The Draft

The Wednesday before the gala, Arthur left his laptop open on the mahogany desk in his study. He had stepped out to take a call on the terrace.

Toby walked into the study to retrieve a book. He didn't mean to snoop. He truly didn't. But the screen was brightly illuminated, and the large, bold font at the top of the email draft caught his eye like a lighthouse in the dark.

**Subject: Termination of Arrangement - Tobias**

The world stopped spinning. The air vanished from the room.

Toby walked slowly toward the desk, his heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against his ribs. He leaned over, his eyes scanning the clinical, legal jargon drafted to Arthur's attorney.

*...effective immediately following the charity gala on the 14th... draft the termination clauses... standard severance payout as dictated by the initial contract... release of all obligations...*

Toby stumbled back from the desk, a physical pain lancing through his chest.

* He's firing me.* The realization washed over him like ice water. The three weeks of domestic bliss, the shared bed, the protectiveness, the takeout pizza—it wasn't real. It was just Arthur taking care of his investment for the upcoming gala. Arthur needed his plus-one to look the part, to play the role perfectly for his high-society friends. And once the event was over, the curtain would fall. Arthur was bored of the chaos. He was done playing savior to a broken, broke twenty-something.

"I knew it," Toby whispered to the empty room, tears pricking his eyes. He let out a harsh, broken laugh, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. "You stupid, stupid idiot. You thought he actually wanted you."

His survival instincts, honed by years of abandonment, kicked in. If he was going to be thrown out, he would not go out begging. He would not let Arthur see how deeply he had broken his heart. He would put the armor back on. He would be the funny, untouchable, transactional Sugar Baby until the bitter end.

When Arthur returned from the terrace, Toby was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone with a blank, unreadable expression.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" Arthur asked, walking over to press a kiss to Toby’s temple.

Toby flinched slightly, forcing a bright, entirely hollow smile. "Never better, boss. Just mentally preparing my stand-up routine for this gala. Gotta earn my keep, right?"

Arthur frowned, sensing the immediate, chilling shift in Toby's demeanor. "Toby—"

"I'm gonna go take a run," Toby interrupted, standing up quickly and dodging Arthur’s reach. "Gotta keep the merchandise looking tight."

He bolted from the room before Arthur could see the devastation in his eyes.