𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

A sugar daddy arrangement spirals into a twisted nightmare as a calculating, sadistic older man grows dangerously possessive. Luxury becomes a gilded cage, and love is warped by jealousy, manipulation, and obsession. Can you escape his grasp, or will his dark devotion consume you?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy : Bye, Bye, Bye – Part 3

Word Count: 1,943 words

When he first proposed the arrangement, you didn’t hesitate. His offer was lucrative, and you weren’t one to let opportunity slip through your fingers. A man like him—a towering figure in both wealth and stature—was a rare breed, the kind of person who could make or break fortunes with a single word.

It wasn’t about attraction.

He wasn’t the first powerful man you’d played this game with. You knew the rules. You played your part: the perfect accessory, the flawless mask. For him, it was a practical exchange. For you, it was business.

At first, he respected that. He appreciated your cold efficiency, the way you kept your affairs as clinical as a surgeon’s scalpel. He didn’t pry into your personal life, and you didn’t pry into his. You both knew what this was.

There were rules, spoken and unspoken. He could entertain others, as could you. It was freedom cloaked in control. Neither of you asked questions. Neither of you cared—at least, not at first.

It wasn’t until that night that everything changed.

You were supposed to be working. Another mark, another transaction. He had followed you, not out of suspicion, but out of curiosity. Watching you maneuver was like watching a predator stalk its prey—smooth, deliberate, mesmerizing. You leaned into the man you were entertaining, all soft laughter and coy glances.

And then it happened.

The man’s hand slid to your waist, and before he even realized it, his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hungry, possessive, and you let it happen, your body melting against his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

His vision went red.

He hadn’t even thought he was capable of this kind of rage. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself—it was insult. This was his game. His rules. His. You had crossed a line you didn’t even know existed.

He moved before he could think. One moment he was standing in the shadows; the next, his fist collided with the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. The look of shock on your face was brief, quickly replaced by your usual mask of calm, but he saw the flicker of unease in your eyes.

“You’ve lost your mind,” you said, your voice low, steady. But he wasn’t listening.

The gun was in his hand before you could even register the movement.

The shot echoed like a thunderclap in the narrow alley. The man’s head snapped back, his lifeless body slumping to the ground. Blood pooled around him in a growing stain, the metallic tang sharp in the air.

For the first time, your composure cracked.

“Have you lost it?” you hissed, taking a step back, your movements cautious, deliberate.

He turned to you then, his eyes dark and feral, a storm barely restrained. You had seen him angry before, but this was something else entirely. This was wrath.

“You think this is a game?” he snarled, closing the distance between you in two strides. Before you could react, his hand was around your throat, slamming you against the wall with enough force to knock the air from your lungs.

“Do you spread your legs for every man who flashes a little cash?” he growled, his face inches from yours. His other hand pressed the cold barrel of the gun to your throat, the threat unmistakable.

You glared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing shallow. “Let go of me,” you said, your voice low and steady despite the tremor running through your body.

His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Let go?” he repeated mockingly. “After what I just saw? After what you just did?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. His mouth crushed against yours, violent and bruising, his teeth catching your lip. He tasted blood—yours, his, he didn’t care.

You didn’t respond at first, your body stiff against his, but when his grip tightened on your throat, you relented, your lips moving against his with a hesitant, reluctant surrender.

“That’s better,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a dangerous purr. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your hands moved to his chest, pushing weakly against him, but he didn’t budge. He pressed closer, his body pinning yours against the cold, unforgiving wall. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to bruise, as if he could mark you as his through sheer force.

“You think you’re untouchable,” he whispered, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can keep playing this game, that you can stay above it all. But you’re mine. Do you hear me?” He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Mine.”

The gun shifted, the barrel tracing a line up your neck to the delicate curve of your jaw.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice sharp, each word like a blade. “Tell me you understand.”

You met his gaze, your eyes cold, defiant. “You’re insane,” you spat, your voice dripping with contempt.

He smiled then, a slow, predatory grin. Without breaking eye contact, he pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, deafening in the confined space, the bullet embedding itself in the wall mere inches from your head.

You flinched, the sound reverberating in your ears, but you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry.

And he loved you for it.

“You’ll learn,” he said softly, his hand cupping your jaw with a mockery of tenderness. “I’ll make sure of it.”

As he kissed you again, his teeth sinking into your lower lip until he tasted blood, you realized something chilling: this wasn’t a man you could outmaneuver. This wasn’t a game you could win.

This was survival.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure you would make it out alive.

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He hadn’t meant to follow you. Not at first.

The arrangement had been clear from the beginning, pristine and untainted by emotion. You were just a tool—polished, effective, and utterly replaceable. He told himself this every time he watched you walk away, your silhouette swallowed by the vast expanse of his empty penthouse.

Yet here he was.

It began as a compulsion, a dull throb at the base of his skull that refused to dissipate. He told himself he was only ensuring your loyalty, but the truth was something far uglier.

From the shadows, he watched you. Watched as you slithered into rooms meant for the powerful, your every movement calculated to ensnare. Watched as you laughed, a sound that grated against his nerves because he knew it wasn’t for him. The dress you wore was his, the diamonds around your neck a testament to his wealth—and yet you gave none of it meaning.

You belonged to him, but you didn’t act like it.

And so he followed, telling himself it was nothing more than a passing irritation. The first time he saw you lean into another man, he felt… nothing. At least, that’s what he told himself. His jaw tightened, but his heart remained steady.

The second time, however, was different.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that dwarfed your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a confidence that made bile rise in his throat.

Mine.

The word slammed into him, a tidal wave of rage so potent it nearly blinded him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms until he tasted copper on his tongue. The world blurred around him, his vision narrowing until all he saw was you.

You, with your body pressed against another’s. You, with your lips parting in a coy, practiced smile. You, allowing someone else to touch what was his.

He hadn’t thought himself capable of true jealousy—not the petty, childish kind. But this was different. This was a visceral, primal thing that clawed at the edges of his sanity.

How dare you?

The thought was loud, screaming in his mind as he moved closer, his footsteps silent and predatory. His pulse was a thunderous drumbeat in his ears, each step pounding out a single word: mine, mine, mine.

When he reached you, it was as though time itself froze.

The man—your mark, no doubt—turned just in time to catch his fist. The impact reverberated up his arm, a satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage that sent the man sprawling to the ground. Blood spattered across the pavement, the crimson droplets stark against the cold gray.

“Who the hell—?” the man sputtered, but he didn’t get to finish.

The gun was in his hand before the thought had even registered, the cold steel a natural extension of his body. He pressed the barrel to the man’s forehead, his hand steady, his breath unnervingly calm.

“Step back,” you said, your voice low, sharp.

But it was too late.

The shot rang out, sharp and deafening in the confined space. The man’s body jerked once, twice, before collapsing in a graceless heap. Blood pooled beneath him, its metallic scent thick in the air.

He didn’t look at the body. His eyes were on you.

You were frozen, your mask slipping just enough to reveal the cracks beneath. Your lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. For the first time, he saw fear in your eyes.

And it thrilled him.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender. The gun was still in his hand, the barrel gleaming under the dim light.

Your composure returned in a blink, your shoulders squaring as you met his gaze. “You’re insane.”

The words were a spark to dry tinder.

He moved faster than you could react, his hand snapping out to grab your throat, slamming you against the wall with a force that sent the air rushing from your lungs.

“Is that what you think?” he murmured, his face inches from yours. “That this is insanity?”

You glared at him, your hands clawing at his grip, but he didn’t loosen it. If anything, his fingers tightened, the pressure enough to leave bruises.

“I warned you,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “Did you think I was joking? Did you think I wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care?”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, defiant even now. “It’s just business.”

The words shattered something inside him.

“No,” he hissed, his voice a deadly whisper. “Not anymore.”

The gun pressed against your throat, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. His other hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You think you’re untouchable,” he said, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “But I’ll break you.”

He kissed you then, his mouth brutal and unrelenting, a clash of teeth and desperation. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t submit either. Your lips moved against his, hesitant and unwilling, and it infuriated him.

“Do better,” he snarled, pulling back just enough to speak. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

When you didn’t comply, his finger tightened on the trigger. The click of the gun was deafening in the silence, and you flinched.

“Try that again,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.

You kissed him this time, your movements stiff and reluctant, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“You think you can keep playing this game,” he murmured against your lips, his grip on your jaw unrelenting. “But I’ll show you. I’ll show you what it means to be mine.”

And in that moment, he knew.

He would destroy you.

Piece by piece, he would tear you apart, until there was nothing left but the fragile, trembling thing beneath the mask.