Taming My Sugar Mommy

By the time Liam returned to his room, he stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the sleek Rolls Royce parked below. He still couldn't believe it—a car like that, his car. The thought felt surreal. "Me, driving a Rolls Royce. Not even my ancestors could have dreamed of this," he murmured to himself, a mixture of awe and disbelief washing over him.

A knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts. He opened it to find Christina standing there, as composed as ever. She held a garment bag in her hands, her expression unreadable but slightly tense.

"Let me guess," Liam said, gesturing toward the bag, "another dress code for tonight?"

Christina nodded. "Yes, sir."

He reached out to take the bag, but Christina pulled it back slightly. "I will be dressing you myself," she said firmly.

Liam blinked in surprise. "I can handle it myself, thanks."

"I'm responsible for dressing you," she replied, her tone sharp and unwavering.

Liam frowned, thinking she was joking. "What do you mean? I'm not a kid."

"It's the rule, as I have been appointed as your personal bodyguard, sir," she said, her face perfectly composed, but her voice carried a subtle edge.

"What kind of rule is that? And how does a bodyguard dressing me up even make sense?" His tone carried a hint of amusement. "You're joking, right?"

"Didn't you read the contract?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. When he didn't respond, she continued, "You should've read it more carefully."

His mind flashed back to Lady Isabella's words: "You will have no rights of your own." He hadn't taken them seriously at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Christina," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, "you have to explain this to me. I mean, dressing me? Really? That can't be a thing."

She glanced down the hallway. "I don't have time to explain now, sir. Lady Isabella has requested your presence immediately."

"Stop calling me 'sir,'" he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Is this some kind of elaborate joke?"

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted their conversation. Christina glanced over her shoulder. "That's Marcus," she said, her voice lowering.

"And?" Liam asked, still perplexed.

"You don't want to keep Lady Isabella waiting, do you?" Christina countered, her gaze sharp.

Liam hesitated. He didn't want to upset Isabella, not after everything she'd done for him. "No, I don't," he admitted reluctantly.

"So let me in," she said, her tone softening. "It's my duty from now on."

He sighed, opening the door wider. "Fine. Come in."

Once inside, Christina's eyes swept over the room, landing on the mess of clothes and personal items scattered about. "You haven't done much cleaning, have you?" she remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Liam gave her a sheepish smile. "Got a little... distracted by the car."

A sharp knock interrupted them. "Kook-kook!"

Christina opened the door slightly. Marcus stood there, his towering frame filling the doorway. "What's taking so long?" he asked, his deep voice laced with impatience.

Christina didn't miss a beat. "He was, uh, indisposed when I arrived," she said smoothly.

Marcus frowned. "Make it quick. Lady Isabella is waiting."

She closed the door and turned back to Liam. He looked even more flustered now than before. "Can't I just wear the clothes myself? Just this once?" he pleaded.

Christina studied him for a moment before relenting. "Fine. But hurry."

Liam grabbed the garment bag and turned his back to her as he quickly changed.

---

At dinner, Liam had already changed into the attire given to him by Christina. Now he sat staring at the table before him.

Chef Marie had outdone herself, and the spread was nothing short of exquisite. Delicate plates held an array of dishes: poached salmon with a saffron beurre blanc, roasted quail stuffed with wild mushrooms, and a colorful medley of heirloom vegetables drizzled with truffle oil. In the center of the table sat a towering dessert—an intricate mille-feuille layered with rich custard and fresh berries.

Lady Isabella's gaze was sharp as she addressed Christina. "What took you so long?" she asked, not even sparing Liam a glance.

Christina bowed her head slightly. "My apologies, my lady. Mr. Campbell was... delayed."

"Delayed?" Isabella's voice was cool, but not unkind. "What happened?"

"He needed a moment to compose himself," Christina said smoothly.

Isabella's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. "I trust this won't be a recurring issue. But I understand—adjustments take time."

Liam looked up at her, surprised by the unexpected gentleness in her words. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flicker of understanding in her gaze before she turned her attention back to her meal.

As the conversation at the table settled, Isabella's phone buzzed against the pristine tablecloth. She picked it up, her sharp gaze briefly darting to Liam and Christina before she rose gracefully from her seat. Without a word, she stepped out into the corridor, Marcus following silently at a respectful distance.

Liam watched her go, curiosity flickering in his chest. Something about her demeanor felt off—a crack in her usual impenetrable composure.

Isabella stopped just beyond the grand dining room doors, her voice low but carrying a distinct edge. "This isn't the time, David," she said into the phone, her tone clipped.

A faint murmur of a reply was audible, though the words were indistinct.

Her jaw tightened. "No, we were married. Not anymore, David. Whatever this is, you're far too late."

Another pause, followed by a sharp inhale from Isabella. "I told you, don't call me again."

The soft click of her heels signaled her pacing as Marcus lingered nearby, his posture rigid but his gaze respectfully averted.

"No," Isabella continued, her voice lowering further, barely above a whisper. "That part of my life is over. I suggest you accept it."

There was a final murmur from the other end of the line before Isabella ended the call abruptly. For a moment, she stood still, her shoulders rising and falling as she exhaled a quiet breath. When she turned to Marcus, her expression was a mask of calm, though her eyes betrayed a storm brewing beneath.

"Let's go back," she said coolly, stepping toward the dining room without sparing another glance at her phone.

---

Liam sat, his mind still wrestling with the strange encounters. Isabella's eyes swept over him, penetrating and knowing. "Is everything alright?" she asked, though it sounded more like an observation than a genuine question.

He looked up, startled. "Yes, my lady. I'm just... still excited about the car." The lie rolled off his tongue, but it felt hollow.

Isabella studied him for a moment, then gave a faint smile. "Good."

Before she could say more, she resumed her meal, the rest of the table settling into quiet conversation. But Liam couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was unfolding—something he wasn't yet privy to.