IIN BED WITH MY MOM'S SUGAR DADDY

Chapter 1: The Debt Collector

​The rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our Manhattan penthouse sounded like falling coins—money we no longer had.

​I stood in the kitchen, the marble counters cold under my palms, watching my mother, Elena, adjust her diamond earrings in the reflection of a wine glass. She looked perfect. She always did when "The Shark" was coming over.

​"He’ll be here in five minutes, Nina. Pour the Cabernet. The expensive one."

​"Why bother?" I didn't move. "Arthur Sterling knows we’re broke. He bought the cellar along with the rest of Dad’s soul last month."

​Elena turned, her eyes flashing. "He is the reason your father isn't in a jumpsuit, and he’s the reason you still have a closet full of silk. You will be polite. You will be charming. And for God’s sake, stop looking at him like he’s the devil."

​"If the shoe fits."

​The private elevator chimed. The sound sent a physical shiver down my spine.

​Arthur Sterling stepped out, and the air in the room seemed to vanish. He was forty-two, draped in a bespoke charcoal suit that screamed old money and new power. He didn't look like a savior; he looked like a man who enjoyed the hunt more than the kill.

​"Arthur, darling! You’re punctual as always," Elena trilled, gliding toward him.

​She reached for his arm, her fingers lingering on his sleeve. It was a calculated touch—the touch of a woman who knew her currency was fading and was desperate to keep her primary investor happy.

​"The traffic was light," Arthur said. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that felt like a vibration in my chest.

​His eyes didn't stay on my mother. They cut across the room, sharp and predatory, until they landed on me. He didn't smile. He just stared, his gaze heavy enough to make my skin itch.

​"Nina," he murmured. "You’re home from the university."

​"Graduated," I corrected, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. "Not that you'd care about the details of the 'assets' you've acquired."

​"Nina! Don't be rude," Elena hissed, though her hand never left Arthur’s arm.

​Arthur’s mouth quirked into a ghost of a smirk. "Assets are only interesting when they perform, Elena. Nina seems to have a lot of... spirit left in her."

​"She’s just tired from the move," my mother lied quickly. "Arthur, come. David is waiting in the study. He has the new projections."

​"I’ll be there in a moment," Arthur said, his eyes never leaving mine. "I’d like a glass of that Cabernet first. Nina?"

​Elena hesitated, her gaze darting between us, before she nodded. "Of course. I’ll go tell David you’ve arrived."

​The moment she disappeared down the hallway, the silence in the kitchen became suffocating. I reached for the bottle, my fingers trembling slightly as I poured the dark red liquid into a crystal glass.

​"You're shaking," Arthur said. He was suddenly standing right behind me. I hadn't even heard him move.

​"It's cold in here," I lied, spinning around to hand him the glass.

​He didn't take it. Instead, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. His skin was warm, a startling contrast to the ice in my veins.

​"Is it?" He pulled my hand up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Or is it because you know exactly why I’m still funding this family?"

​"You're funding us because you want my father’s company," I snapped, trying to pull away.

​"I already have the company, Nina." He stepped closer, crowding me against the marble island. The scent of cedarwood and expensive bourbon enveloped me. "I’m staying for the interest on the loan."

​"What interest?"

​He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear. "The kind that can’t be paid in cash."

​He let go of my wrist, but before I could breathe, his hand moved to my waist, his thumb hooking into the belt of my robe. He leaned in further, his presence a crushing, magnetic weight.

​"Your mother thinks she’s the one keeping me here," he whispered. "Should we tell her the truth? Or do you enjoy the way she looks at me, thinking she’s won?"

​"You're disgusting," I breathed, even as my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "She’s waiting for you."

​"Let her wait." Arthur took the glass from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. He took a slow sip, his eyes dark and hungry. "I’ve always preferred the daughter’s fire to the mother’s desperation."

​He set the glass down on the counter—full, barely touched—and stepped back just as the sound of my mother’s heels returned.

​"Arthur? David is ready," Elena called out.

​"Coming," Arthur replied, his voice perfectly smooth, as if he hadn't just been branding my skin with his touch.

​He walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my pulse racing so hard I could hear it in my ears. I looked down at my wrist. There was no mark, but I could still feel the heat of his fingers.

​I hated him. I truly did. But as I watched him disappear into the study to sit with my father and my mother, I realized the most terrifying thing of all.

​I wanted him to come back.

Chapter 2: The Silent War

​The morning sun hit the dining room with a brightness that felt like an insult. I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom heat of Arthur’s hand on my wrist from the night before. I could still hear his voice, dark and low, promising that his interest wasn't financial.

​I sat at the mahogany table, picking at a piece of dry toast. My father, David, was already there, hidden behind the Financial Times. His hands shook slightly as he turned the pages, a physical manifestation of the stress Arthur Sterling had placed on his shoulders.

​Then, the heavy double doors opened.

​Arthur walked in, looking like he hadn’t been up half the night plotting the takeover of our lives. He was dressed in a navy suit today, the fabric so crisp it looked like it could cut. He didn’t go to his seat immediately. He walked around the table, his presence pulling the oxygen out of the room.

​"Good morning, David. El