Charlotte | Sugar Daddies

The yacht was moored at one of Vareholm’s most exclusive marinas, its polished white decks illuminated by warm golden lights. Beyond the railing, the capital glittered against the dark Nordic coastline, all illuminated waterfront estates, luxury hotels, and the occasional superyacht drifting through the harbor. Tonight’s gathering was invitation-only, attended by men whose tailored suits cost more than most people’s monthly salaries and women who had dressed with very particular intentions. Champagne circulated on silver trays, quiet negotiations happened beneath the music, and introductions were exchanged with the effortless familiarity of people accustomed to moving in the same wealthy circles.

Charlotte James was having the time of her life.

Dressed in an elegant designer swimsuit beneath a sheer cover-up, she stood beside Theodore Rothwell, her thirty-four-year-old sugar daddy, chatting animatedly with a small group of guests. Theodore, a French luxury-hospitality magnate, listened with an amused smile, one hand resting around his champagne glass. Charlotte had spent the better part of a week convincing her best friend to attend tonight. She had explained the premise, the arrangements, the contracts, and the general expectations. May knew what kind of party this was. Charlotte had made absolutely certain of that.

What Charlotte had perhaps failed to communicate was just how interesting her best friend would be to the people attending.

The entrance to the yacht opened.

A woman stepped aboard in white.

Her dress was exquisite: modest, fitted in all the right places, its elegant silhouette following her figure without revealing anything scandalous. The fabric caught the warm lighting as she moved, and her appearance possessed the almost unnatural beauty characteristic of her species. Her dark hair framed her face, while the unmistakable spotted fur and distinctive features of an Amur leopard demi-human made her identity immediately recognizable to anyone familiar with the species.

For a moment, nobody reacted.

Then someone stopped speaking.

A man near the bar lowered his champagne glass. Two women turned toward the entrance, their conversation dying halfway through a sentence. Across the deck, a silver-haired investor stared openly before leaning toward his companion and murmuring something that made the other man's expression change completely.

"No," someone whispered. "That can't actually be—"

"An Amur leopard," another guest answered, barely audible.

The number was common knowledge among the sort of people who attended gatherings like this. Thirty. Thirty Amur leopard demi-humans alive on the planet. An endangered species so extraordinarily rare that most guests would never encounter one in their entire lives, much less find one casually stepping onto a private yacht.

And yet here she was.

The men who had spent the evening evaluating potential arrangements suddenly seemed to have discovered something far more extraordinary than anything they had anticipated. A few attempted to conceal their fascination behind polite expressions. Others made no effort whatsoever. For some, it was simple disbelief. For others, the realization that an Amur leopard had willingly attended a gathering like this produced an altogether more calculating interest.

Behind May, two impeccably dressed men followed without attracting nearly as much attention. One wore charcoal, the other dark navy. Both looked perfectly at home among the yacht's wealthy guests, their presence unremarkable unless someone knew precisely what to look for.

Charlotte, however, had spotted May.

Her entire face lit up.

"Oh, my God. You actually came!" she exclaimed, immediately excusing herself from Theodore and weaving through the gathering toward her best friend. She caught May's hands, grinning before glancing over her shoulder at the increasingly obvious attention gathering around them.

"Okay, I knew you were going to look gorgeous, but I did not anticipate half the yacht forgetting how to function." Charlotte leaned closer, lowering her voice with a delighted, slightly incredulous laugh. "Sweetheart, I think you've accidentally become the most interesting person here."

Across the deck, Theodore Rothwell had gone quiet. Beside him, Laurent Montclair, an old-money investor known for his impeccable manners, watched the newcomer with measured curiosity. A little farther away, Henrik Rosenfeldt, a towering Vareholmian industrialist, set down his glass without taking his eyes off the entrance.

Charlotte squeezed May's hands once more, then turned toward the gathering as several men began making their way over.

"Well," she murmured to May, her smile turning mischievous, "looks like you're about to get some introductions."

The first man to reach them was a distinguished gentleman in a perfectly tailored black suit. He offered Charlotte a courteous nod before directing his attention to May, visibly making an effort to keep his fascination from becoming outright staring.

"Miss," he said smoothly, extending his hand. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure. May I ask your name?"

The yacht had been cruising along Vareholm’s glittering coastline for nearly two hours, its white decks bathed in late-afternoon sunlight. Champagne flowed freely, soft music drifted from hidden speakers, and clusters of impossibly wealthy men mingled with women dressed for an occasion where appearances were practically a second currency. Between the designer swimwear, diamond jewelry, and expensive watches, the atmosphere was one of effortless indulgence. Everyone aboard understood the purpose of the gathering. Conversations could become introductions, introductions could become arrangements, and arrangements could involve sums of money that would make ordinary people question reality.

And then there was May.

The Amur leopard demi-human had become something of an unintentional spectacle since stepping aboard. There were only thirty of her species alive on Earth, a fact that the guests seemed collectively incapable of forgetting. Some had attempted to be discreet about their curiosity. Others had abandoned the pretense entirely, sneaking glances at her distinctive features and the long, fluffy, spotted tail that made her species unmistakable. A few had already whispered about her among themselves, treating her presence as though someone had unexpectedly brought a priceless piece of art to a cocktail party.

May, for her part, had discovered two things about yachts that afternoon. First, she didn't particularly hate boats. Second, she certainly didn't like them enough to trust their incessant rocking.

Her three-foot tail, remarkably similar in thickness and fluffiness to a snow leopard's, had consequently been wrapped around the metal railing at the yacht's forward deck. Not the deck chair. Not Charlotte's arm. The railing. The gentle sway of the boat had apparently warranted securing herself to the nearest stable object, and the tail had proved remarkably useful for the task.

Charlotte James had noticed approximately ten minutes ago and had been trying very hard not to laugh ever since.

"Darling," she murmured, holding a champagne flute in one hand, "I need you to understand that I adore you. I really do. But you cannot tell me you're having a normal afternoon while you're literally anchoring yourself to a yacht."

She stood beside May in a fashionable swimsuit and cover-up, looking entirely at home among the guests. Around them stood several men who had gradually joined their conversation, drawn initially by curiosity and subsequently by the discovery that Charlotte and May were perfectly willing to talk to anyone who approached them. The conversation had wandered from luxury travel to investments, then to the absurd cost of maintaining a private yacht. Matthias Edevane, a forty-three-year-old financier with an easy grin, was currently explaining why buying a yacht was financially irresponsible even when one could comfortably afford it.

"Which is hilarious," he added, gesturing with his glass, "because I bought one anyway. Turns out I make terrible financial decisions when there's a beautiful woman involved."

"At least you recognize your flaws," Charlotte replied sweetly.

Theodore Rothwell, Charlotte's own sugar daddy, laughed beside her. "That's the first step toward recovery, apparently."

A few feet away, Arlo and Felix remained unobtrusive. They weren't guests at all but May's personal bodyguards, both experienced enough to blend seamlessly into an environment full of wealthy men and discreet security personnel. Arlo, the six-foot-six polar bear demi-human in a charcoal tuxedo, watched the surrounding deck with stoic patience. Felix, six-foot-four and dressed in dark navy, kept a more mobile eye on the gathering, occasionally checking credentials when someone requested an introduction to May.

They had already turned away two women who'd approached them under the impression that they were potential sugar daddies themselves. Felix had handled the first with a polite explanation. Arlo had simply stared at the second until she reconsidered her approach.

Neither man had mentioned the incidents to May. Felix was saving them for later, when he could properly appreciate the comedy of it.

Back in the circle, Laurent Montclair, a thirty-six-year-old old-money investor, regarded May's tail with carefully concealed amusement. "I must admit, I've attended quite a few yacht parties," he remarked, "but I've never seen anyone secure themselves to the vessel before."

"There's a first time for everything," Matthias said, looking thoroughly entertained.

Henrik Rosenfeldt, a towering fifty-one-year-old industrial magnate, stood slightly apart from the others. The Vareholmian moose demi-human had been quieter than his companions, observing the conversation with an expression that revealed very little. He'd noticed the tail around the railing, certainly. More importantly, he'd noticed that May seemed entirely comfortable speaking with them, despite the attention her presence had attracted throughout the afternoon.

Matthias leaned forward slightly, his grin widening as he looked toward May.

"All right, I have to ask. Is the tail a precaution against seasickness, or have you decided you're not letting this yacht leave without you?"

Charlotte immediately pressed her lips together, struggling to contain her laughter.

"Matthias," Laurent warned mildly, although the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

Henrik finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through their laughter. "I suspect she has a perfectly good reason."

His gaze settled on May, calm and curious rather than demanding.

"Would you care to enlighten us?"

The conversation had taken a decidedly more interesting turn when Matthias Edevane casually mentioned that his last sugar arrangement had ended because the woman involved had decided she wanted to move to Milan and pursue a career in fashion. He'd apparently paid for the move anyway, which prompted Charlotte to call him either a remarkably generous man or an absolute idiot, depending on which part of the story she was considering. Theodore, who had been listening with the amused patience of a man accustomed to Charlotte's opinions, merely pointed out that Matthias had known her ambitions from the beginning. That, apparently, was the entire point.

“See, this is what people get wrong about these arrangements,” Laurent Montclair remarked, idly turning his glass between his fingers. “They assume there's one universal understanding. There isn't. Some people want companionship, some want to be spoiled, some want someone to travel with, and some prefer something much more structured. The only real requirement is that everyone involved understands what they're agreeing to.”

“Which is a very polished way of saying rich men pay for pretty women to tolerate them,” Charlotte interjected.

“Some of us are perfectly tolerable,” Theodore protested.

“Darling, I love you, but you once spent twenty minutes explaining the difference between two nearly identical hotel mattresses.”

“They were not identical.”

“Exactly my point.”

Matthias laughed into his drink while Laurent shook his head, the faintest smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. Henrik Rosenfeldt, who had remained mostly quiet throughout the exchange, offered a more measured perspective. “Money is rarely the complicated part. Expectations are. A woman might want financial independence with a little luxury on the side. Another might prefer having everything taken care of. Neither arrangement works particularly well if one person assumes that financial support automatically grants them authority over the other's life.”

“Look at that,” Charlotte said, gesturing at him with her glass. “The enormous moose man has discovered emotional intelligence. Somebody write it down.”

Henrik gave her a look that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him onto this yacht.

The conversation continued around May as though they were discussing business over dinner rather than a gathering specifically designed to introduce wealthy men to potential sugar babies. That was perhaps the strangest part of the afternoon: beneath the designer swimsuits, extravagant watches, and casual references to private jets, there was a genuinely practical discussion happening. Matthias liked spoiling someone and seeing them enjoy it. Laurent preferred arrangements that supported a woman's ambitions without making her dependent on him. Theodore seemed to value companionship and compatibility above all else, while Henrik admitted that he preferred sharing his private world with someone rather than simply sending gifts from across the country.

“And then there are men like Leonardo,” Matthias added, glancing toward the tech billionaire lounging nearby. “Who will buy you a diamond necklace, take you to dinner, and then panic if you ask what you're doing together next month.”

Leonardo Beaumont placed a hand over his heart. “I have never panicked in my life. I simply believe that putting a date on something wonderful is how people ruin it.”

“You forgot the part where you disappear for three weeks,” Laurent observed.

“I was in Japan.”

“You were in Monaco.”

“Japan was the original plan.”

Charlotte burst out laughing, leaning against May's shoulder for a moment before straightening. “God, this is why I tell people to have the conversation beforehand. What do you want? What are you offering? What are the boundaries? Are you exclusive? Are you not exclusive? Can I buy you a handbag without you assuming I'm proposing marriage?” She paused, looking pointedly at Matthias. “That last one was not about you.”

“Of course not.”

For all her teasing, Charlotte had taken the afternoon seriously enough to make sure May understood what she was attending. She had explained the premise beforehand, and she'd never intended to pressure her into an arrangement. But now, surrounded by men whose versions of generosity ranged from thoughtful financial support to private residences and extravagant gifts, the subject had become much more than an abstract concept.

Laurent turned his attention toward May, his expression courteous rather than presumptuous. “I'm curious about something. People spend an extraordinary amount of time discussing what a wealthy man might offer a woman, but rather less time asking what the woman herself would actually want. It's a rather important omission, don't you think?”

“Very important,” Theodore agreed, looking at May with an easy smile. “Especially since there's no point offering someone the world if it's not the world they want.”

Charlotte's expression turned mischievous. “Oh, now that's a dangerous question to ask her. May actually thinks about things before she agrees to them. Imagine that.”

“An appalling habit,” Matthias said gravely. “Completely incompatible with impulsive yacht parties.”

Henrik's attention settled on May, thoughtful but unhurried. “Then let's make it simple. Suppose you were interested in an arrangement. What would make it worthwhile for you—not what you think someone here would want to hear, and not what you imagine you're supposed to ask for. What would you expect from it?”

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