“My boyfriend dumped me,” I said, tossing my phone on the couch.
“He said he’s not good enough for me.”
I raised an eyebrow, ready to call bullshit, but then he added, “I mean, all I’ve got is money.”
…
Excuse me? Being filthy rich is literally the sexiest thing about you!
After my third disastrous blind date this month, I met Riley James.
He looked about twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. Tall, legs long enough to make a grown woman weep, and that styled hair? Straight out of a Calvin Klein shoot.
Total trust-fund baby energy.
Except—his eyes. Sweet and wide, like a teenage golden retriever that hadn’t figured out life yet.
He sat across from me, didn’t even blink, and slid a check over.
“One million,” he said, deadpan. “To be my girlfriend.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
Was this guy mentally unstable?
He misunderstood the silence and whipped out another check. “If that’s not enough, here’s five mil.”
Okay. Confirmed. Dumb, rich, and completely detached from reality.
“You serious?”
“You’re here on a date, right?”
I nodded slowly.
“Then, am I worse than the other guys you’ve met?”
I shook my head.
“So why not?” His brow creased. “Not enough cash?”
I sighed and picked up the checks. “I meant… you’re giving me this much money just to be your girlfriend?”
He nodded earnestly. “Yeah.”
I laughed and slipped the checks into my purse. “Deal.”
I paused. “Any contract? Terms? Fine print?”
His brows lifted. “Wait, I can set conditions?”
“Of course. This is a paid arrangement. Gotta make it official.”
He hesitated, then blushed. “Can you… let me stay with you?”
“Come again?”
His ears turned red. “I don’t really have a place to stay right now. If you don’t mind… can I move in?”
…
Was this a setup?
How the hell was this rich kid homeless?
But hey—don’t bite the hand that throws you five million bucks.
I forced a smile. “Sure. Move in.”
Turns out, he wasn’t faking it.
He really was dumb, rich, and absolutely too much.
Our very first day together, I was at work when I got a flood of texts:
“Nina, I replaced your furniture.”
“Also bought you a dishwasher and a dryer.”
“And a new laptop.”
“Plus a smart home robot. You’re welcome :)”
…
I came home to what looked like a fucking West Elm catalog exploded in my apartment.
He was sitting on the couch like a golden retriever waiting for a treat, beaming up at me.
“Nina, you work so hard. Everything you had was crap. I just upgraded it all. Is that okay?”
I cleared my throat. “I mean… yeah. It’s fine.”
Free shit is always fine.
“You keep calling me Nina,” I started to ask how old he was, but my phone rang.
It was my boss.
“There’s a client file due tomorrow. It needs fixing tonight. You’re staying late.”
God. Damn. It.
I sighed and turned to Riley. “I gotta work late. Play on your own tonight.”
He blinked at me like a confused puppy. “Your boss gave you more work?”
“Yeah,” I grumbled. “Total bullshit.”
He asked what company I worked for. I told him. He nodded, looked it up on his phone, and said:
“Okay. I’ll buy it.”
“…What?”
“I’ll just acquire the company. That way, you’re the boss. No more crap from anyone.”
…
Holy shit.
Am I dating an actual heir to an empire?
Okay, even if you’re rich—you don’t need to go that hard.
Seriously, Riley. Just hand me the money. Don’t go buying corporations.
I kept calm on the outside, but inside I was screaming.
Then he held up his phone. “Should I call now?”
“No!” I snapped back to reality. “No calls. Sit. We need to talk.”
He obediently put his phone down and sat straight like a soldier awaiting court-martial.
I crossed my arms. “Alright. Who the hell are you really? How old are you? Why me? Why buy me furniture? Why try to buy my damn company?”
He blinked. “I’m Riley James. I’m 22. I want to date you. I bought you things and the company because… I like you.”
…
Like me?
I narrowed my eyes. “Have we met before?”
“I’ve seen you before,” he nodded, “but this is the first time you’ve met me.”
“You’re the girlfriend I handpicked,” he added, voice soft. “And I really, really like you. If you wanted the moon, I’d figure out how to lasso it.”
I’m just some random corporate cog. Why the hell would this billionaire-in-disguise go full Disney prince on me?
“Nina, don’t overthink it,” he said with a smile so sweet it made my stomach flip. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just… like you.”
He dropped his gaze. “Money’s all I’ve got.”
…
Who the hell says stuff like that?
The following days were… weirdly wholesome.
Every morning I woke up to fresh coffee, eggs just the way I like them, and Riley—grinning like a Labrador retriever in a hoodie.
At night, he’d jog with me, cheer me on, offer post-workout smoothies like some golden retriever boyfriend fantasy.
No arrogance, no “I-own-the-world” billionaire crap.
Just this too-rich, too-handsome man who looked at me like I was magic.
Then there was this one day—nearly noon—I was about to order DoorDash when my phone buzzed.
“Nina, did you eat yet?”
That soft, syrupy voice of his melted straight into my spine.
“Not yet. Why?”
“I made you lunch. I wanna bring it to you.”
He cooks too? Great.
I glanced out the window—sky looked ready to fall apart. “Don’t worry about it. Just eat at home, I’ll order something.”
“…Okay.”
Pause.
“I just… kinda miss you.”
Goddamn.
What was this man? A walking romance novel?
“Alright, fine,” I said, heart skipping. “Come by. But bring an umbrella.”
“Yes ma’am! See you soon.”
I barely hung up when thunder cracked like a gunshot and the sky opened up like hell.
I started texting him every five minutes, worried sick.
Twenty minutes later:
“I’m downstairs.”
I bolted down to the lobby.
There he was—soaked, holding a thermal container, umbrella tossed aside like it was an afterthought.
His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Nina! Over here!”
His hair dripped onto his cheeks, eyelashes clumped with raindrops.
“Jesus, Riley, why are you drenched?”
He laughed sheepishly. “Wanted to see you faster.”
Those goddamn puppy eyes.
He didn’t even know how dangerously attractive he was.
The rain didn’t stop all night.
And like every rainy night—perfect for sleep—I was out cold.
Until I felt someone near my bed.
I shot up, heart pounding.
And there he was.
A shadowy lump of Riley crouched next to my bed like a freakin’ five-year-old afraid of the boogeyman.
“Riley?” I snapped.
He smiled, sheepishly. “Can I… sleep here tonight? Thunder. I hate it.”
…Who’s the boyfriend again?
I opened my mouth to kick him out—then remembered the literal millions sitting in my bank account thanks to him.
I sighed. “Fine. Get in.”
Should’ve known better.
He wasn’t scared.
He wanted to fuck.
I pretended to be asleep as he slowly inched toward me.
When his fingers—cool and deliberate—touched my pajama top, I grabbed his wrist like a trap snapping shut.
“Not tonight,” I said, dead serious.
He froze. Then softly muttered, “Okay.”
We lay there in silence for a bit until he whispered:
“So… when would be okay?”
I groaned. “Shut up and sleep.”
He shut up.
Surprisingly obedient.
The next morning was a Saturday.
I woke up alone, bed cold, silence eerie.
Thought maybe the entire night was a fever dream.
I rolled out of bed, opened the door, and there he was.
Sitting on the couch like a kicked puppy, head down, lips pouting.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
He looked up, eyes glassy. “You don’t like me, do you?”
What the hell.
It’s 8 a.m. Why am I getting guilt-tripped already?
“What makes you say that?” I asked, trying not to throw a cushion at him.
“Because you wouldn’t… y’know… cuddle. Where I come from, if someone won’t cuddle, it means they don’t like you.”
I blinked. “Where you come from?”
He froze.
Shit. He realized he fucked up.
He fumbled with his words, avoiding my eyes. “I mean—I mean, that’s just what people say… around here…”
That was definitely not what people say around here.
Now I was curious.
“You sure you’re from around here?” I asked, raising a brow.
He panicked, cheeks red as hell. “O-of course! You forget? They outlawed shapeshifters after World War II.”
I stared.
He looked like a kid caught stealing cookies.
Right when I was about to press him more, a phone started ringing from his room.
I frowned. First time I’d ever heard it.
He rushed off, looking like he was about to puke from anxiety. But when he tried to answer it, he just kept poking at the screen like someone who’d never used a phone.
“Slide it,” I called out. “Right to answer.”
“Oh. Right. Thanks.”
He looked ready to combust from embarrassment.
And now I was starting to wonder—was he seriously not human?
Because no one born after 1980 should be that confused by a fucking iPhone.
After the call, he peeked back in. “Hey, I gotta run an errand today. Be back later?”
I leaned against the doorframe, eyeing him like a cat. “…Alright. Just don’t disappear on me.”
His whole face lit up. “You’ll wait for me to eat dinner together?”
“I said I would.”
He grinned like I just told him I loved him. “Cool! I’ll be quick.”
Then he zipped out the door like a man on a mission.
He wasn’t gone long before a man showed up downstairs asking to meet me.
Said he was Riley’s father.
I agreed to meet him at the café on the corner.
“Hi,” he greeted with a nod. “You must be Nina.”
“I am,” I replied, calm and unbothered. I mean, I was dating his billionaire son. Might as well own it.
“I understand my son’s staying with you… and dating you.”
“Correct.”
I reached into my purse and laid the checks on the table. “He gave me six million dollars.”
He didn’t even flinch. Just raised his hand. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I blinked.
Okay… not the usual ‘leave my son or else’ scene.
Instead, he pulled a leather folder from his briefcase and pushed it toward me. “Take a look.”
I opened it.
Property deeds. Stock portfolios. Cash accounts.
All under Riley’s name.
“What is this?” I asked, stunned.
“If you’re okay with it,” he said smoothly, “sign it.”
I stared at him. Hard.
Was this a prank?
But his face didn’t move. No twitch, no smile. Nothing but that steely businessman stare.
“My son’s an adult. He can give his assets to whoever he wants. But,” he added, “we have a rule where I come from: once we imprint on someone, there’s no switching. Riley’s… simple. Loyal. Too damn loyal. So we’re moving everything into your name. In case he screws up, at least you’re covered.”
I literally had to blink to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
I whispered, “Did Riley agree to this?”
He didn’t answer that.
Just stood and said, “Accept it. That’s enough.”
Then he turned to leave.
“Wait,” I called after him. “You said ‘where you come from’…”
He paused.
“You and Riley—what are you really?”
He smiled, polite but unreadable. “He’ll tell you. When he’s ready.”
And just like that, he walked out.
I sat there for a while, staring at the documents.
Then I took them home.
I was still holding that thick-ass stack of legal docs when I got into the elevator. Watching the numbers climb, I felt… weirdly hollow.
Who the hell just signs over everything they own to a woman they’ve known for, what, five freaking days?
Ding.
The doors slid open, and my heart nearly stopped.
Riley was kneeling at my apartment door, gripping the handle like he was about to collapse inside.
I dropped everything and ran.
By the time I reached him, he was curled up on the floor, shaking, gasping like he’d been sucker-punched in the ribs.
“Riley?” I dropped to my knees, fumbling for my phone. “Shit—I’m calling 911!”
He blinked up at me, eyes glassy. One hand reached out and clutched the hem of my coat.
“Nina… it hurts…”
Jesus Christ.
What the fuck did he get himself into?
—
He was out cold when we got to the ER.
I paced like a maniac until the doctor finally came back with his charts.
“Any idea what’s wrong with him?” I asked, bracing myself.
The doctor squinted at the numbers through his horn-rimmed glasses. “Nothing major, but his hormone levels are a bit… abnormal.”
“…What kind of abnormal?”
He cleared his throat. “Could impact sexual function. Might cause discomfort in intimacy.”
I blinked. “Okay, that’s… personal.”
“And the collapse?” I pushed. “He kept saying he was in pain.”
The doc frowned, scanning the results again. “Does he have a medical history I should know about?”
I shook my head. “Not that he’s told me.”
“Then let’s keep him here for observation a few days.”
As I headed back to his room, I couldn’t shake the feeling: something about Riley didn’t add up.
Not just “weird-rich-kid” energy.
Like… not-human weird.
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