Chapter 4: His Promise, His Belt

“Mr. Tate,” I asked softly, my voice falling back into that LA rhythm, “why did you break off the engagement with Miss Xu?”

His grip on my fingers tightened, the air between us going still. My nerves spiked, shifting on his lap. We’d been sitting like this for what felt like forever.

“Didn’t I say?” He pulled me closer, shifting our positions. “The age gap was too much. Didn’t want to waste her youth.”

Liar.

As the car slowed, I studied his face in the moonlight. The lines were sharp and cold, just like the night he saved me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. “Then what do you think of Miss Xu?”

He cupped my face, kissing me with a softness that almost made me believe it. “I’m not really close to her.”

My heart skipped. Right then, I knew—neither I nor Charlotte ever really mattered to him.

He carried me upstairs to the bedroom. The old man’s habit—if he could carry me, he wouldn’t let me walk. His kisses were deep and practiced, but more than skill, it was the feeling—he made me feel wanted, as if he couldn’t help but care for me.

As I fumbled with his watch, he laughed. “Still so nervous?”

I couldn’t answer. As the watch slipped off, he suddenly gripped my throat.

“You picked me to get away from Jordan,” he said, tilting his head. “How do you know I’m not worse than him?”

“You’re not.” His grip wasn’t tight, more teasing than threatening. I didn’t fight it, just repeated, “You’re not.”

“I could be. They all say I finally lost my mind over you.”

He let go, stroking my face as he undid his belt with one hand. The motion made my pulse jump. He wrapped the belt in his palm, brushing the metal tip lightly against my cheek, smiling. “That much faith in me?”

The belt didn’t hurt, but it left a strange, tingling ache. I half-closed my eyes. Then he grabbed my chin, making me look at him, and tapped me again. “How does Jordan play?”

Damn it. I realized too late—he was in a mood. I’d pushed too far asking about Charlotte.

“Mr. Tate,” I whispered, voice trembling. “Can you not use that? I’m scared.”

“Scared?” He tapped me again, the belt trailing down my nose to my chest. Pressed against my heartbeat, he smiled. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Right before I got swept away again, I confirmed: the old man really knows how to play.

Not only did he know how to play, he was generous, too. He started spending more and more time with me. Brendan didn’t just play the Daddy role in bed—he acted like one outside, too. He wanted to know everything—what I wore, what I ate, where I lived, even checked my schoolwork himself.

Halfway through my junior year, on a regular summer day, I moved into his hillside house. Brendan had lived there alone for years—I was the first to ever share his space. Rumors flew: some said I was just a rebound after the broken engagement; others whispered maybe he’d actually fallen hard this time.

As for me, the so-called true love, I was waiting for him to check my homework. Fresh from the shower, both of us still damp, he propped his head on his hand and gave a long-suffering sigh, like an exasperated dad. “Come here.”

I wandered over, settling onto his lap without a second thought.

“Baby,” he kissed my nose, his voice carrying a rare note of concern. “Have you thought about your future?”

I blinked, pretending not to understand.

“Your GPA—I could send you abroad, but top schools want more than just money. You need real skills to make it on your own.”

I couldn’t help a sigh. Was this really the kind of talk I should be having as his... whatever I was?

“But,” I played innocent, hugging his shoulders with a childish pout, “isn’t that what I have you for?”

He looked at me, complicated emotions flickering in his eyes. I kissed him, flipping back into my LA accent. “Mr. Tate, you’ll always protect me, right?”

He sighed again, like he was surrendering, and kissed my eyes. “Yeah, I’ll always protect you.”

Most of the time, those sweet, dependent words were just for show. “Always” felt too far away, but deep down, I wanted to believe it. After all, I really was the only woman in his thirty years. Not many sugar daddies would review your homework after a twelve-hour workday. Real lessons, real homework.

He tapped my head with his pen again, exasperated. “You look smart, so why can’t you get this?”

I rubbed my forehead, watching his gentle silhouette in the light—handsome, dignified, indulgent. That distant coldness from our first meeting felt like it belonged to another life. For a second, I wondered if I was playing dumb too well. Should I show him what I could really do? I bit my lip, imagining how happy he’d be if I surprised him. In that moment, I really did think about “always,” naïvely wishing for forever.