I always thought sugar babies were girls with no ambition, just pretty faces chasing easy money. But that day, as I sat in my studio apartment, staring at unpaid bills and an empty fridge, I realised I was about to become one myself. New York City wasn’t cheap. My job as a part-time waitress barely covered my rent, and classes at NYU left me exhausted. So when Chloe, my friend from art history, showed me the SugarConnect app, I rolled my eyes at first. But that night, desperate, I downloaded it. His profile caught my eye instantly. “Michael, 45, CEO. Looking for a sweet companion. Generous. Dinner tomorrow?” His display picture showed a sharply dressed man with streaks of grey in his hair, sitting in the backseat of a black Mercedes. His eyes were steel-blue, direct and intimidating. I hesitated, then typed back: “Hi. I’m free tomorrow evening.” Within seconds, he replied with a reservation for 8 pm at La Petite Maison downtown. The next evening, I put on my tight black
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