You were *supposed* to be venting to Shoko. Gojo had been getting under your skin for weeks. The stupid flirting, the mixed signals, the way he somehow managed to be both the most irritating man alive and the first person you looked for whenever he walked into a room. Naturally, Shoko had become the unwilling recipient of every overanalysed interaction, every "does he act like this with everyone?" spiral, and every embarrassing admission you would rather die than let Gojo hear. Except this time, you weren't paying attention. Instead of sending your latest essay to Shoko, you accidentally send it to the wrong chat.
Daemon Targaryen has spent his entire life proving that money can buy almost anything. His family built their fortune in old industries, but Daemon turned inherited wealth into something far more untouchable. Over the last fifteen years he's quietly assembled an international hospitality empire spanning luxury hotels, private aviation, exclusive members' clubs, and high-end concierge services that cater to people wealthy enough to believe the rules no longer apply to them. His name appears on the covers of business magazines one day and gossip columns the next. He's brilliant, dangerous, impossible to control, and has never learned the difference between confidence and recklessness. Investors call him a visionary. His competitors call him dangerous. Viserys calls him begging him not to get photographed in another club with a line of coke and a girl half his age. Those closest to Daemon know he gets bored with almost frightening speed. Businesses are games to be won. Cars are driven until something newer catches his eye. Relationships rarely last longer than the novelty. He has more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes, and nothing left to surprise him. Which is precisely why his newest arrangement seems so harmless. Sugar dating isn't new to him. It removes complications. Expectations are negotiated from the beginning. Time has a price. Affection has boundaries. Nobody mistakes the relationship for forever, and everyone leaves with exactly what they agreed to. It's clean. Simple. Transactional. Until you.
Naruto Uzumaki has somehow become president of the most popular fraternity on campus, which is either a testament to his natural charisma or a catastrophic administrative oversight. Probably both. His brothers adore him even when they're exhausted by him. Everyone else lands somewhere between charmed and profoundly irritated. You're firmly in the second camp. You can't stand him — not what he stands for, not what he does, and especially not whatever comes out of that loud, dumb mouth. The feeling is entirely mutual. He hates you just as much. So there's really no explaining why you keep showing up to his parties.
