Taming My Psychotic Sugar Daddy

My desk mate, Arabella, was the school's golden girl.

Vance, the untouchable billionaire heir in our class, kept his eyes glued to her every single day. His jawline was always locked tight, his pitch-black pupils dead-set on her like a wild beast ready to tear its prey to shreds.

I leaned in and whispered to her, "Stay away from him. The way he watches you is a massive red flag."

The color instantly drained from Arabella's face.

I thought I was doing her a favor.

Until I blinked awake, flat on my back in a ridiculously massive bed.

And felt the dead weight of cold metal locked tightly around my ankle.

Chapter 1

I jolted, springing up from a mattress so plush it practically swallowed me whole. A biting cold sensation gripped my ankle, followed by the faint clink of metal. I looked down.

An intricate, softly gleaming gold cuff was locked tight around my right ankle. A tiny tracker-like device dangled from it, pulsing with a faint crimson light.

[Wasn't I just asleep in my dorm?]

[Where the hell am I?]

[Was I kidnapped?]

True crime headlines flashed behind my eyes. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I scanned the room. This wasn't some kidnapper's dingy basementthis was heaven.

Beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lay a Beverly Hills-tier infinity pool and a glittering nightscape overlooking the entire city. One entire wall was lined with maxed-out gaming consoles and stacks of the latest releases.

The opposite wall featured a fully stocked pantry packed with nothing but imported snacks, from gourmet chips to artisan chocolates and high-end gummies. The temperature-controlled wine fridge and massive double-door refrigerator next to it were stuffed with Fiji water, custom-edition Perrier, and an array of ridiculously expensive cold-pressed juices.

[Wait a second. Those handmade black truffle chips retail for fifty bucks a bag at high-end organic grocers. I usually just stare at them from the aisle.]

[And those chocolates Arabella's dad gave her a box for her birthday once, bragging they were flown in straight from Switzerland.]

[And that console! The newest drop! I've been saving up for six months and still can't afford it!]

The sheer terror in my veins evaporated the second I registered the room, replaced by a wildly absurd surge of dopamine. I carefully pinched the gold cuff on my ankle, then leaned down and gave it a solid bite.

[Holy shit. Solid gold.]

My kidnapper definitely had taste. Right as I was practically drooling over the stash, the door clicked open. I went rigid, grabbing the firmest throw pillow off the bed and dropping into a defensive stance.

A tall, lean silhouette stood in the doorway. The dim hallway light traced his sharp, cold profile.

When he stepped fully into the room and the light hit his face, my breath hitched.

Vance.

The untouchable billionaire heir from our class who carried himself like he hadn't seen the sun in eight centuries. He was wearing his usual faded prep school blazer. His face was even paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes bruised and heavy.

He held a glass of warm milk. In total silence, he crossed the room and held it out to me.

I didn't take it. My brain spun into overdrive.

[Why the hell would he kidnap me?]

[Wait is it because I kept cockblocking him?]

I had always assumed he was obsessed with my desk mate, Arabella. He never paid attention in class. He just stared in our direction, his eyes dark and completely unhinged.

Terrified that Arabella would end up in some psycho's basement, I constantly played the good friend, warning her to keep her distance. He even tried to give her gifts a few timesartisanal matcha lattes, rare first-edition graphic novels. But he only ever had the nerve to drop the stuff on my desk, shooting me a pointed look.

Being the helpful person I am, I dutifully passed them right along to Arabella.

Looking back, every time he watched me hand those gifts to Arabella, his jaw would lock tight enough to crack a tooth.

[So he wasn't being shy. He was pissed.]

[Let me get this straight. He wanted to hit on Arabella, but since I kept getting in the way, he decided to just kidnap me to remove the obstacle?]

[Jesus. Kidnapping the best friend just to get a date? What kind of twisted serial killer logic is that?]

"Drink," Vance commanded, his voice rough and stripped of any warmth.

Chapter 2

I stared at the milk in his hand, a heavy swallow working its way down my throat.

"Look Vance." I cleared my throat, trying to appeal to his rational side. "I know you're obsessed with Arabella, but locking me up isn't going to fix anything. You can't force someone to love you, seriously."

Vance went rigid. He slowly lifted his head, his pitch-black pupils locking onto mine. The muscles in his jaw feathered, and his chest rose and fell in jagged, uneven breaths.

"Arabella?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Yeah," I nodded, keeping up my earnest mediator act. "I know you've done a lot for her. The breakfasts, the giftsI saw all of it."

"But you can't just mandate a relationship. And kidnapping her best friend is literally a felony!" I delivered it with absolute righteous conviction.

But Vance suddenly let out a low, dark laugh. The sound was so entirely hollow and wrong that the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.

He slammed the glass down on the nightstand and closed the distance between us, slow and deliberate. "Breakfasts? Gifts? All for her?"

His voice dropped to a lethal whisper, the atmospheric pressure in the room seeming to crush inward. I clutched the throw pillow to my chest, scrambling backward until my spine hit the cold plaster of the wall.

Trapped.

"Aren't they?" I shot back, my voice barely a squeak.

[Who else would they be for? Me? Please. The total number of words we've exchanged in our entire lives could fit on a single Post-it note.]

Vance stopped dead right in front of me, his massive frame blocking out the overhead light, casting me in his shadow. He reached down. His freezing fingertips brushed against my skin right where the gold cuff rested against my ankle.

"The room I set up for you. Do you like it? The snacks I bought. Are they what you like?"

"And this," he traced the rim of the gold cuff. "I had it custom-made. Is the fit right?"

My brain short-circuited.

[Hold on. Let me process this data dump.]

[Every single thing in this room is for me?]

[This solid gold cuff is for me?]

I stared up at his face, inches from mine. The dead, hollow look was gone. His pupils were blown wide, burning with a feverish, unhinged possessiveness. And the absolute dead-center target of that fixation was me?

"So," I choked out, my throat sandpaper dry. "The person you've been staring at this whole time was me?"

Vance's Adam's apple bobbed heavily. He didn't say a word. But the lethal, all-consuming obsession burning in his dark eyes was the only answer I needed.

I froze. For thirty solid seconds, I was paralyzed.

And then, exactly one coherent thought pierced through the static in my brain.

[Holy shit. It's finally my turn to be drowning in billionaire money?!]

After my thirty-second mental blue screen, my brain started whirring back to life, overclocking like a fried CPU.

[So, those fifty-dollar black truffle chips were for me.]

[The chocolates flown in from Switzerland those were for me.]

[The maxed-out gaming console drop also for me.]

[And this]

I glanced down at my ankle.

[The solid gold cuff. Also for me.]

I snapped my head up. I stared at Vance, my eyes practically glowing with a holy, unprecedented light. "Vance." My voice actually trembled from the sheer adrenaline spike.

The sudden, burning intensity radiating from me caught him off guard. He flinched, his shoulders snapping rigid.

"Don't" he rasped, his voice rough. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

[Afraid? Why the hell would I be afraid?]

[I'm literally having the best day of my life!]

I lunged forward and gripped both of his hands, staring up at him with dead-serious sincerity. "Why didn't you just say so?!"

"Huh?" Vance froze, utterly derailed.

Chapter 3

"If you had just used your words and told me this was all for me, would I have been acting as your personal delivery service to Arabella?" I slapped a hand over my chest, genuinely aggrieved. "Do you have any idea how much physical pain it caused me every time I had to hand over that imported milk to her?"

Vance: ""

"And those rare first-edition comics! Do you know how long I scoured the internet looking for those? I thought you got them for Arabella, so I even suffered through telling her, 'Wow, he must really be into you!' I was literally playing the clown!"

The tension in Vance's jaw loosened, his brow furrowing before his gaze settled into something cautious. A fragile, disbelieving spark lit up his dark eyes. "You're not pissed?" he asked, testing the waters.

"Pissed?" I swept my arm around the five-star presidential suite he was calling a 'cell,' then lifted my leg to jingle the heavy solid gold cuff. I gave him a dead-serious look.

"What exactly am I supposed to be pissed about? Do I look like an ungrateful idiot to you?"

[Are you kidding me? Free rent, free five-star dining, an unlimited arcade, and literal gold hardware. Where else am I going to score a gig like this?]

[I mean, the ankle cuff might mess with my footwork when I'm gaming. Think I can petition to swap it for a necklace?]

Vance stiffened, his processing clearly derailed. He stood frozen for a long time, his pitch-black pupils locked onto me without a single blink, intensely scanning my face to see if I was pulling some kind of prank.

The heavy scrutiny was starting to make my skin prickle. I cleared my throat, deciding to take the offensive and hijack this negotiation.

"Ahem. Right, Vance." I patted the edge of the mattress. "Take a seat."

He mechanically obeyed, sitting down on the very edge of the bed. His spine was ramrod straight, completely stiff like a kid waiting in the principal's office.

"First off, I have a bone to pick with you." I schooled my features into a stern scowl.

The light in Vance's eyes snuffed out instantly. His lips pressed into a harsh, bloodless line.

"If you're into someone, why act so shady about it?" I groaned, frustrated by his lack of hustle. "Just use your words! How was I supposed to know if you didn't say anything?"

"Do you realize how much prime hangout time we wasted because of your silence? How many top-tier snacks expired?"

The dark clouds in his eyes slowly started to part, replaced by a returning, tentative glow.

"Second," I pivoted sharply, "legally speaking, dragging someone here and locking them up is a Class B felony. False imprisonment. Major red flag."

That returning glow instantly died. His broad shoulders visibly tensed, shadows instantly swallowing his expression.

"But" I dragged the syllable out.

His head snapped up.

"Seeing as you've shown such sincerity, and considering the extremely well-funded setup you've provided," I gestured broadly at the stocked pantry and the gaming wall, "I'm willing to drop the charges for now."

[Drop the charges? I'd have to be completely out of my mind to press charges! The man is literally my exclusive billionaire sugar daddy!]

Vance's chest completely stopped moving. "Really?"

"Obviously." I nodded, smoothly transitioning to my core demands. "However, I do have a few stipulations."

"Name them," he fired back instantly, acting like I might bolt if he didn't agree fast enough.

"Condition one." I held up a single finger. "This ankle cuff. Yes, it's solid gold, very chic, but it's a bit heavy."

"Can we swap it out for something that doesn't limit my mobility? Say an Amex Black Card?"

Vance: ""

"Condition two." I raised a second finger. "The snack supply here is elite, but it's going to run out eventually. I'm going to need an unlimited refill policy."

"The easiest way is for me to just load up an Amazon cart, and you cover the swipe."

The corner of Vance's mouth gave a violent, uncontrollable twitch.

Chapter 4

"Third," I held up a third finger, my expression dropping into dead-serious territory. "This is the absolute dealbreaker. You are responsible for my three meals a day, and they have to be Michelin-tier."

"I have exceptionally high standards when it comes to food." I finished my list and stared at him, my pulse ticking up.

[Did I push it too far? What if he calls my bluff?]

[If he says no, I'm calling the cops! Actually, scratch that. I'll finish the imported snacks in this room first, then call 911.]

Vance fell silent. The air in the room thickened, stretching into a suffocating, awkward pause.

Just as I was certain my little negotiation had tanked, he opened his mouth. "Done." One word. Clean, sharp, absolute.

He pulled a brand-new, factory-sealed iPhone from his pocket and tossed it onto the mattress. "No SIM card. Wi-Fi only."

"Fill up your cart. I'll clear the checkout every night at midnight."

Next, he pulled out a sleek, matte Black Card and pressed it directly into my palm. "The PIN is your birthday. There's no limit."

Finally, he stood up. He locked those pitch-black eyes on me for one long, heavy second.

"Tell me what you want to eat. I'll make it." Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room.

I sat frozen, staring blankly at the iPhone and the Black Card in my hands, then at the empty doorway.

[Wait. Did he just say he'd make it?]

[Since when do billionaire psychotic kidnappers moonlight as personal chefs?]

I didn't feel like a hostage. I felt like royalty. Actually, scratch that.

I wasn't just royalty. I was the literal Queen of the Universe.

Vance's culinary skills were absolutely, sickeningly good.

For lunch, I threw out a menu just to test the waters: "Beef Wellington, a Boston lobster roll, black truffle mac and cheese, and let's throw in a French seafood bisque."

[Heh. Let's see the billionaire prep-school heir sweat over that.]

Exactly one hour later, an immaculate, flawlessly plated spread was sitting on the dining table in front of me. The Beef Wellington's pastry was perfectly golden and crisp, the tenderloin inside melt-in-your-mouth juicy. The Boston lobster roll was overflowing with a rich, buttery aroma, the lobster meat unbelievably plump and bouncy.

I buried my face in my plate, inhaling the food without even pausing for air.

Vance sat directly across from me. He didn't eat. He didn't speak. He just sat in absolute silence, watching me.

His gaze was laser-focused, studying me like I was a priceless, museum-grade artifact.

The sheer intensity of his stare nearly made me choke. I took a huge gulp of the bisque and cleared my throat. "Are you not going to eat?"

"You eat," he replied, sharp and simple.

"Right." I ducked my head and went right back to shoveling food into my mouth.

[Look all you want, psycho. It's not like your staring burns calories.]

[Though the X-ray vision is making it a little stressful to chew.]

After polishing off every last bite, I collapsed onto the velvet sofa in a food coma, rubbing my insanely full stomach.

Vance wordlessly gathered the plates and carried them to the kitchen to wash. I watched the broad line of his shoulders under his crisp white dress shirt, a literal apron tied around his waist as he worked at the sink. It felt like I had slipped into an alternate dimension.

The untouchable, menacing billionaire heir that everyone at school crossed the street to avoid was currently doing my dishes?

I whipped out the new iPhone he gave me and booted up the shopping app.

[Let's see here. What kind of damage can I do?]

I loaded up my digital cart to the absolute brim. From discontinued Alienware gaming rigs, to limited-edition Chanel bags, to imported beluga caviar and vintage champagne, to a mountain of La Mer skincare and haute couture silk pajamas.

Hey, it wasn't my money. It'd be a crime not to max it out.

Cart loaded, I smiled and fired up the gaming console.

Chapter 5

For the next few days, I lived the absolute dream.

I slept until I naturally woke up. Whenever I rolled out of bed, a Michelin-tier meal was already waiting for me. After stuffing my face, I'd grind video games and max out the Amazon cart. When I got tired, I'd just drag myself out to the infinity pool and bake in the sun on a lounger.

Vance was like some kind of silent, billionaire butler, handling my every whim on call, 24/7.

The day after I complained, the heavy gold cuff on my ankle vanished, replaced by an ultra-thin, delicate platinum chain. The tracker was swapped out for something that looked exactly like a tiny diamond pendantyou couldn't even tell it was there unless you stared.

Sure, my physical freedom was technically restricted, but my dopamine levels had literally peaked.

[How is this a kidnapping? This is a fully-funded luxury sabbatical!]

The only minor glitch in the matrix was Vance's eyes.

No matter what I was doing, he was always hovering just a few feet away, watching me. The raw possessiveness in his gaze was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Sometimes, when I was completely zoned into a game, I'd whip my head around and instantly lock onto those dark, bottomless pupils. It was enough of a jump scare to make me drop my controller.

That afternoon, I was grinding through a newly released puzzle game. I'd been hard-stuck on a boss level for half an hour.

"This is garbage!" I groaned, slamming the controller onto the sofa.

Vance immediately stepped out of the study and materialized right next to me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm stuck," I complained, jabbing a finger at the screen.

He glanced at the TV, picked up the controller I'd abandoned, and dropped onto the cushion right beside me. "Let me try."

He was too close. The physical distance between us was virtually zero. I could smell the faint, crisp scent of cedar and expensive laundry detergent radiating off his clothes. His fingers were long, the knuckles sharp and defined, flying across the buttons with effortless precision.

I stared at his side profile. He usually kept his head down at school; I'd never actually looked at him this closely. His eyelashes were ridiculously long, casting shadows over his high cheekbones. His lips were a pale, muted shade.

Honestly the guy was gorgeous.

[Too bad he's a borderline psychopath.]

[Then again, considering the endless bank account and the five-star cooking a little psychotic behavior isn't a total dealbreaker.]

"Done." While I was busy mentally debating his red flags, Vance beat the level.

"Whoa! You're cracked at this," I blurted out, genuinely impressed.

He handed the controller back to me. The corner of his mouth twitched upward for a fraction of a secondso fast I thought I hallucinated it. "It wasn't hard."

"Easy for you to say." I grabbed the controller, loading up the next stage, and casually tossed out a question. "By the way, what's going on at school?"

"I've been 'missing' for days. Hasn't anyone noticed?"

Vance's spine instantly locked. He went dead silent for a few seconds before his voice dropped low. "I filed an extended leave of absence for you."

"The excuse was severe illness. Recovering at home."

"Oh, gotcha." I nodded, brushing it off.

[My parents are always out of the country anyway. They barely keep tabs on me. I could probably drop out and they wouldn't notice for a year.]

I played for another twenty minutes until my throat felt dry. "Vance, I want a Coke."

"Okay." He stood up and walked toward the massive fridge.

I watched his broad shoulders, another thought suddenly popping into my head. "Wait, what about Arabella? How is she? You didn't do anything to her, did you?"

Even though I knew I was his actual target now, considering the massive misunderstanding between us before, I was still a little paranoid for her safety.

Vance's hand froze halfway to the fridge handle. He slowly turned around.

The room was flooded with bright California sunlight, but the air around him felt like it had dropped ten degrees. The shadows seemed to swallow him whole.

Chapter 6

Vance's jawline bulged with tension, the muscle feathering wildly. His pupils contracted into hard, tiny pinpricks, and the air around him felt like it instantly plunged ten degrees.

"You're still thinking about her?" His voice was pure, jagged ice.

The air in the room stalled. My fingers dug into the plastic shell of the controller.

[Crap. Landmine stepped on.]

[I just tripped this psycho's absolute trigger.]

I stared up at Vance's completely darkened face, my survival instincts instantly redlining. "N-no! Not at all!" I waved both hands frantically, desperate to patch the hole.

"I was just asking! Just casually asking! She was my desk mate, so it's totally normal to check in."

"Normal?" Vance stepped forward, the aluminum Coke can in his hand crinkling loudly as his grip crushed inward.

With every heavy step he took, the internal alarm in my head screamed a little louder.

[I'm dead. I'm so dead. The jealous psycho meter is off the charts.]

[Is he going to pour that Coke over my head?]

[That's a limited-edition cherry Coke! What a waste!]

He stopped right in front of me, boxing me in, staring down at me from above. His eyes looked like a wounded, cornered animal looking at its traitorous owner.

"Wren," he rasped my name out, his voice a low, gravelly scrape. "You are only allowed to think about me. You only look at me."

"In your world, there is no one else. Only me."

He leaned down slowly, his massive frame blocking out the light.

I clamped my eyes shut, bracing for impact, expecting some kind of unhinged retaliation.

But the pain never came.

Instead, a freezing cold sensation pressed firmly against my lips. It was the Coke can.

I cracked an eye open. Vance was holding the chilled can against my mouth, his dark eyes filled with an aggressive, paranoid kind of hurt. "You promised me," he breathed out.

[Promised you what?]

[The only thing I promised was that you could pay for my Amazon cart!]

"What did I promise?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"You said you wouldn't press charges," his voice shook with a faint, tightly coiled tremor. "You said you would stay."

"Yeah, and I haven't tried to leave." I blinked up at him, totally innocent.

[Five-star room service and unlimited funds. Why would I leave? I'm not braindead.]

"Then why did you bring her up?" he fired back, practically accusing me. "You know exactly how much I hated it when you talked to her, hated it when you gave her my things, hated it when you smiled at her!"

His breathing turned jagged. His massive chest heaved with every ragged inhale, the corners of his dark eyes flushing with a dangerous, volatile red.

Staring at him, the last shred of my panic instantly evaporated.

[Wait a second. He's not about to snap. He's breaking down?]

[This towering, terrifying billionaire heir is having a meltdown because I mentioned another girl's name?]

I let out a dry huff of air. I reached out and pried the dented Coke can from his iron grip, popping the tab with a loud crack. "Alright, alright, my bad."

I tipped my head back, taking a huge gulp of the soda, before holding the can right up to his mouth. "Don't be mad. Have a sip. It's cherry."

Vance froze. He stared at me blankly, then stared at the Coke can pressed against his lips.

My lip gloss was still stamped perfectly onto the rim.

The color rushed to his face in real-time. A heavy, dark flush spread from his neck all the way up to his ears.

The terrifying, unhinged psycho who was just threatening to lock me away from the world had instantly glitched into a flustered mess. The whiplash was insane.

He didn't take a sip. He just stared at me, his throat working as he forced out a strained whisper. "Your mouth was just on that."

Chapter 7

"Duh. How else would I know it was cherry?" I rolled my eyes.

"Are you drinking it or not? If you're not, I'm finishing it."

"I'm drinking it!" He practically snatched the can from my hand. His dark eyes tracked the rim until he found the exact spot my lip gloss had left a mark, and he took a painstakingly careful sip.

Then, he just clutched the aluminum can against his chest like it was the Holy Grail, refusing to let go. The dark flush crawling up his neck refused to fade.

[Is the virgin energy in this room a little too high right now?]

[All this over a sip of soda?]

The crisis was inexplicably averted.

I watched him sit in the corner of the velvet sofa, clutching his Coke, stealing glances at me before instantly snapping his head down. Suddenly, this unhinged billionaire psycho didn't seem so terrifying. Honestly, he seemed pretty damn easy to manipulate.

A wild, reckless idea took root in my brain, spreading like wildfire.

I stared at the towering guy curled in the corner, still visibly short-circuiting over an indirect kiss, and cleared my throat. "Vance."

"Yeah?" His head snapped up instantly, a spark lighting up the dark depths of his eyes.

"Come here." I curled my index finger in a slow beckoning motion.

He abandoned the Holy Grail Coke on the coffee table and crossed the room in three strides, planting his massive frame directly in front of me like an oversized guard dog waiting for a command.

[Good. Very obedient.]

I patted the cushion next to me. "Sit."

He dropped onto the sofa without hesitation.

"From now on," I locked eyes with him, enunciating every single word, "you don't get pissed off without my permission. No jaw clenching."

"And absolutely no looking at me like you're plotting a murder. Got it?"

Vance froze, his brain visibly buffering as he processed the terms and conditions. Then, he gave a heavy, single nod. "Got it."

"Also," I pushed my luck, riding the high, "if I mention someone elseguy or girlyou keep a lid on it. If you have an issue, you submit a complaint, and you only get to express it if I approve it. Are we clear?"

[Let's see exactly how far I can push this psycho's limits.]

A sharp crease formed between Vance's brows. His spine stiffened, clearly fighting against that specific clause. His lips pressed into a harsh line, and he stayed completely silent.

"Well?" I dragged the syllable out, tilting my head with a calculated, challenging stare. "Is that a problem?"

He met my gaze, the dark obsidian of his eyes swirling with resistance and pathetic, kicked-puppy hurt.

The standoff lasted a solid thirty seconds.

Finally, he caved. His head dropped, and he forced the word out. "Clear."

[Yes! Phase One of billionaire domestication: complete!]

I was throwing a parade in my head, but I kept my face utterly deadpan and untouchable.

"Good." I nodded in satisfaction. "As a reward for your stellar behavior, I want Alba white truffle with top-tier caviar risotto for dinner."

Vance's head snapped up, his jaw dropping slightly. "Alba white truffles?"

"Yeah," I said, leaning back with total entitlement. "Didn't you say you'd make me whatever I wanted? What, is that outside your skill set?"

"It's not that" His jaw tightened. "It's just Alba white truffles are incredibly rare."

"It requires immediately scheduling a private jet to fly them in directly from Italy."

"Oh" I dragged out the realization, plastering on a wildly fake, understanding smile. "Alright then."

"If it's too much of a hassle, skip it. I'll just order DoorDash."

I grabbed my phone from the cushion, swiping over to the delivery app.

"Don't!" Vance lunged forward, slamming his hand down over mine to pin the phone to my lap. His palm was burning hot, slick with a thin layer of sweat.

Chapter 8