CHAPTER 37: TWENTY DOLLAR DATE, BILLION-DOLLAR GIRL

It started with me thinking:

"She deserves something nice."

And then immediately regretting that thought. Not because she didn’t, but because I had no idea how to... do that.

What does someone like Celestia Valentina Moreau consider "nice"? Her idea of quality time is dropping into my bed with a box of wine and asking if I want to touch her boobs "just for practice."

But... after last night — after seeing her so real, so quiet — I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe all the loud was just a cover. That maybe, behind the teeth and sparkle and psychotic love threats, there was a girl who just wanted to feel wanted. Without asking for it.

So I did something terrifying.

I planned a date.

---

Step 1: Don’t Let Her Know It’s a Date.

Because if I tell her we’re going out, she’ll either:

a) book a private island,

b) show up in lingerie and heels,

or c) ask if I’m about to dump her and cry into my hoodie.

I texted her instead:

Me: "You free this evening?"

Her: "Free, owned, caged, collared. However you want me 😘"

Me: "...So that’s a yes?"

Her: "What are we doing? Sex? Murder? Cute shit?"

Me: "Cute shit. Meet me at the train station. Wear something normal."

Her: "Define normal."

Me: "Something you won’t get arrested for."

Her: "So prison orange’s out? Noted."

---

I waited.

And then I saw her.

She showed up in jeans. Jeans.

No thigh-highs. No corset. No suspiciously loose trench coat with nothing underneath. Just a red hoodie, hair tied up in a bun, and a soft little smile.

"You planned something," she said as soon as she saw me.

"W-What? No I didn’t," I lied like the virgin coward I was.

"You’re sweating. You definitely planned something."

"It’s hot."

"It’s literally 23 degrees."

"Then you’re hot. It’s your fault."

"Awww, you think I’m hot."

"I have eyes, not blindness."

She grinned. I was doomed.

---

The date wasn’t extravagant.

Just... me trying to give her a day that wasn’t about status, wealth, or sex jokes she refused to keep to herself.

We took a train ride to the edge of town. I bought us snacks (she screamed when she saw strawberry Pocky), and we walked to the rooftop of an old art museum that barely had visitors. It had fairy lights strung across the fencing, a few benches, and a vending machine that ate my money twice.

"So what’s this?" she asked, leaning against the railing, eyes sparkling.

"This is called ’I didn’t want you sad again.’"

"Is that the actual title?"

"Yep. I trademarked it this morning."

"Do I get royalties?"

"You get... vending machine soda."

"Wow. Romance."

She laughed and looped her arm around mine. Her head rested on my shoulder and it was quiet for a second.

Then—

"So like... are we dating dating now?"

"Celestia. You gave me a blowjob twice."

"Yeah, but I do that for people I like. Not people I’m in love with."

"Should I be worried or flattered?"

"Yes."

---

We sat on the bench. I pulled out a box from my bag. She blinked.

"What’s that?"

"Relax. It’s not a ring."

"Damn. Was ready to change my last name."

"You’d still be Moreau."

"You don’t know me."

Inside the box were her favorite snacks. The exact brand she liked. She gasped, borderline offended.

"You remember the marshmallow cookies I liked?"

"Yes?"

"Do you realize what this means?"

"That I’m a decent boyfriend?"

"No. That you’re obsessed with me."

"I literally can’t win."

"Exactly. Welcome to dating me."

---

We stayed there for a while.

She talked about silly things. I watched her face more than I listened. The way she lit up when she was happy. The way she talked with her hands. The way she stole one of my drinks like it was hers by birthright.

"You okay?" she asked suddenly, catching me staring.

"Yeah. Just trying to figure out how someone like you exists."

"Hot, rich, insane, and yours?"

"You forgot terrifying."

"Awww, you noticed."

---

We left a little before sunset.

She tugged on my sleeve the whole way home. Called me "her man." Told me this was the best date of her life — and then paused.

"Wait... have I ever been on a date before?"

"You tell me."

"If this is the first, I might cry."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Yes."

---

Back at my place, I thought we were done.

She wasn’t.

She followed me in, dropped her hoodie on the floor like it was nothing (don’t worry, she had a shirt underneath) and turned to me with that smile — the one that made me feel like prey.

"So..." she whispered. "What do you want your reward to be?"

"What reward?"

"For being the best boyfriend ever."

"I’m scared."

"Good."

She leaned in close, breath warm, lips brushing my cheek.

"Say it," she whispered. "Tell me you want it. Whatever it is."

"I want peace of mind and at least one week without sexual trauma."

"Hmm... that’s not on my menu."

She giggled and pulled me into a hug. Buried her face into my chest and whispered, real quiet—

"Thank you... for today. No one’s ever done something like this for me. Not ever."

I hesitated. Then wrapped my arms around her. Tight.

She melted instantly.

"And now I’m horny again."

"You ruin every soft moment."

"You love it."

"I’m learning to survive it."

"Close enough."

And just like that, my psychotic billionaire brat girlfriend smiled like the sun itself... all because of a date that cost less than 20 bucks.

---

To be continued...