Chapter 1: The Scholar’s Impasse
Walking out of Changi Airport with a Master’s degree from Columbia University in one hand and a mountain of student debt in the other, Chloē Lim felt the familiar Singaporean humidity wrap around her like a damp, pragmatic blanket. New York had been a dream of intellectual fervour and artistic abandon. Singapore was home, a city-state of gleaming efficiency that had little patience for dreams, especially ones majoring in Art History.
Her parents, bless their hearts, had proudly displayed her graduation photo in their HDB flat in Bishan, but the questions soon followed. “So smart, study until so far… but what job can you do with this?” “Your cousin, also from NUS, is in a bank now, you know.”
The pressure was immense. Chloē found herself overqualified for S3,000−a−monthgalleryassistantjobsandutterlyunqualifiedfortheS6,000 graduate programmes at the banks in MBFC. She was trapped in a uniquely Singaporean paradox: holding a world-class education that felt, in this pragmatic ecosystem, utterly worthless.
One night, scrolling through her phone, feeling a profound sense of sian, she stumbled upon an article about modern relationships. A link led her to a site with a sleek, minimalist interface: Btcsugardating.com.
It felt like a betrayal of her own intellectual ideals, but also a strange, rebellious act of anthropology. She created a profile, uploading a photo of herself at the National Gallery Singapore, bathed in the light filtering through the atrium. For her bio, she wrote a single, defiant line:
“An old soul seeking contemporary resonance.”
A few days later, a message appeared. The user ID was simply “Z”. His profile listed three cities, separated by slashes: Singapore / London / San Francisco.
His first message wasn’t a pickup line; it was a challenge. “What kind of resonance? Intellectual, or something more… tangible?”
Chloē, intrigued by the directness that cut through the usual noise, typed back. “Why not both?”
A moment passed. Then, the reply: “Atlas Bar. Tomorrow, 8 PM. I’ll be the one with the vintage Negroni.”
Chapter 2: A Woody Allen Kind of Night
Atlas Bar was like stepping into another world. The Art Deco grandeur, soaring ceilings, and towering gin library felt less like Singapore and more like a scene from Gotham City or, as it turned out, a shared cinematic universe.
Chloē spotted him instantly. He sat at the bar, exuding a quiet authority that made the space his own. Dressed in a tailored Zegna shirt, no tie, with a Patek Philippe Calatrava on his wrist, he was the epitome of understated power. This was Julian Khoo, the wunderkind CEO of a fast-growing AI unicorn.
“Chloē?” His voice was a calm baritone, a stark contrast to the bar’s lively buzz.
“Z?” she replied, taking the seat he gestured to.
He smiled faintly, taking a sip of his drink. “This place… it’s very Woody Allen, don’t you think?”
Chloē’s heart skipped a beat. It was the password. “Absolutely,” she said, her confidence surging. “That neurotic, intellectual romance. You almost expect Timothée Chalamet to walk in, complaining about the weather and his own charming incompetence.”
A genuine, warm laugh escaped him. “You mean A Rainy Day in New York.”
“It’s a love letter to a certain kind of beautiful melancholy,” Chloē mused, swirling her own cocktail. “I always felt that Elle Fanning’s character, Chan, was like the city itself—bright, ambitious, knows what she wants, but gets swept away by moments of pure, unplanned emotion.”
“And Gatsby, the character Chalamet plays,” Julian countered, his eyes locking onto hers, “is lost in a romantic ideal, searching for authenticity in a world of pretenders. He doesn’t fit in, not because he’s flawed, but because he’s looking for a connection that’s real.”
In that moment, all the labels—CEO, graduate, “sugar baby,” “daddy”—evaporated. They were just two people, finding a rare, shared language high above the Singaporean streets.
“Aren’t we just a real-life Gatsby and Chan, then?” Chloē said, a bold self-awareness in her tone. “Playing a well-defined game, hoping for a romantic, unscripted accident.”
Julian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. “Well then, Chloē Lim… shall we see if we can make our own magic?”
Chapter 3: Surrender at the Bay
The lift at The Fullerton Bay Hotel ascended in a charged silence. Chloē was acutely aware of his presence beside her, the scent of his Tom Ford cologne mingling with the faint, sweet perfume of the hotel’s lobby.
He unlocked the door to a premier bay view suite, and the city skyline exploded before them. The iconic, triple-towered Marina Bay Sands stood directly opposite, its lights shimmering on the calm water. The view wasn’t just a view; it was a statement of power, ambition, and beauty.
Julian didn’t turn on the main lights. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s glow illuminating him from behind. “I spend most of my year in rooms like this,” he said, his voice tinged with a weariness she now understood. “London, San Francisco… the view changes, the loneliness doesn’t.”
“A global nomad,” Chloē whispered, “searching for a home plate.”
That phrase, so simple, so precise, made him turn. He crossed the room to her, his shadow engulfing her. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “Tonight,” he murmured, his gaze intense, “I think I might have found it.”
His kiss was a revelation. It wasn’t the kiss of a man buying affection; it was the kiss of a man who had finally found water after crossing a desert. It was slow, deliberate, and deeply appreciative. He tasted of aged negroni and a longing that mirrored her own.
He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the plush king-sized bed. As he laid her down, the silk of her dress felt electric against her skin. He didn’t rush. He treated her body like a masterpiece he was seeing for the first time, his hands and lips mapping her curves with a reverence that made her tremble. The cool, air-conditioned air of the room contrasted with the fire he was igniting on her skin.
Outside, the MBS light show began, casting shifting patterns of blue and green light across the ceiling, across their bodies. It was a silent, surreal disco, a private spectacle for the two of them. Chloē felt her carefully constructed intellectual walls crumble into dust. This wasn’t a transaction. This was a surrender. She arched her back, her fingers digging into the strong muscles of his shoulders, giving herself over to the sensations, to him.
For Julian, this was more than just physical release. It was a profound act of grounding. In a life measured in stock options and algorithmic efficiency, Chloē’s genuine, uninhibited responses were the most real data he had encountered in years. Every soft gasp, every shiver, was a validation that he had found something authentic. He wasn’t conquering; he was connecting. As their bodies moved in a rhythm dictated by pure instinct, he felt the immense weight of his global empire lift, leaving only the singular, perfect reality of the woman in his arms.
Epilogue: The Next Flight
Chloē awoke to the soft grey light of dawn. The city was quiet. She was nestled in Julian’s arms, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm against her back.
“I thought you’d be gone,” she whispered, half-surprised to find him still there.
He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer. “Chloē,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, “on the site, our arrangement is defined as ‘mutually beneficial’.”
Her heart sank for a fraction of a second.
“Last night, you gave me a sense of peace I haven’t felt in years,” he continued, his tone utterly serious. “For that benefit, a single night is not a fair exchange.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“My next trip is to London, in a week, for a board meeting. If you haven’t decided what to do with your ‘useless’ degree yet,” he said, a gentle tease in his voice, “Come with me. London has more than a few galleries that might appreciate a scholar from Columbia.”
It wasn’t a promise of forever. It was an invitation to a different kind of life, a leap from the structured certainty of Singapore into the thrilling unknown of his world.
Chloē turned in his arms to face him. Looking into his clear, earnest eyes, she knew she had come to that website looking for a solution to a problem.
She never expected to find an entirely new, exhilarating equation instead.
