3. Madi
Madi
Iwait for the door to click and his heavy footsteps to fade before I gather my belongings. It’s better if I leave now. The last thing I need is him trying to convince me to stay and demanding we continue to see each other.
It’s over. There’s always another alpha. Even if I did enjoy having him as a client.
I think we’re in different places in our lives and while our connection is strong…
My words replay in my head. He took it better than expected. As far as client breakups go, this was an easy one—I even got one last orgasm. He’ll understand in time and find an omega who wants to be a happy housewife.
Alric seems like the type of guy who doesn’t need anyone. I’ve never even heard him wanting a pack, and now he’s about to have one and is trying to get me to join it?
Hell, no.
Most alphas race to form packs, since combining finances means a better chance of getting and keeping an omega. Plus it provides instant community and a family if they’re never lucky enough to find one.
I slide Alric’s credit card out of my wallet and leave it on the satin tablecloth next to my unfinished piece of cake.
He shouldn’t have named the restaurant after me. That’s a grand gesture for a bondmate, not the sugar baby he pays to see once a week. It was a foolish thing for him to do, but that was his choice, and I refuse to feel guilty for it.
Rule number three. Never catch feelings. No matter our connection or how generous a client is with his time and pleasure.
The chatter of the busy restaurant below grows louder as I open the door to peek down the stairs.
Clear. I slip out and walk swiftly through the crowded space, careful to avoid the path in view of the kitchens.
The hostess looks at me curiously but graciously doesn’t ask questions, only thanking me for the large tip I place in her hand.
I’ve blocked Alric’s number and his empty social media account by the time the omega-run car service arrives a minute later.
This is how I end things with every client. I disappear.
I learned the hard way as a child that an alpha’s rage can be endless when an omega leaves, even if they were a placeholder for another better omega or scent match.
Some alphas see omegas as a prize to be caged, instead of people to be loved, so this is how it goes. I give myself no chance to change my mind.
When I look back, the bright lights of The Madeline illuminate Alric in the street as he watches me drive away.
It’s the last thing I think about before I fall asleep that night.
Saturday
The aroma of marinara and garlic permeates my tiny kitchen.
Hunter:
Miss you!
I’ll be home at 7
Can’t wait for your cooking after my work out later.
That man can eat.
The Italian food I had delivered from my favorite restaurant sits on the counter.
I slide the lasagna out of the plastic to-go container and into a glass dish to be reheated later, licking the sauce off my fingers.
I do the same with the saffron risotto and Caprese salad, not bothering to arrange it nicely.
It needs to look homemade, after all. Hunter loves the girlfriend experience.
This morning, I woke up to a typical Hunter message.
Hunter:
At my test kitchen, working on protein donuts.
Do you like donuts?
What’s your fave flavor?
Madeline:
Yum! Chocolate or maple. What about you?
Hunter:
You
Madeline:
You know, I don’t know how appealing a slick-flavored donut will be to the general public.
Hunter:
You’re right.
Guess I’ll enjoy you all to myself then.
Madeline:
Food safety laws thank you.
In the afternoon, the conversation graduated from food to animals, another of his favorite topics.
Hunter:
A dog walker went by!
She had 7 dogs!
All different sizes.
LOL
That seems like a fun job.
I wonder if all the dogs are friends??
Madeline:
Absolutely they are.
Hunter:
Counting down the minutes till our date!
Hunter:
The protein donuts need some work but we’re getting close to the perfect recipe.
Now I’m craving beignets…
I’m ordering some for later.
Nothing sweeter than you though.
He is such a goofball, I adore that about him.
Bellini swirls around me, her light orange fur rubbing against my legs, and lets out a soft meow. I break off a tiny piece of mozzarella and once she decides it’s up to her standards, she gently licks it off my finger.
Part of why I love my job is that I get to give Bellini the best life. The highest-quality cat food, endless new toys to keep her occupied. All I want is a soft life with my fur baby.
No children and no alphas who are more trouble than they’re worth. Only cats and travel.
There are two things on my fridge. First are my rules for being a sugar baby. All ten written out for a reminder of why they are so important for this job. Second is my savings chart. At the top, in bold letters, it says Alpha-Free Life, and below, three million dollars.
Rule number ten. Money over love.
I’ve managed to save a fair amount over the years, but the number taunts me with how slow I’ve been to reach it.
I figure if I have three million in the bank, I can retire from being a sugar baby.
Retire from being an omega, really. With medical advancements like heat suppressants and scent blockers, my dream only needs the funds to become reality.
If I actually used all the money my clients gave me each month, I could be living in one of the fancy omega apartments with extra bedrooms, but that would make my goal take way longer to reach. My cozy one bedroom is really all I need.
All I want to do is solo travel the world, no one telling me who I need to be or how to act, and use my photography to show other omegas that they can go anywhere, too.
I want to make travel safer for omegas. We are raised to believe that our main goal is to find a pack to take care of us as soon as possible. I want to remind omegas that there is a big world out there and independence can be a beautiful thing.
Some of my most viewed content is giving omegas travel tips. Videos like How to find the best nest when abroad and Three ways to avoid sitting next to alphas on long plane rides.
After I travel the world, though, I would love to live in a real house with a real nest one day. Something with a garden and sunroom. A real dining area, so I wouldn’t need to eat dinner on my couch every night. Room to spread out with lots of closet space.
Bellini struts away when no further cheese is presented to her and jumps onto her massive fairytale forest-themed cat tree, pawing at one of the fabric wisteria branches that hangs down.
It takes up part of my small living room, competing for space with the racks of clothing kept on hand for client dates—each organized by the persona I adopt for my clients.
To the left is my sophisticated omega section with styles that alphas like Alric love.
Tailored, timeless pieces. Silk dresses and cashmere in neutral colors, effortlessly elegant and in the highest of quality.
Clear tubs filled with teal boxes with white bows below that hold the jewelry I’ve been gifted over the years.
Stilettos with red bottoms meticulously organized and vibrant orange boxes cradling imported leather purses.
Each piece is a reminder of nights at the best restaurants and trips on private planes.
Of being treated like a queen. Even if it was all pretend.
I didn’t become a sugar baby to find something real. Everything in this apartment was built with illusions and alphas’ money, but never their control.
Sometime soon I will sort through it all, save my favorites, and sell the rest to top off my account, but I don’t have it in me to start that right now.
Zachary’s preferred style is on the other side. Video game shirts, thigh-high stockings, patterned leggings with little swords on them. Clothes meant for comfort. Lazy Sundays where we order too much takeout and lie on his massive green couch.
This is not where I’ll find anything to wear for Hunter.
Hunter’s section is the polar opposite of Alric’s. It’s mostly yoga pants and gym shorts so tiny they really should be categorized as underwear. Each piece is from part of Hunter’s athletic empire: the luxury workout brand, Hunt the Gym.
I select a pale blue set the same color as his kind eyes, with pink candies at the hems. He loves seeing me in his work.
This particular design was made for me, and featured in his line of omega athletic wear.
He’d tried to get me to model for it, but I’d sent him to my friends instead.
Harper was on billboards, and I got to stay private.
The ride over to Hunter’s skyscraper apartment is quick, the still-warm pan of takeout for our dinner resting on my lap.
Soon, I’ll have to say goodbye forever to him.
Hunter and Zachary became clients around the same time, so this weekend is the last time I’ll see them, too.
If Alric brought up my heat, they will soon do the same.
We’ll have a good time and sometime this week I’ll send out the dreaded, This has been great but our time together has ended text.
Since I’m not actually dating these men for real, we don’t need to discuss anything. They wouldn’t convince me otherwise, anyway. When I say it’s over, it is.
I let myself into his place, unlocking the door with my thumbprint, and the view steals a little of my breath even at night.
His luxury living space has a full view of the lake, which spans so far it looks more like an ocean with the moon dancing off the surface.
His decor is ultra modern: sleek chrome ceilings and polished concrete floors.
Where most people would have a dining room or living room, he has a full gym. Sometimes we work out together here, but it’s mostly for him to record videos for his online workout channel.
I wonder if he has ever filmed himself having sex in here. I always found the idea hot but no way I would ever trust anyone with that type of footage.