After he went bankrupt, I became his sugar mom

After Ethan went bankrupt, I took him in as my kept man.

Every day he was touched by me, pinned down on the bed while I did whatever I wanted.

His face flushed red, yet he could only endure the humiliation.

Until one day I overheard him on the phone with someone. He said, “Yeah, I didn't actually go bankrupt. So what? Anyone who dares let Brooke know can wait to die!”

And my name is Brooke.

Chapter 1

Ethan Hayes always carried himself like an emperor, controlling everything around him.

This guy in his early twenties had turned a dorm-room algorithm into a fourteen-billion-dollar fintech unicorn, methodically buying up or crushing every competitor.

Then, in seventy-two hours flat, it was all gone.

He was bankrupt. Overnight.

As his former rival, I hadn't believed the rumors at first.

But on Saturday night, there he was behind the bar at The Gilded Pour in the Flatiron District—a dimly lit, overpriced underground spot for finance guys who wanted thrills without any actual risk.

I found him there.

He wore the standard black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms veined and strong. I had once pretended to hate him while secretly imagining those forearms wrapped around my waist.

A pack of junior fund guys had him cornered at the bar.

“Hayes,” one of them drawled lazily. “Lick the sole of my loafer for ten grand. Maybe I'll Venmo you enough for next month's storage unit rent.”

The others laughed.

Ethan didn't move. Head down, face blank, he kept wiping stemware with a white bar towel.

But I caught it—his left knuckles twitched. The muscle in his jaw jumped once, then locked tight.

Dignity bleeding away slowly.

That was the moment I finally believed it. He was broke.

I pushed through the crowd, heels clicking on the scuffed oak floor.

Without breaking stride, I slapped a check on the manager's station—enough to buy out his entire shift and then some.

“Ethan's done for the night.”

The manager looked at the register, then at me, recognized my last name, and nodded.

Ethan finally lifted his head.

Those gray eyes met mine, flashing something—surprise, maybe resignation.

“Brooke. Here for the public execution?”

I gave him a smile that was sweet and vicious. “What else is there to do on a Saturday night?”

His throat tightened as he carefully set the glass down.

I reached into my bag again, pulled out another banded stack of hundreds—one hundred crisp bills—and let them flutter onto the bar like falling leaves.

They glittered under the lights.

“Ten thousand a day to be my secret lover,” I announced loud enough for the whole room to hear. “I'm keeping you. You're drowning in legal fees, bail bonds, and back taxes. Right now, in a five-borough radius, I'm the only person willing to throw you a lifeline.”

His fingertips trembled at his sides. I watched every tiny reaction: pupils widening slightly, a thin sheen of sweat at his hairline.

He was furious.