Chapter 1
My first big case back in New York? My husband’s prostitution charge.
“Captain Waverly, you’ve just got back, so here’s the scoop–this case involves Harrison Whitmore, New York’s top billionaire, and his young girlfriend Celeste Kingsley.”
“They’re the hottest couple now–classic sugar–daddy–meets–sugar–baby vibes. That age gap? Fans can’t get enough.”
Charles lowered his voice with a knowing smile.
“Rumor has it, the girl got pissy ‘cause Mr. Whitmore’s been MIA too much, so she dialed 911 just to mess with him. Classic kinky couple drama.”
I said nothing and followed him to the mediation room.
Through the half–open door, I watched my husband of three years down on his knees, using his $15,000 suit jacket to dab at some brat’s $800 sneakers like she was goddamn royalty.
The girl giggled, kicking her feet playfully.
“You’re such an idiot, Harrison. I had you arrested and you’re still worshipping me like some pathetic puppy.”
Harrison looked up, his eyes filled with an adoration I’d never seen before.
“Princess, if it makes you happy, I’d give you my life.”
The hallway lights flickered overhead, and my heart plunged into endless darkness.
So they wanted to play games with the NYPD?
Fine. As his loving wife, I’ll be the one to hand–deliver him to a cell.
I gripped the summons tight and turned to Charles behind me.
“Take them to interrogation. By the book.”
Charles hesitated, the unease written all over his face.
“Captain Waverly, is that really… I mean, you just transferred back, so maybe you don’t realize–Mr. Whitmore is New
York’s-”
“I don’t give a damn who he is.” My voice went arctic. “File a false report, waste our time, deal with the consequences. The NYPD doesn’t play favorites for anyone.”
Charles swallowed hard and mumbled, “Yes ma’am.”
Then pushed into the mediation room.
Chaos erupted immediately.
19:04
Fifteen Years of Love Look in One Night with His Sugar Baby
Chapter 1
Celeste’s voice, whiny and indignant: “Why the hell are you arresting us? I already told you guys it was just a joke!”
Harrison’s voice followed, calm and indulgent: “Baby, just cooperate. It’ll be over soon.”
Footsteps approached, and they emerged–Celeste stomping ahead like a petulant child.
“This is all your fault! I just wanted you to go shopping with me yesterday, but nooo! You blew me off for some stupid meeting. That’s why I called the cops!”
Harrison practically jogged to keep up, looking almost eager to please.
“Come on, babe, I’ll buy out every boutique in SoHo. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
Celeste whipped around, and I got my first clear look at his new girlfriend.
Heart–shaped face, doe eyes, perfect pouty lips–she was stunning, I’ll give her that. But what really grabbed attention was the cotton–candy pink hair and a skirt so short it was practically underwear.
Early twenties, she was all fire and fresh energy.
Everything I wasn’t–stuck in my regulation uniform, looking like somebody’s boring aunt.
My chest tightened with something ugly and bitter.
This was Harrison Whitmore–the guy who made Wall Street wolves beg for scraps. And he was acting like a lovesick puppy:
“Don’t be mad, sweetheart. Next time I’ll cancel everything and take you shopping, okay?”
Celeste huffed but slowed down, clearly enjoying his groveling.
I watched them disappear into the interrogation room. The door clicked shut, sealing their toxic love story inside.
Charles approached for orders. “Captain, who’s taking their statement?”
“You handle it personally.” My voice came out rough. “Get every detail about that bullshit report she filed.”
Charles nodded and went in. Within minutes, Celeste’s voice carried through the walls, dripping with smug satisfaction.
“Look officer, I told you it was just a fucking game. He’s always buried in work stuff–getting him to go shopping with me is like pulling teeth.”
“Sure, he gives me his black card with no limit, but so what? Money can’t try on clothes with me, can it?”
Charles must have asked about the prostitution angle, because silence followed. Then Celeste’s giggle:
“Oh that? I was just being dramatic. A few days ago he wanted to ‘spice things up,‘ tied my wrists with his necktie… I just said that because I was mad he only cared about his own pleasure.”
She paused, probably showing off: “Look, you can still see the marks on my wrists. He’s all Mr. Professional in public, but behind closed doors? Total freak…”
Her description got more explicit. I stopped listening and leaned against the wall, my head spinning.
Harrison and I had been married for three years.
19:04
Fifteen Years of Love, Lost in One Night with His Sugar Baby
Mix Pomily was ok New York money generational wealth and influence. Mine had deep political roots in Washington D.C
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sve up a brilliant future to come back, and my welcome home gift was watching my husband burn with a passion Ext never MNW WYN Just for an hustagram model.
Chapter 2
