designed to exude a level of elegance and sophistication that was almost dizzying. It was a world of gleaming marble, soft lighting, and the kind of quiet opulence that felt like it belonged to someone else.

But Remy didn’t seem to think so.

At some point, you found yourself in the master bedroom—an expansive space that was flooded with natural light, the tall windows offering a view of the city skyline that could steal anyone’s breath. It was here that Remy lingered by a set of double doors off to the side, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Now, chère,” he drawled, that teasing tone of his thick in the air, “I think y’r gonna like this part.”

You followed him inside, and the moment you stepped through the doors, your breath caught in your throat.

The walk-in wardrobe was like nothing you’d ever seen before.

Rows upon rows of clothes lined the walls, from designer dresses to tailored blazers, each piece arranged with meticulous care. There were racks of shoes—hundreds of them, from stilettos to boots—spanning an entire wall, all displayed like rare artifacts at a museum. At the far end of the wardrobe, glass-topped dressers gleamed under the soft lighting, each drawer filled with accessories—delicate jewelry, silk scarves, sunglasses, all perfectly organized beneath the glass. The whole space was a shrine to luxury, a closet that seemed to belong to someone who lived in a world far removed from your own.

You stood there, frozen in awe, unable to process the sheer grandeur of it. “Remy…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is… this is insane.”

He chuckled softly behind you, stepping closer so that his frame loomed just over your shoulder. “Y’ like it?”

You turned to face him, still trying to wrap your head around the opulence of it all. “Like it? This is beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined. But…” You hesitated, the question pressing at the back of your mind. “Why? Why would you do this?”

Remy’s smirk softened, his eyes gleaming with something deeper, something more sincere than you were used to seeing from him. “Because I think this life suits y’, chère. Whether y’ think so or not.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. "I… don’t know if I fit into this world, Remy. I mean, look at this place—look at all of this. It’s beautiful, but this isn’t me.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping closer, his voice dropping to something more intimate. “Y’ think y’ don’t belong here, but I’ve known for a while now that y’ do.”

You frowned, your pulse quickening as his words hung in the air between you. “What do you mean?”

Remy’s gaze softened, and for once, that mischievous glint in his eyes faded into something more serious, more vulnerable. “Ever since that night with Norman Osborn,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with an unspoken weight. “I saw how y’ handled yourself. The way y’ didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, even when that snake was tryin’ t’ rattle y’. Most people would’ve folded under that kind o’ pressure, but not you. And that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

“That y’ fit into this life,” he said simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “That y’ belong here with me. Y’ ain’t just some pretty face or someone who’s along for the ride. Y’ got strength, chère. Y’r sharp, y’r quick on y’r feet… and y’ make all this—” he gestured vaguely around the penthouse, “—seem like somethin’ more than just the usual bullshit.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the weight of his words sinking into you like a stone. You had always seen yourself as an outsider in this world, someone who didn’t quite belong, someone who was just trying to keep up. But Remy—he saw something different. And hearing him say it, hearing him tell you that you fit in a way you’d never believed you could, it stirred something inside you—something warm and terrifying all at once.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” you said quietly, your voice wavering as you met his gaze.

“Y’ don’t have to believe it,” Remy replied, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm. “But I do. And I wouldn’t be offerin’ y’ this—” he motioned to the wardrobe, the penthouse, the life he was slowly opening the door to, “—if I didn’t think y’ deserved every bit of it.”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, like something unspoken was simmering just beneath the surface. His hand gently brushed over your arm, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he spoke again, his voice was so soft that it almost didn’t feel real.

“Y’ bein’ here, chère,” he murmured, “bein’ by my side on all these trips, all these dinners and lunches… it’s done more for me than y’ realize. Y’ make this life worth livin’.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his voice. You had never imagined that being around him—just being with him—meant so much. But here he was, telling you that you had made a difference in ways you hadn’t even considered.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Remy smiled, a soft, almost bittersweet smile that made your chest tighten. “Y’ don’t have t’ say anythin’, chère. Just… let me take care of y’.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with emotions you weren’t ready to name. This wasn’t just about the penthouse or the wardrobe. This was about Remy opening up in a way you hadn’t expected, about him letting you into his world, his life, in a way that felt much more permanent than you had ever anticipated.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy but comfortable.

Finally, you smiled softly, your gaze flicking over the wardrobe one last time before meeting his eyes again. “You really think I fit into this life?”

Remy chuckled, his eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth. “I know y’ do.”

And with that, something inside you shifted. Maybe it was the weight of his words, or maybe it was the way he looked at you, but for the first time since you’d stepped into his world, you felt like you might actually belong. After the initial shock wore off, and the reality of what Remy had just given you began to settle in, you found yourself standing in the middle of a sprawling penthouse that now—somehow—belonged to you. Yours. The word felt foreign, like it didn’t belong in your vocabulary, especially when tied to something so extravagant.