Taming My Sugar Mommy

"I'll need your answer by morning," Isabella said, her tone calm but loaded with unspoken urgency. "The Duchess of Kent's garden party is next week, and there are several... special installations requiring attention." Her words lingered like a thread pulled tight, impossible to ignore.

Liam bit into the chocolate she had offered. It was rich, indulgent even, but the taste settled uneasily on his tongue, amplifying his discomfort. He glanced at Isabella, who observed him with a faint, knowing smile—a look that suggested she already had him figured out.

Above them, the chandelier caught the light, scattering it across the polished table in fractured patterns. Outside, the quiet patter of rain mingled with the oppressive silence in the room.

"Think of it as an opportunity," Isabella said again, her voice lilting with careful persuasion. Beneath the smooth delivery, there was an edge—a reminder that she was in control.

Liam returned a strained smile, though the weight pressing against his chest didn't budge. "I'll... think about it," he managed, his voice steady, even if the words felt hollow.

Isabella raised her glass, the red wine within catching the light like liquid fire. She didn't toast, just watched him over the rim before taking a sip.

After dinner,Christina appeared at the door, ready to escort him back to his room. Her steps were so quiet against the marble floors that it was almost eerie. The hallways, with their endless stretch of art and opulence, felt more suffocating than impressive.

Later, a maid brought nightwear—soft and scented faintly with lavender. The pristine white fabric looked almost too perfect, as though it belonged on display rather than on a person.

"Try to get some rest," Christina said as she left. Her usual formality softened just enough to sound genuine. "Tomorrow's going to be... busy." She said this last bit before turning away. Liam took the luxury of looking at the female body guard for a second before closing the door.

'Most ladies with a body like hers would go into modelling,' he thought musing over how tall and curvy she was despite trying to seem intimidating.

Sitting on the bed, Liam let his gaze wander. The room was enormous, its floor-to-ceiling windows revealing perfectly tended gardens that seemed to stretch far. He ran a hand over the duvet, its softness almost startling.

'I thought I'd be scrubbing toilets, not staying in a room fancier than my entire apartment,' he mused. The absurdity of it all made him laugh quietly to himself. 'Maybe I'm her pet project. Like a stray she decided to rescue. Wonder if she'll throw me a leash next.'

Rich people tended to have weird behaviors after all.

Outside, the rain continued to murmur softly against the glass. He pulled the duvet over himself, the faint scent of lavender coaxing his body into relaxation.

"Twelve years," he muttered into the darkness. "Twelve bloody years."

Sleep took him before he could dwell any further.

---

Morning arrived in soft, golden hues. The air was crisp, carrying with it the unmistakable bite of late autumn. Liam stirred as light filtered through the curtains, brushing against the walls in gentle patterns.

A knock at the door snapped him fully awake. Still groggy, he stumbled out of bed, cursing under his breath for sleeping so deeply.

Chef Marie stood at the door, immaculate as ever. Her silver hair gleamed under the soft light, and her sharp eyes took in everything about him with unnerving precision.

"Lady Isabella requests your presence," she said, her French accent lending a melodic quality to even the most mundane statement.

Liam blinked at her, still shaking off the remnants of sleep. "Everything alright?" he asked.

Her lips curved into a slight smile. "It is simply time to finalize the matter discussed yesterday. Shall I arrange for coffee to be brought to you?"

"Please," Liam said, grateful. "I could use a proper cup."

As they walked, Chef Marie broke the silence. "Your father was in maintenance, oui? Lady Isabella mentioned it."

"Yeah," Liam said, surprised she brought it up. "He worked in hotels. Knew how to fix just about anything."

"A practical man," she remarked. "Not many possess such skills anymore."

The unexpected compliment caught him off guard. It was the first time someone here acknowledged him as more than just another cog in Isabella's machine.

They stopped outside Isabella's room. Chef Marie turned to him, her face calm but her tone carried a rare gentleness. "Bonne chance," she said, offering a small nod before retreating down the hallway.

Liam hesitated for a moment before opening the door and stepping inside. The room was grand and impossibly refined, yet it exuded a sense of personal intimacy. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the morning sunlight to flood in, painting the space in soft golds and gentle shadows. The scent of fresh flowers mixed subtly with something sharp and metallic—ink, perhaps.

Isabella stood by a small writing desk near the window, leafing through a stack of documents with her usual composed precision. She didn't look up as the door closed behind him.

"I trust you slept well, Mr. Campbell," she said.

"I did," Liam replied... "Ma'am," he added, unsure if he should have added the last bit.

"Good." Finally, she glanced up, her sharp gaze locking onto him. For a moment, he felt completely exposed, as though she could read every thought he'd had since arriving. "Have you made your decision?"

The weight of her question pressed on him, but he forced himself to meet her eyes. "I have," he said, his voice firm as he inhaled deeply. "And I accept."

A flicker of satisfaction played across her features, her smile as precise as her mannerisms. "I expected no less," she said, turning her attention back to the papers before her, as though his decision was simply another inevitable step in her plans.

She gestured vaguely toward the door. "You'll find breakfast waiting. Once you've eaten, Christina will take you to the salon to ensure you're appropriately prepared. You'll need to present yourself properly moving forward."

The dismissal came as smoothly as her other instructions, leaving Liam momentarily stunned. No grand acknowledgment of his choice. No dramatics. Just another task ticked off her agenda.

As he left the room, the full weight of his decision began to settle on him. Whatever he'd stepped into, it was clear his old life had been left far behind.

---

Breakfast was served in a quiet corner of the estate, a table by a large window overlooking the gardens. The spread was almost overwhelming—pastries so delicate they seemed to flake at a touch, fruit arranged with geometric precision, and coffee so rich its aroma alone could have woken him up.

Liam sat down cautiously, feeling like an imposter at a banquet. Christina stood at a polite distance, giving him space but always within sight. He tried not to feel watched, though he caught her glance over occasionally.

'This isn't breakfast; this is a bribe,' he thought, cutting into a poached egg that oozed perfectly over his toast. He ate slowly, savoring each bite despite himself.

When he was finished, Christina reappeared, her stride purposeful. "Are you ready, Mr. Campbell?" she asked, her tone professional but not unkind.

"Yeah, I suppose," Liam said, standing and brushing crumbs off his hands.

"The car is waiting," she replied, gesturing for him to follow.

She led him out of the dining room and down the long corridor toward the entrance. The estate was just as daunting in the morning light as it had been the night before, its scale almost swallowing him whole.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the steps. Christina opened the back door for him, motioning for him to get in.

"To the salon," she said to the driver as Liam settled into the plush leather seat.

The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the car's engine filling the silence. Liam leaned against the window, watching the world blur past. The estate's manicured gardens gave way to the bustling streets of the city, a sharp contrast that reminded him of just how far removed Isabella's world was from his own.

"Is this going to be an everyday thing?" he asked, glancing at Christina.

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know... the whole over-the-top treatment. Fancy breakfasts, private cars, thousand-pound haircuts."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Get used to it. You're in her world now."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Her world feels like a movie set."

"Sometimes it is," Christina said, her tone light but unreadable.

They fell into silence again, the city growing busier as they approached their destination.

---

The salon was tucked away on a quiet street, the exterior itself gave away the kind of clientele it catered to. Inside, the air was cool and faintly perfumed, the hum of blow dryers and muted conversations creating a strangely calming atmosphere.

Liam followed Christina in, glancing around at the opulent décor—plush chairs, marble counters, and walls lined with high-end products he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

A stylist approached with a professional smile, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Mr. Campbell, right? We'll take good care of you," she said, already appraising his hair like a sculptor eyeing a block of marble.

Christina lingered near the reception desk, speaking in low tones with the staff before eventually settling into a chair in the corner. Liam tried not to fidget as the stylist began her work, cutting, trimming, and shaping.

The process was longer than Liam had anticipated. A taper fade, a quick trim on the top—it all seemed straightforward enough. But then came the extras: hot towels, some kind of oil massaged into his scalp, and a bizarre machine that buzzed faintly as it worked over his head.

'Is this a haircut or an initiation?' he thought, suppressing a grimace as the stylist applied something minty that tingled unpleasantly.

When it was finally over, Liam glanced at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized the man staring back. His unruly hair was now sharp and clean, the taper fade framing his face in a way that actually made his cheekbones more noticeable.

"That'll do," he muttered, trying not to sound too impressed.

As they prepared to leave, Christina approached the counter and handed over a sleek black card. Liam's eyes widened as the receptionist read out the total.

"A thousand pounds? For a haircut?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

Christina glanced at him with a faint smile. "It's not just a haircut, Mr. Campbell. It's an experience."

He wanted to argue that his hair didn't feel a thousand pounds better, but instead, he kept quiet, letting the absurdity of it wash over him as they left.

---

The drive back to the estate was quiet at first, the soft hum of the car engine filling the silence. Liam leaned back against the seat, still processing the transformation and the extravagance of it all.

"You look good," Christina said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet.

He turned to her, surprised. "Thanks. I feel... different."

She leaned closer, brushing a few stray hairs from his collar. "You pull it off well. Not everyone can."

He nodded, feeling oddly self-conscious but shrugged it off. 'It's just a haircut,' he thought.

As they passed a stadium, the road outside became chaotic with fans chanting and waving scarves in a sea of red and white.

"Football day," Christina said with a smirk. "The madam's a Manchester United fan, you know. Though lately, she's avoided anything football-related. Not exactly the best season for them."

Liam chuckled. "Makes sense. I'm Liverpool, so I won't bring it up. The last thing I need is to get on her bad side."

"Smart man," Christina replied with a playful grin.

The conversation eased something between them. Liam still didn't think much of her brushing stray hairs from his collar, but the brief exchange of humor felt... nice. It wasn't much, but it was the first time the rigid atmosphere between them softened, even if only a little.

By the time they returned to the estate, Liam found himself oddly at ease. 'Maybe this place isn't entirely as cold as it feels,' he thought. But the thought of Isabella's sharp gaze quickly reminded him not to get too comfortable.