The Billionaire's Panic: My Sugar Baby Refuses to Spend

Year N of being Tristan’s spoiled little trophy. My appetite was just getting bigger. Thirty wire transfers a day had become my new normal.

Until the moment I hovered my thumb over the send button, ready to demand half a million for a shiny new sports car to flex on Instagram.

Semitransparent text suddenly scrolled right across my line of vision. Like a glitching live stream. [Stop asking, princess! You’re bleeding him dry.

What are you gonna do when the actual female lead shows up?] [Ooh, I know this one! Aurora gets way too greedy, pisses Tristan off, and gets thrown out on the streets.

She can’t handle being broke and gets lured into a trafficking ring. It’s brutal.] [Ugh, Aurora is a total walking red flag, but she’s so pretty. That ending is too dark!] Aurora.

That was my name. My pulse spiked hard against my throat. I instantly deleted the text. An hour later, my phone vibrated in my palm.

Tristan. “I thought you wanted the car.” His voice was a low, gravelly scrape over the line. “You stopped typing.” A heavy pause. “Or did someone else already buy it for you?” Chapter 1 Maybe I was hallucinating.

But underneath that dark, demanding tone, he almost sounded… pouty. I was a highmaintenance sugar baby, sure. But my obsession was strictly exclusive. “No!

I didn't buy it,” I blurted out. Silence stretched over the line. He clearly hadn't expected that. “Why not?” The image of that Barbiepink Lamborghini flashed in my mind.

The latest model. My exact aesthetic. My heart was bleeding, but I stayed stubborn. “I just… changed my mind. It’s tacky anyway. Not really my vibe.” My throat burned.

Hot moisture pricked the corners of my eyes. Goodbye, my sweet little ride. Mommy is setting sail without you tonight. “Are you sure?” Tristan pressed. My jaw clenched.

He was pushing his luck. For a billionaire patron, he was terrible at reading the room. Right. We were on the phone. He couldn't see the absolute devastation on my face.

The glowing text was still scrolling across my vision, detailing my impending homelessness. My stomach churned. I was getting so agitated. “Positive.

I have to go.” I tapped the red button, dropped the phone onto the plush rug, and stared at the ceiling. Empty. Tristan was a man of few words.

But he had never, not once, told me no. Especially when it came to his black card. In the beginning, I asked for my allowance once a month. Now?

I could hit him up thirty times before dinner. This morning, I scrolled past a diamond choker. Want this. Two minutes later. Notification: Incoming wire transfer of $200,000.

An hour later, a friend posted an upcoming artist’s gallery on Insta. Tristan, I'm obsessed with this artist. I want them. His reply? I told Cole to secure twenty pieces.

Here’s $2,000,000. Buy whatever else catches your eye. By noon, a targeted ad for a private island hijacked my feed. This island screams us. Want. Done. Wire transfer: $500,000.

Buy some new bikinis for the trip. Point, click, buy. That was my daily routine. I burned through millions of his cash every single day. He never flinched.

He just kept authorizing the transfers. If a meeting delayed his response, I’d blow up his phone, accusing him of losing interest. His apology was always a doubled wire transfer.

I felt totally justified. I was his sugar baby, right? And a sugar baby obviously needs a steady, endless supply of sugar. Look at me. I was a masterpiece. Didn't that cost extra?

Even with the glowing warnings of my impending doom hovering in the air, I refused to feel guilty. I just liked nice things. Was that a crime? If anything, this was Tristan's fault.

Only broke, insecure men complained about their women swiping the card.

Chapter 2 Just as I was secondguessing the glowing text, a new wave of brutal comments sliced across my vision. [Whoa, the female lead bagged the Lambo! See the difference?

She didn't even have to ask. Tristan just bought it for her.] [I remember this part! Aurora gets super greedy and tries to fight the FMC for his attention.

That’s why she gets the bad ending…] [Whatever you do, Aurora, DO NOT look out the window! If she triggers the rivalry this early, she's dead meat.] Female lead? What female lead?

My rebellious streak flared. I snapped my head toward the floortoceiling window. Ice injected straight into my veins.

That exact Barbiepink Lamborghini idled at the valet downstairs. Gleaming. Taunting me. But the real punch to the gut was the girl stepping out of the passenger side.

Old money elegance. Flawless, understated makeup. I glanced down at my own plunging white lace mini dress. Pure sugar baby aesthetic. We weren't even playing the same sport.

Suddenly, I felt even worse. Men were such liars. Tristan used to swear up and down that as long as I was his, anything I pointed at was mine.

Just because I didn't want the car today didn't mean I wouldn't want it tomorrow! He hadn't even hesitated. He just handed my dream car to someone else.

What was he going to take away next? My vision blurred. Hot, angry tears spilled over my lashes, tracking through my expensive foundation. The floating text was right.

I needed a strategy. Dying broke in a ditch was absolutely not on my bingo card. I, Aurora, was destined to sleep on a mattress stuffed with crisp hundreddollar bills.

This tragic ending was not my vibe. I aggressively wiped my tears away. Two new goals locked in—stop spending, and start hoarding.

Stopping the spending would fix my golddigger image, keeping Tristan from tossing me out the second his precious female lead batted her eyelashes.

Hoarding cash meant if the worst happened, I wouldn't be living out of a cardboard box. The execution, however, was a nightmare.

My rational brain said stop, but my muscle memory was still swiping Apple Pay. It was a sickness.

Despite my absolute best efforts, I still accidentally burned through a quick hundred grand that afternoon. Unacceptable.

I gritted my teeth, marched straight to the bank, and locked all my remaining liquid cash into an untouchable, highyield CD. Then, I opened my banking app.

I hit “Freeze” on Tristan’s black card. Adrenaline pumping, I sprinted back to the penthouse. Time to liquidate. My obsession with the new meant I had a mountain of the old.

Vintage Chanel, last season's Prada, diamond tennis bracelets—I ruthlessly listed it all on The RealReal. That was a small fortune just collecting dust.

I was a whirlwind of garment bags and authenticity cards. Hours evaporated. Tristan didn't even cross my mind. Night fell hard.

The heavy click of the front door echoed through the foyer. Tristan was home. He froze in the doorway.

His gaze swept over the chaotic pile of designer silk and leather I was buried under. “Aurora,” he started, his voice a stiff, tight rasp. “What exactly are you doing?” “Nothing.

Just a closet cleanse,” I muttered, not looking up from a Birkin I was photographing. “Don't mind me. Go do your billionaire stuff.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

I ignored the shift, entirely consumed by my newfound resale empire. A low, rough cough dragged my attention backward. Tristan bent down behind me.

His broad chest pressed into my back, arms wrapping around me.

He dropped a heavy, velvetbound catalog right into my lap. “Sotheby's just sent this over,” he murmured against my ear. “Pick whatever you want.” Chapter 3 The first thing I saw was a vintage diamond tiara.

Flawless cut. Toptier stones. Tristan stared down at me. “How about this?

Do you like it?” The glowing text exploded across my vision: [Aurora's eyes literally sparkled at the picture. So cute. I want to squish her cheeks.] [Cute? She's greedy and toxic.

She won't skip a single item in that catalog. Forget the male lead, I'd dump her too…] [Mind your business.

You’d dump her because you're broke!] [NGL though, if she holds back this time, maybe she can salvage his affection and not get thrown out…] [Wishful thinking.

With Aurora's personality, you actually expect her to buy nothing?] Usually, I’d be nodding so hard my neck would snap. Choosing is for amateurs. I take it all.

But today, the ghost of that female lead haunted me. Was Tristan testing me? My muscles locked.

Taking my silence for hesitation, Tristan offered, “If you want it, I'll have Cole—” “No! No, I'm good!

Didn't we just buy a tiara last time?” I forced a bright smile, shaking my head rapidly. It's just a tiara. It won't make me taller. Forget it.

I don't need it. “Is that right…” he murmured, a deep crease forming between his brows. “What about this? Want it?” He flipped the thick parchment page.

An antique porcelain tea set, delicately painted with rabbits—my exact zodiac sign. My absolute weakness. I bit the inside of my cheek hard. “No. I have cups.

I don't need more cups.” It's just a tea set. Drinking from it won't make me immortal. Pass. “And this? You don't want this either?” “No!

Definitely not!” Tristan frowned, flipping through a dozen pages. I kept my eyes screwed shut, grinding my teeth. I completely missed the hoarse edge creeping into his voice.

He hit the final page. A belly chain. Heavy gold, covered with rubies and emeralds. Luxurious and sexy. It took my breath away. I didn't own anything like it. I love it. I love it.

I love it. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Want.” Crap! Did Tristan think I was completely hopeless? I peeked up at him through my lashes, terrified of his reaction.

I opened my mouth to backtrack—to say I didn't need it—but the words died in my throat. The corner of his mouth twitched up. A soft, relieved smile reached his dark eyes.

He looked… genuinely happy. Satisfied. “Good. I'll have Cole get it.” I exhaled a shaky breath. Okay, so maybe he wasn't a total monster.

I mean, I only bought one thing from the entire catalog. That was massive character growth! As a professional sugar baby, I was fiercely proud of myself.

I thought my good behavior would earn me a peaceful night. I was dead wrong. That night, Tristan was feral. He seemed more emotional than usual, and his movements were too.

His large, rough hands clamped around my waist. He backed me up until my spine slammed into the icy shower glass.

Scalding heat radiated from his chest, crushing against my wet skin. He was never this vocal. “Do you like me?” he rasped.

A harsh swallow made his Adam's apple jump. “Tell me you like me.” Over and over. I wanted to say yes.

But the image of that girl—the female lead—stepping out of the pink Lamborghini flashed behind my eyelids. Acid crawled up my throat. My ribs tightened.

The air squeezed out of my lungs. What was this? Why was he devouring me when he already had her? Chapter 4 But I was a dedicated, professional sugar baby.

I nodded frantically, my voice cracking into a hoarse whisper. “Yes. I like you.” Tristan froze. His muscles locked to stone against mine. A heavy beat passed.

Then, his lips pressed softly against my fluttering eyelids. “Then why are you crying, baby?” he murmured. The rough pad of his thumb swept away the hot moisture stinging my lashes.

A ragged exhale rumbled deep in his chest. “Let's go to sleep.” Thick arms clamped around my waist, dragging me tight against his body.

The scent of dark roast espresso filled the penthouse the next morning. Tristan sat at the kitchen island, nursing a mug. He caught my eye and gestured me over, his eyes crinkling.

He was acting like last night’s intense interrogation never happened. I swallowed a yawn and shuffled over. He instantly hauled me into his lap. “Sunnyside up. Try it,” he rumbled.

Unlike most billionaires, Tristan had an obsession with the kitchen. He loved feeding me. I went completely boneless against his chest, letting him spoonfeed me the eggs.

Once I was stuffed, I pressed a sticky kiss to his jawline. A reward. A dark, low chuckle vibrated through his chest. He slipped something icy into my palm. I glanced down.

The heavy, matte titanium of a brandnew Amex Centurion card stared back at me. The old me would have straddled his lap and covered his face in kisses. But now? This screamed trap.

Right on cue, the glowing text flooded my vision. [Didn't expect her to only pick one item at the auction. She's definitely going to show her true colors now.

Lol.] [Who could resist this test?! It's a literal black card! Tristan is way too generous…] [Stay strong, Aurora! Reject the toxic temptation!] [Nope, I couldn't do it.

Swipe that plastic, Aurora! Get that bag!] Tristan watched my frozen expression. “I saw you locked the other card.

Was the limit too low?” His thumb stroked my hip. “This one is linked directly to my main account. No limit.

Swipe it until your hand hurts.” I sucked in a sharp breath, then firmly pressed the card back into his hand. “I don't need it.

I have enough cash.” I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the temptation. This had to score me some major survival points.

He couldn't possibly throw a financially responsible, sensible girlfriend out on the street. Fall in love with my maturity, billionaire boy. I opened my eyes.

Tristan’s face was stiff. He looked awful. His dark eyes drilled into mine. “My conglomerate operates thirty global subsidiaries. Total assets exceed seven hundred billion.

My personal liquid capital sits around ten billion, and I own over a hundred properties worldwide—” Who asked? Seriously, who asked? Was he trying to flex on me?

My doubtful look must have shown on my face. Tristan cut himself off, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “My point is, I have an obscene amount of money for you to burn.

So why the hell won't you take it?” My throat clamped shut. I couldn't exactly tell him a glowing livestream in the sky predicted he would dump me in a ditch.

Or that his future true love was currently driving my dream Barbiepink Lambo. That was straightup suicide.

Panic squeezed my ribs. “I don't have to explain myself to you,” I bluffed, my voice brittle. “I'm just… done burning through your bank accounts.

That's it.” I was giving him exactly what he wanted. A lowmaintenance, reformed gold digger. Why couldn't he just read the room and stop asking questions? The audacity of this man!

Chapter 5 Tristan went dead silent. He lifted me, gently placed me onto the plush sofa, and stood up. He swayed. Just a fraction, but his tall figure was visibly unsteady.

When he finally lifted his head, my breath hitched. All the color had drained from his face. The rims of his dark eyes were stark, burning red.

I had never seen him look like this. “Tristan, I just think—” A ragged intake of breath cut me off. “Don't explain.

A man spends his money where his heart is.” His voice cracked, a rough, fractured sound. “If you won't spend my money… does that mean you don't love me anymore?” Me