I broke up with Adrian Guthrie, receiving a $900,000 severance package, a Mercedes, and a condo in downtown Los Angeles. I never knew I was worth so much. After shipping a bunch of stuff back home, I headed to the train station with the designer bag Adrian had bought me just days before. I chose to take the train because I wanted to come full circle. Five years ago, I had arrived in LA by train from a small, nameless town up north, leading to my encounter with Adrian and our subsequent five-year arrangement. I deliberately bought a coach ticket, planning to enjoy the scenery along the way. It seemed fitting for this journey. But as the carriage filled with chatter and various accents, I couldn’t help but shed a tear, falling into deep reminiscence. After dropping out of high school, I had apprenticed at a local hair salon for over a year. Against my family’s wishes, I set off for LA with just $1,500, claiming I wanted to make something of myself. But at nineteen, I was too young and naive to understand the harshness of the world. If I hadn’t met Adrian, I probably wouldn’t have lasted five days before heading back home. As soon as I got off the train, I realized my phone was gone. Faced with the vastness of LA and the bustling streets, I helplessly crouched down and cried. I had less than $100 in cash on me, and my phone contained all my savings. Without it, I couldn’t even get back home. But crying wouldn’t solve anything. I took a cab to the nearest police station to file a report. The officer, seeing how pitiful I looked, let me stay at the station while they checked nearby surveillance cameras for clues. I knew the chances were slim. In such a crowded place, a skilled pickpocket could easily snatch a phone without being noticed. It was at the police station that I first met Adrian. He was there for a traffic incident, his tailored suit a stark contrast to the surroundings. We sat next to each other, me looking miserable, him expressionless. Seemingly bored, Adrian struck up a conversation. “What brings you here, little miss? In trouble?” I glanced at him, thinking I might have swooned if not for the circumstances. But as soon as I opened my mouth, I burst into tears. “My phone was stolen.” Adrian looked a bit flustered, quickly grabbing some tissues and handing them to me. “Oh, it’s not a big deal. Can’t your parents just buy you a new one?” This only made me cry harder. Perhaps I needed an outlet for my frustration, so I sobbed out my whole unfortunate story. I was crying so hard I started hiccupping. Adrian seemed a bit put off, inching away as if afraid I’d get snot and tears on his suit. “Young people need to face some setbacks,” he said. “When I was in my teens, I went to study in Europe with just a few hundred dollars. I lost it all and had to work part-time jobs for a year to make ends meet.” Looking at his expensive suit and designer watch, I figured he must be doing well now. His past hardships hadn’t been in vain. Just then, the officer handling my case returned with a shifty-looking middle-aged man and my phone. I don’t know how they caught him, but I was so happy I gave the officer a big hug before scurrying out of the station. In my excitement, I completely forgot about the man in the suit. Looking back, I regret not sneaking a photo – he was so handsome. I found a job as a hairstylist assistant through an online job board. They said I wasn’t qualified to be a full stylist yet, and the assistant position only paid $1,800 a month, but it included housing. In hindsight, I was lucky in my naivety. Not only did I get my phone back, but my first job was at a legitimate salon. I could have easily fallen prey to a scam or worse. After working there for about a month, I saw Adrian for the second time. He came to the salon for a haircut, still in his impeccable suit, driving a black Mercedes. I was assigned to wash his hair. He squinted at me, seeming to find me familiar but not quite placing me. After the wash, he suddenly pointed at me and said, “I want her to cut my hair.” “Mr. Guthrie, she’s new and might not be skilled enough yet,” the stylist said, looking worried. It would be a small matter if I messed up, but offending a customer would be a big deal. Adrian waved his hand, insisting. The stylist had no choice but to give me a “good luck” look. Halfway through the cut, Adrian suddenly said, “I remember you now. You were at the police station that day, weren’t you?” I felt incredibly awkward, not wanting my coworkers to know about the police station incident. We’d been working together for a while, and knowing too much could make things uncomfortable. Without thinking, I covered his mouth with my hand, smearing his face with hair clippings. Adrian’s face darkened. Realizing my mistake, I quickly apologized. How stupid of me! Perhaps seeing me in such a vulnerable state before made me unsure how to face him now. Or maybe it was just the classic Cinderella-meets-CEO moment meant to happen. Aside from my competitive coworkers, Adrian became the first person I grew familiar with in LA. I still don’t know how my silly self caught Mr. Guthrie’s eye back then. He asked me out on an ordinary evening as I was leaving work with my colleagues. I saw him leaning against his car, smoking. It was the same Mercedes, perfectly matching his aura. My coworkers nudged me, hinting that Adrian was there for me. But I stood frozen, my whole body stiff. At nineteen, I might have been young, but I wasn’t completely clueless. I could understand Adrian coming to the salon frequently for haircuts, but now he was waiting for me so blatantly. I could no longer ignore that strange feeling. Did he want to sleep with me? I was self-aware enough to know that besides my young, pretty face, I had little to offer him. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Adrian stubbed out his cigarette and walked over, unceremoniously pushing me towards the car. “Come on, let’s go get dinner.” Under my colleagues’ burning gazes, I got into the Mercedes’ passenger seat. After driving for five minutes, I finally spoke up. “Do you… want to sleep with me?” As soon as I asked, my face felt like it was on fire. It was awkward to ask, but I had to. My parents were honest, hardworking people, and although I was a bit rebellious, I had never done anything too out of line. I hadn’t even liked anyone before. If I hadn’t met Adrian, my life would probably have been very ordinary. Maybe I’d go back home one day and marry some local guy, or maybe I’d stay in LA and keep working menial jobs. But I did meet Adrian, and even when I asked such a blunt question, he just glanced at me and nodded. Seeing my disbelieving look, he explained, “You’re cute and pretty. It’s not strange that I’d want something to happen between us, is it?” “But… no, let me out. I won’t do it,” I wanted to say so much. I felt it was insulting, but he was so straightforward that I found myself at a loss for words. “How about I become your sugar daddy? $15,000 a month,” Adrian said. This was even more shocking than a one-night stand. I couldn’t believe that I would be associated with the term “sugar baby.” But at that moment, I became surprisingly calm. Even now, five years later, I can’t remember exactly how I reacted. All I know is that by the time I came to my senses, I was sitting with Adrian in a restaurant, and I had agreed to his proposal. Maybe it was vanity, or maybe I had read too many romance novels. Under those conditions, it was hard not to be tempted. But after agreeing, I felt regretful. My parents hadn’t raised me to be someone’s mistress. But it was too late. For a long time afterward, I was torn between feeling that my actions were immoral and indulging in the lifestyle. I still remember that Adrian took me to eat hot pot that night. After dinner, he took me straight to his apartment. It wasn’t very big, just a two-bedroom, but I ended up living there for five years. He didn’t do anything that night, perhaps sensing my nervousness. He was even considerate enough to sleep in separate rooms. Later, when I asked him about it, he said, “You smelled like hot pot and had this ‘sacrificial lamb’ look on your face. You were even trembling when I held your hand. It completely killed the mood.” What he didn’t know was that even with his concession, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next day, after work, I moved my things into his apartment with his help. I stayed at the salon for another week before I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand my colleagues’ looks and whispers. But I couldn’t deny it either – after all, I had indeed started an inappropriate relationship with Adrian, as they said. After quitting, I didn’t just sit around. Adrian gave me six months’ worth of money upfront, very generously. With $90,000 in my account, I didn’t know how to spend it, so I signed up for a bunch of classes – art, yoga, English, you name it. The reason I hadn’t continued my education before was due to my mediocre grades and rebellious attitude. Now, sitting down to study again, I found I had more patience. Adrian said, “Not bad, you know how to please your sugar daddy.” I pushed him away, annoyed. “I’m just bored. I’m rich now, you know. If I don’t spend it, it’ll just collect dust.” Adrian pressed me down on the couch, his breathing heavy. “Then how about pleasing your sugar daddy now?” I was still nervous, but I leaned in and kissed him on the lips, my attempts at seduction clumsy. Our first time wasn’t exactly great. I was too afraid of pain, so I started resisting and refusing as soon as he entered me. But with things already in motion, he couldn’t just stop, so we went through with it. Initially, he didn’t come every day. Sometimes it was every two weeks, sometimes every few days. We didn’t always have sex either. But when he discovered I couldn’t cook, he complained, “Damn, I’m paying all this money and getting nothing but sex in return. I’ve brought a freeloader into my home.” However, he didn’t force me to learn. When he came over, we’d order takeout or go out to eat. Occasionally, he’d cook. But since I was bored anyway, I decided to take some cooking classes too. The first time I cooked, I made four dishes. Three were disasters, and only the tomato and egg stir-fry was barely edible. It was my least favorite dish, but Adrian ate it happily, even mixing it with rice and finishing the small plate. He was being very polite. After eating, he grumbled, “You’re the real boss here,” and then went to make me a bowl of noodles. But my cooking skills improved quickly. My dishes went from looking okay to tasting okay, and eventually became delicious. I couldn’t compete with restaurant chefs, but I could handle home cooking just fine. When I first came to LA, I had a short, chin-length haircut that made me look cute and lively. By the time my hair reached my shoulders, Adrian and I had grown much closer. By the time I had long hair down to my waist, Adrian and I had become accustomed to each other. He would let me know if he wasn’t coming home at night, though he didn’t report his entire schedule. If he wasn’t coming back, he’d always say, “Lock the door and take care of yourself.” Aside from the monthly $15,000 deposit, I almost believed we were in a real relationship. Two years into our arrangement, Adrian’s family found me. It was his mother. When I got home one day, she was already sitting on the sofa, dressed in designer clothes and expensive jewelry. Adrian had shown me her photo before, so I recognized her immediately – a true socialite. I felt awkward and even scared, remembering scenes from novels where the rich mother throws money at the mistress and tells her to stay away from her son. I wondered if I should take the money and leave, or righteously declare, “I don’t want your dirty money. We’re in love!” But Adrian’s mother was different from what I had imagined. She just patted the sofa beside her, gesturing for me to sit down. She was even kind, you could say. “So you’re Mia? How long have you been with Adrian?” she asked. I felt exposed in front of her. “A little over two years,” I replied. She nodded, looking me over. “You are very pretty. No wonder Adrian comes here so often.” My face instantly turned red with embarrassment and guilt. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” She shook her head, smiling. “Don’t be nervous. I just wanted to meet you. I have no other intentions. After all, you’ve been with him for so long. I’m like half a parent to you.” It seemed she knew about our arrangement, referring to me being “with him” rather than us being “together.” This made me feel a bit relieved. “Adrian’s company is close by, so he often stays here,” I explained. His mother didn’t say anything more and left soon after, as if she really had just come to see me. It wasn’t until Adrian and I separated that I understood.
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